“Yes.” His voice is calm, almost bored. “The ascension is this afternoon. I’ve been told you’re prepared?”
“Yes.” I keep my tone even. “I have a dress that I think will be appropriate. And that will make you happy.”
He finally lifts his head. The mask makes his expression unreadable, but the way his gaze drags over me–from my recently straightened hair brushing over my shoulders to the collar around my throat. I can’t quite hide the tremble in my fingers. “It’s not about making me happy, Arianette.” He leans back in the chair, thighs spreading wider under the table. “It’s about serving your role.”
I lift my chin. Swallow the sharp thing that rises in my throat. He notices–of course he does.
“What?”
“Why can’t it be both?”
His lip curls. “Excuse me?”
I hesitate one heartbeat too long.
“If you’re going to come into your King’s quarters and talk back, you better be ready to back it up.”
“I’m doing my best to serve my role,” I say, quieter than I mean to. “But you won’t allow me to fulfill it other than showing up when you need someone on your arm. My Barons have learned how to use me and I…” I swallow, determined to see this through, “... and I think you should do the same.”
The room goes still. Even the air feels thicker.
His eyes skim over me again–slower this time. Down the column of my throat, over the thin crimson tank that clings to my breasts and stops mid-stomach. He travels down, past the waistband of the matching shorts with a black lace trim. Damon picked them out because of the loose leg, and the access it gives him during the night. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, thighs pressing together instinctively. He notices that, too.
“Come here.”
It’s not a request.
I step forward. Close enough that I can smell the mint of the smoothie on his breath, the clean frost still clinging to his skin.
He reaches out without warning–long fingers curling around my wrist, thumb pressing hard against the pulse there until I feel it jump under his touch.
“You want to be used by me, my wicked little Daughter of Darkness?” His voice is low, intimate, dangerous. “Is that why you’re standing in front of me like this? Proving that your mouth could be used for better purposes? Why your nipples are already hard under that little shirt, begging for attention you haven’t earned?”
“I’m here to serve you, Daddy. However you want.” Heat floods my face, my chest, lower. He yanks me forward until my hips bump the table edge, forcing me to brace both hands on the wood to keep my balance.
“Look at me.”
I do. The mask hides half his face, but his mouth–those cruel, perfect lips–curves just enough to make my stomach clench.
“You want to fulfill your role?” He slides his free hand up theinside of my thigh, stopping just short of where I’m already aching. “Then stop pretending this is about permission. This is about obedience. About knowing your place is on your knees, or bent over this table, or spread open for inspection whenever I decide. Not when you decide.”
His fingers brush the seam of my shorts, barely grazing the piercing, and I gasp, hips jerking forward before I can stop them. He chuckles, dark and quiet. “See? Your cunt’s already weeping for it. I can smell you from here.”
Shame and want twist together until I can’t tell which is winning. My thighs tremble. I want to close them; I want to spread them wider. To give him what he wants, but mostly wantinghimto wantme.
He leans in, mouth hovering an inch from mine. Close enough I can feel the cold radiating off his skin, the heat of his breath against my lips. “Show me your pussy, Daughter.”
He releases my wrist only to slide both hands to my hips, spinning me until my back is to his chest. Then he pulls me down–hard–until I’m straddling one thick thigh, shorts riding up.
I shift the edge of my shorts aside, feeling the warm heat between my thighs.
“Touch yourself,” he orders, voice rough in my ear. “Show me how badly you want to serve.”
I brush my fingers across my clit–tentatively. I’ve done this with Hunter, pleasured myself at his command, but the King–my husband–is different. One slip up, one wrong move, and the walls will come slamming back down again.
“Is that really enough, Arianette?”
I shake my head and make a deeper circle, spreading the sticky heat around. I graze the piercing and heat ripples across my nerves. It feels good, but it’s the way his hands clamp on my hips, pulling me back into his chest, guiding and controlling, that sends sparks up my spine.
