Page 135 of Damsel in Disguise

“More,” she breathes.

Of course, she needs more.

“Do you love me, Delilah?” the question slips out low, almost intimate.

She falters. “I—”

“You don’t have to say it,” I murmur, cutting her off before the system can stabilize, and she can choose a safer response.

My lips move to her shoulder, then her collarbone, brushing over her skin in a way I’ve never allowed before.

The performance almost makes it look like I’m actually making love to her. I can feel it already—the subtle shift beneath her skin, the hesitation in her responses.

I’m almost surprised Ariella hasn’t lost it yet. Hasn’t stormed in, dragged her off me, buried a blade into her chest over and over again until there’s nothing left to fix.

My mouth moves lower to her tits.

I’ve never touched her like this. Not once. Every time I fucked her before, it was detached—her face either turned away or covered, never bothered with kissing or foreplay. Just straight to the main deed, never leaving room for anything resembling care.

Tonight is new. And it’s exactly what will ruin her.

My tongue flattens against her nipple, dragging over it before I take it into my mouth, sucking just enough to make her arch into me.

Her weak point. The only one I bothered to curate if push comes to shove.

Then it hits—a sharp, violent jolt of electricity rips through my body.

My muscles tense instinctively. A hiss catches in the back of my throat as a low electric shock snaps through my nerves.

Payback.

Delilah gasps—no, moans—but it’s wrong this time. There’s raw pain tangled in it.

I don’t have much time.

I bite down hard, deliberately drawing blood. Metallic blood spills instantly. It’s unexpectedly warm against my tongue.

Her reaction is immediate—nails dig into my shoulders, sharp enough to break skin. Her grip teeters between pulling me closer and trying to shove me away. Yet she keeps rolling her hips harder.

“Alistair…”

I grab her hips, forcing her to move faster over me, setting a brutal pace to keep her off balance, to keep her system chasing too many emotional inputs at once.

“Tell me you love me, Delilah,” I press, my voice rougher now, edged with insistency.

I’m trying to make her systems go emotionally unstable, overload them to the point of collapsing in on itself.

“Tell me you’re not reporting to the Trairch Dominion about Ariella because you don’t want me getting into trouble.”

She jerks in my hold.

There it is. The delay. The conflict in her artificial brain.

“Am I the only one feeling this?” I push, tightening my grip, forcing her gaze back to mine. “Or is this just… programming to you?”

Her breathing starts to fracture—uneven, shallow, wrong.

Brows pull together, lips parting as another sound escapes her, this one stripped of anything resembling pleasure.