Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
OLIVER
I’m counting down the hours until nightfall.
Until she comes for me.
My stomach has been in knots since Corvask escorted me back to my quarters hours ago. I've paced the room so many times I've probably worn a groove in the floor. Tried to sleep and failed. Tried to think of anything other than what's coming and failed at that too.
When I finally wrap my hand around you and milk you for the first time, you're going to come so hard you'll forget your own name.
Fuck. My cock stirs just remembering her words again. This is what I've been dealing with all day. Constant, aching arousal that won't go away no matter how much I try to ignore it.
I should be planning my escape. Studying the window locks, the door mechanism, mapping out the guard rotations I've observed from my vantage point. Instead, I'm standing here touching myself and thinking about her hands on me.
Coward.
I throw my own word back at myself. I shouldn't have said that. Pushed too hard, too fast. I saw the fury in her eyes, the way her control snapped. She holds my life in her hands. I need to remember that.
A servant brought food an hour ago, but I haven't touched it. I can't eat, can't settle, can't do anything but wait.
The light outside shifts from gold to amber to deep orange. Sunset. My heart rate kicks up another notch.
She'll come soon.
I move to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass.
The door unlocks.
I spin around, my pulse hammering. But it's just another servant, a human this time, an older male. He sets down a pitcher of water and a clean towel, then leaves without a word.
Not her. Not yet.
I'm going insane. This waiting is worse than anything she could actually do. The anticipation crawls under my skin, making me want to claw out of my body.
I grab the pitcher and drink directly from it, water spilling down my chin. Anything to cool the heat building inside me. It doesn't help.
The sky outside darkens further. Purple bleeding into black. Stars begin to appear.
Night.
I hear footsteps in the corridor. Slow and measured. My entire body tenses.
The lock clicks.
The door opens.
And there she is.
Primsyn
He's standing by the window when I enter. The sight of him doesn’t fail to steal my breath.
Oliver has his shoulders squared, chin up, ready for battle. But I can see the tension in every line of his body. The rapid rise and fall of his chest.
He's afraid. And aroused. I can smell it on him—that intoxicating mix of fear and desire.
I've spent the entire day preparing for this moment. Bathing. Dressing. Trying to calm the nervous energy thrumming through my veins. I've fed from humans before, but never like this. Never directly from the source. Never with someone who makes me feel so much.
My other livestock are handled by servants. Clean. Impersonal. Safe.
This won't be any of those things.
"Mistress," he greets, the word stiff and formal. At least he's learning.
"Oliver." I close the door behind me, hearing the lock engage. We're alone now. Completely alone.
I've changed since this morning. Instead of my formal attire, I wear a simple robe of deep charcoal silk. Bare feet on cool stone. Hair loose around my shoulders. I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with clothing.
"Are you going to make this difficult?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
"Would it matter if I did?"
"No. But it would be easier for both of us if you cooperated."
"Easier for you, you mean."
I move closer slowly, watching his body coil tighter with each step I take. "I haven't fed in two days, Oliver. I need this."
Something flickers across his face. Concern? No, that can't be right. He hates me. I stop a few feet from him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
His jaw works. "And that makes this acceptable?"
"No. It makes it necessary." I hold his gaze. "I'm not asking you to understand. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm simply telling you the reality."
"This is fucked up," he mutters.
"Yes. It is. Now, do I need to have you tied down?"
He takes a shaky breath, his eyes dropping to my robe, then quickly away. "Are you just going to take what you want?"
"Like I said. I'd prefer your cooperation." I take the final step that brings us so close I can see the pulse hammering in his throat. "But yes, ultimately, I'll take what I need."
Oliver's hands unclench, then clench again. Fighting with himself. "And you're going to... what? Touch me? Use your hands?"
"Yes." My voice has gone lower, huskier. I can't help it. "I'm going to touch you, stroke you until you're hard and aching. Then I'm going to milk you until you come. I'm going to put my mouth on you and feed till you are dry."
His breath hitches. His pupils dilate. And his cock, gods, his cock is straining against those trousers, thick and heavy.
"You want this," I observe, fascinated by his body's betrayal. "Your body knows what it needs."
"My body is a traitor."
"No. Your body is honest." I reach out slowly, giving him time to pull away. He doesn't. My fingers brush his bare chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. "Your mind tells you to resist. But your body knows the truth."
"What truth?" The words come out rough, almost desperate.
"That submission can be sweet. That pleasure doesn't require freedom. That you can hate me and yet still crave my touch."
He closes his eyes, a shudder running through him. "I don't want to want this."
"I know." My hand glides down his chest, over the ridges of his abdomen, feeling him tremble under my touch. "But you do anyway."
"Fuck." The word is barely a whisper.
My fingers reach the waistband of his trousers. I pause there, feeling the heat of him, the way his stomach muscles jump under my touch.
My hand slides lower, cupping him over the fabric. He's hard as steel, thick and hot in my palm. A groan tears from his throat, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"That's it," I breathe. "Let yourself feel it."
"Primsyn..." My name on his lips, tortured and needy.
"Yes, Oliver." I stroke him slowly through the trousers, learning the shape of him, the way he responds to pressure. "I'm going to take care of you."
His head falls back, exposing the strong column of his throat. Every muscle in his body is taut with tension, with wanting, with the war raging inside him.
I've never wanted anyone like this. Never felt this pull, this need to see someone come undone. My late husband never inspired this in me. Never touched me, never looked at me with desire. I was decoration, nothing more.
But Oliver looks at me like I'm both his worst nightmare and his darkest fantasy. And, gods help me, I want to be both.
"Bed," I command softly. "Now."
For a moment, I think he'll refuse. His eyes flash with that familiar rebellion, that spark I'm beginning to crave. But then he moves, walking to the bed with stiff, jerky steps. He sits on the edge, looking up at me with a mix of anger and anticipation.
I follow, standing before him. My hands find the belt of my robe. I untie it and let it slip off my shoulders, pooling at my feet.
Oliver's eyes go wide, his breath catching. I'm bare beneath it. I've never been ashamed of my body, but standing before him now, I feel vulnerable in a way I haven't in years. Exposed.
"You're..." He trails off, seeming to forget how to speak.
"What?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Beautiful." The word seems torn from him against his will.
Heat floods through me, spreading from my chest to my core. No one has called me beautiful in... I can't remember how long.
I move closer, standing between his spread thighs. His gaze roams over me, hungry and helpless, tracking the curves of my body. When I reach for his trousers, he lifts his hips without being asked, letting me slide them down.
His cock springs free, thick and flushed and already leaking. My mouth waters at the sight. I've seen male anatomy before, of course, but never like this. Never someone I’ve wanted.
"Lie back," I tell him.
He does, stretching out on the bed, his body a study in tension and need. I climb onto the mattress and straddle his thighs, my hand reaching out, hovering over his shaft.
Finally…finally my hand wraps around him.
Oliver's entire body goes rigid. A strangled sound bursts from his mouth, raw and desperate.
"Breathe," I murmur, stroking him slowly from root to tip. His skin is hot, silky smooth over steel. "Just breathe and feel."
"I can't...this is..." He's panting now, his hips moving in small, aborted thrusts.
"Shh." My thumb drags over the head of his cock, collecting every drop, and I bring it to my tongue for a slow, exaggerated lick. He’s giving me exactly what I want. The texture, the heat, it's intoxicating.
I stroke him with long, firm pulls, watching his face contort with pleasure. He's fighting it. Fighting the need to surrender completely.
"Let go," I whisper. "Stop fighting and just let go."
"Can't...won't..." But even as he protests, his control is slipping. I can see it in the way his muscles bunch, the way his breathing goes ragged, the way his neck strains.
I lean down, my lips brushing his ear. My breasts press against his chest, and he shudders. "You're going to come for me, Oliver. You're going to spill yourself into my mouth, and I'm going to taste you."
A full-body shudder runs through him. "Oh fuck, oh fuck..."
"That's it. Give it to me."
My strokes quicken, my grip tightening just slightly. I can feel him getting close, his cock swelling in my hand, his balls drawing up tight. Pre-cum leaks steadily now, slicking my palm.
"Primsyn!" My name is a cry, broken and raw.
"Yes. Come for me. Now."
His back arches off the bed as he shatters. I lunge to suck his pulsing cock into my mouth. His whole body trembles with the force of it and his cock jerks in my grip. There’s so much cum that it leaks out onto my hands, coating my fingers.
And I watch every second, captivated by his surrender. By the way his face goes slack with pleasure, the way his throat works as he gasps for air.
When he finally stills, panting and spent, I lift my hands to my mouth. His eyes track the movement, going wide as I lick my fingers clean.
The taste of him is rich, complex, with an undertone of something I've never encountered before. Salt and musk and pure vitality. Power floods through me immediately, strength and energy surging in my veins like lightning.
A moan escapes me. "Gods, Oliver. You taste..."
"What?" he asks hoarsely, still trying to catch his breath.
"Incredible." I lick my fingers again, savoring every drop, not wanting to waste any of it. "I've never tasted anything like you."
He stares at me, his chest still heaving. "You got what you wanted."
The bitterness in his voice cuts through my satisfaction. He's pulling away already, retreating behind his walls. Building them back up brick by brick.
I should let him. Should take what I need and leave, maintaining the distance between us. That would be the smart thing. The safe thing.
Instead, I lie down beside him, my head on his chest, listening to his racing heart.
"What are you doing?" he asks, his body going rigid.
"Resting." I close my eyes, breathing in his scent. "Just for a moment."
"You should go."
"I will. Soon."
We lie in silence, his heart gradually slowing under my ear. Despite everything, this feels right. Being here with him. Skin to skin. Like two puzzle pieces that shouldn't fit but somehow do.
"Primsyn?"
"Mm?"
"I still hate you."
A smile curves my lips. "I know."
But his hand rests on my hip, holding me there. Not pushing me away. Just...holding me. And neither of us moves to break the contact.
We stay like that, tangled together, pretending this is only about feeding and nothing more.
Both of us know it's a lie.