Chapter 18 #2
Perfect. I peel away from them quickly, ducking through the crowd in search of a face I recognise. I huff to myself as I roam the crowd, sliding between shoulders. Being small is helpful in this situation.
My heart races.
Honey? Blood? What next? I am getting an entirely new perspective of males and The Cradle on this campaign. I knew men revelled in carnal acts, but it seems to be a more prevalent aspect of their existence than I imagined. Which means Kong…
It means he definitely engages with women. When? Between the hours of watching me and guarding Rome? Does he thrust into a woman, finish inside her, and then stalk my door, satisfied?
Bile rises in my throat, and jealousy claws at rational thought. Is that what he is here to do? Why he’s drinking liquor? To find a woman to release some pressure?
I glimpse black hair again, and rush after her. My distrust of Essen fuels me. Something feels off. It is not like her to defy a direct order.
What is she up to?
I have to find out why she defied my orders. What could be worth breaking her vows to me?
As I follow her, I catch glimpses of the gathering, an artist sketching portraits of people from a distance, and more beautiful faces than I can count.
None of these distractions can pull my focus away from Essen.
Suddenly, the crowd shifts, and just like that, Essen slips from view. Irritation bubbles in my chest as I spin around.
Looking.
Searching.
Unknowingly, I have wandered into a new section, filled with a mass of writhing figures and spinning dresses. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and push onward. I am not the broken queen tonight—she will not crumble.
I stride down a dimly lit hallway, the echo of chatter dissolving into the background until it is deathly quiet.
At the end, I spot a door ajar—the little me recoils into my spine. The adult version of me, one painted in gold and flowers, keeps searching.
Intrigue and pride ignite within me as I push it open, stepping into what appears to be a library, created with the same artistic vision as the rest of the Hall, greenery, glass—modern and organic.
In the air, I smell paper and herbs.
Towering bookshelves create grids throughout the room, making it impossible for my small five-foot-three body to see further than a few metres at a time. The silence only amplifies my racing pulse.
As I round a corner, I freeze.
In the distance, between stacks, I spot a familiar silhouette moving, then hear a moan and roughly muttered words.
I hide behind a bookcase. Inhaling a steady breath, I peer around to witness a man bend Essen over a reading desk… Oh, my. It’s Lord Bled— What?
One of his hands is playing between her thighs, lowering her knickers to her knees. He paws at her, growling something inaudible.
I blink. My lashes brush my gold mask, and I suddenly feel restricted, so I remove it. They have known each other since they were children. I’m… I’m speechless.
"Are you experiencing joy, little queen?"
Kong’s voice strokes my ear, but before I can gasp at his sudden closeness, he has his hand over my mouth, capturing the sound.
The mask slips from my hand. I rip free from his hold, and huff, glaring up at him.
Embarrassment veiled in anger, I whisper-shout, “How dare you follow me!”
He leans in, rightly wary of our precarious position as we watch the Warden of The Lower-tower take one of my Army girls over a table. “That is literally what you command me to do, little queen. Follow you.”
A slow smile slides across his lips that makes my insides flip around like silly acrobats.
"I wasn't...” I swallow, shame warming my cheeks. “I wasn’t watching them.”
“No?” He lifts a brow.
"I wasn't spying."
"You're intent on getting me executed by your brother, aren't you? Sneaking to bathe around strange men, meeting with Lord Bled in your suite without a chaperone, creeping here to watch him fuck Essen.”
"I was not—” I see how it looks to him. “This is all a coincidence.”
“You weren’t planning on meeting them here, then? That’s not what was discussed?”
Is that what he thinks? That I want to be intimate with Bled? A threesome with Essen? Anger stews inside me. “You’re drunk!”
He steps closer, and my anger stills, replaced by something else. “I’m not drunk.”
Then, what?
You’re different.
“You allowed him to touch your hand at the steps,” he adds. “Did you allow him to touch anything else?” His icy words, the way his voice deepened with accusation, twist inside me like yearning little fingers.
“How dare you,” I scold, my neck aching against the effort to hold his heated gaze when his chest is a sheer wall of muscles mere inches from my face.
“Watch the monsters for you? Every man is a monster, little queen,” he says darkly. “You shouldn’t be alone with one.”
I’m alone with you.
His broad shoulders fill out his dark leather armour. Heat emanates from him, and I can’t stifle the thought—it would feel so good to have that body pressed to mine.
My resolve becomes mangled.
His gaze dips, and I feel the stroke of it everywhere. "If Rome knew you were wearing this…” He thumbs the strap of my corset. Three—that’s three times he has touched me tonight. “And watching his closest friend fuck Essen over a table, he’d kill me."
I swallow.
He is so close—too close.
Three touches.
“I’m not watching,” I breathe.
Wetness builds between my legs as Essen’s moans match the arousal brimming inside me. So close to that erotic scene and so affected by Kong’s hot presence. “Would you like me to describe what I see?"
I gasp. “No!” I don’t appreciate his implication that I want to, to watch or know or understand that level of— “Yes.”
He licks his lips, then looks over my head at them, my body all too aware of that tongue now. "Bled has Essen bent over the table,” he whispers, tone low. “She is on her toes now as he thrust into her arse.” My mouth drops open. Oh, my.
A gushing mess, I watch his firm lips move as he describes the erotic moment.
“His mouth is on her shoulder, teeth pressing into skin. Marking her as his for the night.” His voice is so rough, it seems stronger between my legs than in my ears. “Her neck is covered in sweat. Her backside is red and flushed. Shall I go on?"
Oh. I press my thighs together. “Yes."
"Are you feeling—” Dark eyes drop to me. “Restless, little queen?"
"Yes... Please, keep going.”
“As you wish.” His jaw pulses just as his eyes lift to the hidden scene between the stacks. "His arm is circling her hip, hand dropping between her thighs. I can't see more, but I imagine his fingers are buried deep inside her wet, clenching pussy.”
Her arse and her pussy?
My head spins. “Do all men like this?"
He hums. "Mm."
"Do you?” I watch his throat roll, and his chest thicken against a heavy intake of air. “Answer me.” It is a plea rather than a command, a greedy, inappropriate plea.
Without lowering his head, his gaze slowly pans down to meet mine.
"Yes, little queen, I do.”
The way his tone strains as he answers me, the way his eyes drink me in instead of the salacious scene, causes my insides to clench.
I am so present.
So present with him, so in my own body, feeling my own skin and pulse as the sounds of carnal sex thicken the air.
Essen whimpers.
Bled grunts.
A moan falls absently from my mouth, my breathing fast, my entire body trembling.
“She’s about to come,” Kong says, eyes unwaveringly on me.
“How do you know?” I pant.
“Her breaths.”
I don’t hear a change in her, but then— Essen cries out, neither of us watching them.
Instead, we hold eye contact as if tearing away will cause physical pain.
Heat and desire coil around me, tightening and tightening, the sound of her release seeming to circle like a snare.
I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t think.
I want—need—pressure. The ache between my legs is unbearable, almost too much. The emptiness I’ve always felt finds company with the emptiness at my wet core.
It isn’t fair!
Then she stops.
And I exhale long and hard.
“I think I need to go back to my suite,” I whisper, feeling so much and not nearly enough as Lord Bled continues to enjoy Essen a few stacks ahead. “I’m…”
“Overwhelmed,” he finishes.
Overwhelmed.
Underwhelmed.
All-the-whelms.
“I will escort you back,” he says in a dutiful tone that severs the moment.
My heart drops.
No; I don’t want things to go back to the way they were yesterday, with him a sentinel at my spine, his words restrained and dutiful. Most of all, I don’t want him to find someone to relieve tension with. Not tonight. Not ever. “Where will you be?”
He lifts his hand to my lips, and I melt. “Outside your door.” Gliding his finger over my painted mouth, he smears the gold messily across my cheek. “Where I belong.”
That’s four touches.
How many before I burst?