Page 46 of The Bargain

I sit up, head spinning and heart lurching in my chest. I’m still wet and throbbing and tight between my legs, disoriented and full of need. Propping myself on the edge of the desk, I turn to look at Elias, who’s already heading to the door.

“Shouldn’t I get to know you, too?” I demand with as much authority as I can muster with my skirt still hitched up my thighs and my own wetness smeared on the desktop beneath me. “If we’re going to convince the Inquisitor?”

Stay.

He shrugs and waves a hand.

“Nah,” he says. “We got what we needed from this. The Inquisitor will be convinced, trust me.”

He places his hand on the door handle and turns his head, throwing me one last look, but I can barely make out his face at all.

“See you on Halloween, love.” He grins, his teeth a ghostly white flash in his shadowed face. “Stay away from scary monsters.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for me to reply before yanking the door open and disappearing through it. It closes behind him with a tight snap, and that’s when I’m jarred by a sudden realisation.

The door’s been unlocked this whole time.

17

Invisible Knife

Elias

There are several moments in my life that are burned indelibly into my memory. I don’t get to choose them—most of the time, the ones that are burned the deepest are the ones I’m most desperate to forget.

Not this one.

I’ll remember this sight forever, and this is how I’ll remember it:

Desdemona sitting above me, a pale star in a dim cosmos. Her eyes on mine, void and hungry all at once. The inherent cold of her presence and the delicious soft wet heat between her legs.

When Desdemona came on my fingers, she melted down onto her desk like a banner falling from the sky, a silent, silken crumpling. I was shocked by the sensation that struck me then: like I wanted to stoop and press myself to the soft fabric of her, curl into that banner until it was wrapped all around me.

It took all my self-control not to lower myself to her and press my face to her body, my mouth to her mouth.

And, fuck, doesn’t that just reek of romance?

Wanting to make her come is one thing: it’s scheming, conquest—it’s politics. Me using my golden key to open the doors I need opening. My way up into the Brotherhood, and out of the Pearson noose.

But wanting to kiss her open mouth afterwards and catch her sigh of pleasure into my own mouth—that’s murky territory. That’s a tactical fumble, a slip-up. Plain, reckless stupidity.

A mistake I categorically cannot afford.

And yet…

I’m still painfully hard by the time I get back to my room. The image of her is a fresh, indelible burn—the wound sings, sears, demands attention.

I smoke a cigarette to calm myself down, but that doesn’t help at all. My hands shake even as I take deep drags of toxic smoke. With a sigh of frustration, I kick back from my desk, cigarette trapped between my teeth, and unzip myself, taking my cock into my hand. The cold wind blows in from the open window, carrying with it the occasional splutters of rain, but it does nothing to cool me down.

You don’t get to corrupt me.

Desdemona’s voice echoes in my head. There had been so much strength in those words, such determination. She’d said it almost like a warning, but I don’t think that was a warning at all.

I think it was a challenge—no. A request.

My head falls back, muscles pulling taut in my neck. My hand pumps up and down as my eyelids flutter closed. My teeth are clenched around my cigarette, and my heels are dug into the floor—where, not so long ago, I made Desdemona kneel.

I will never rise up to your level, but maybe I can drag you down to mine. So yes, love. I’ll corrupt you.