Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tuscany
Removing my veil since we are in the private corridor, I stride with my chin high toward the secret door to my suite.
Ana's pretty white dress would be revealing were I not smaller than her, luckily it’s loose and modest.
I swallow a lump of nerves.
Usually, the connection between Kong and me serves as the dependable anchor in my life. The gravity and foundation. It is me who typically feels vulnerable in every circumstance. However, at this moment, it's our relationship that appears fragile for a change. I despise it.
I stop at the door, my back to him, my heart racing, a whirlwind of emotions crashing inside me.
“You’re angry with me,” I say, a quiver living in my tone. It was a statement, and he knows it. Or perhaps he isn’t ready to speak, too enraged by my deceit, by what I did. Did I force him to do that to me?
Ugh.
I knock on the secret door and lower my arms to my sides as my ladies open it. Their expressions morph from excitement to gawking horror when they see the massive Xin De man behind me.
"Oh, shit," Brook lets slip.
Ana blinks at me, and Essen locks her jaw. "My queen. Are you okay?" she asks.
“Retire to your rooms, ladies,” Kong orders, striding past me, occupying the suite with more than his physical form. With a crowding presence.
I nod as they eye me for further action and assertion. "Do as he says. Go rest."
They exit quickly, casting wary glances back at us, and the door clicks shut, enclosing us in an almost suffocating silence.
He turns to face the front door and flattens his hand on it.
Even though I can’t see his expression, his shoulders bunch, and the stillness in his form is anything but peaceful.
“Two things,” he rasps to the door, darkness grabbing his tone.
“What were you doing in the banquet hall dressed like that?”
“I knew you were there. I wanted to see what these immodest events were all about. I am sick of secrets.”
He lets out a dismissive scoff. "Secrets?" He sighs; a sound filled with disapproval. "So, you weren't there to meet Lord Bled?"
“Bled? This again?”
His hand spans out on the wood, veins bulging beneath his skin, and somehow it looks threatening. “Prick,” he mutters, then turns to face me. “How did you discover the second exit? That wasn’t him hoping you’ll sneak away and meet him somewhere?”
“No. Well—”
“Well, what?”
“The dears hinted to the exit,” I admit gently. “I found it myself.”
“Prick,” he says again. “I’ll be here.” Leaning against the front doorframe, arms crossed, he is a wall I can’t seem to breach. He’s so hard and serious, a fortress of muscle, but if I fall asleep on this issue, if I let this go unspoken, I will shrivel. Shrink to little Tuscany and hide.
I can’t let this go undealt with. I was carved in silence, not the serene kind, but the paralyzing kind. The kind that puts weight on external peace at the expense of internal war.
I can’t be silent about this.
“I want you here.” With a quivering little finger, I point to my bed, desperation clawing at my throat. I feel exposed, but today, as Queen of The Cradle, I choose external chaos over internal distress.
“No.”
“Yes! We are going to talk about this.” I take a hesitant step closer, my heart pounding in my chest, a mix of hope and dread swirling inside me.
“We are going to lie down. Like we did last night, we are going to talk. I know you’re experienced and probably horrified that it was me, but that was my first orgasm. It was special and—"
“Horrified?” He frowns, his jaw muscles punching outward.
“Yes,” I reply, my voice trembling, a wave of vulnerability washing over me, but I keep forcing the conversation.
“Go to sleep.”
“No!”
“I am disappointed,” he corrects, his words like daggers, sharp and precise.
The strength of my resolve crumbles at my feet, and that is it. All I had.
A surge of rejection becomes me. “Leave!” I shout; pain wrapped in anger.
“No.” His voice is thick with menace. "Not this time, little queen."
“If I’m so disappointing, then leave!” I fire back, the ache in my chest mixing with a need to push him away before he can douse me in more rejection.
“I’m disappointed you put yourself in danger,” he growls. “Do you understand how important you are?”
“To The Trade—”
“To me!”
I gasp. The weight of his words fills the room, heavy and shocking. Has he ever raised his voice like that before?
He exhales roughly. “I’m disappointed that you didn’t confide in me,” he goes on, tone lower.
“That you don’t trust me. You are keeping things from me.
I can tell.” He presses his fist into his chest, eyes blazing with intensity.
“I am your Guardian.” He bashes his chest once.
“Dammit! I need to know where you are and what you wan—”
“I don’t need to—”
“I’m not finished!” he states. “Right now, what I’m truly disappointed in, is that the first time I taste you is on a fucking banquet table surrounded by other men!”
His words hit me like a bolt.
“You’re not disappointed it was me?” My realisation wavers, uncertainty scratching at my insides, and I can feel tears scorching the backs of my eyes.
He shakes his head, eyeing me, seemingly exasperated. “You think I’m disappointed it was you, little queen?” His tone shifts from angry to dark and alluring, and it pulls me in, even as I resist.
He steps closer. “As if I don’t dream every night of you dripping down my chin while I eat your pussy. As if I’m not haunted by the thought of you—so close yet so far."
Warmth floods my chest, fuelling a fierce longing, but it’s tangled with fear. With distrust. Suspicion. He... he wants me?
“You wanted that?” I question.
“You’re the only reason I stayed at the banquet.” He takes another step.
My breath catches. “You knew it was me…”
“The moment you walked in.” His presence seems to darken with a possessiveness that sends shivers down my spine and heat lower… much lower.
“How?” I press.
“Little queen." He closes the gap, creating a force between us that pulls and tugs and possesses my breath. "I know you. I know your walk. Your pace. Your nervous little hands. I would recognise a single strand of your hair on my shirt.”
I’m trying to believe him. Trying to let myself believe his words. “You enjoyed it? You want me?” I challenge again, needing more reassurance. More. More.
“I was already obsessed,” he warns, lifting his hand, thumbing the strap of my white gown. “Now I’m volatile.”
“Prove it. Do it again,” I demand, my voice trembling with a desire that has long threatened to consume me.
“Be very careful. This isn’t safe for you.” Staring through his dark lower lashes, he looms over me. He is so tall. So broad. So dangerous—rippling with formidable energy he restrains in skilful knots.
“Luckily,” I pant, too close to him. Too close to us. “I have you to protect me.”
“It’s me you’ll need protection from."
“I command it," I whisper.
“Do you feel strong or little?”
I nod. “Strong.”
“Say it again,” he purrs, his eyes narrowing on me, his resolve all but gone, as lost as I am. As willing to throw it all away—our loyalties, vows, safety…
“Say what?” I ask.
“Say, I command you to eat my pussy.”
I open my mouth, voice barely audible. “I command you to eat my pussy.”
A slow grin slides across his lips. “As you wish, little queen.”