Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
In one abrupt motion, the King ripped the Velcro at my throat.
My cape tore free and hit the floor. He yanked my lingerie dress up and over my head; the movement caught the crown pinned in my hair and tore it loose as he flung everything aside.
The little gold-and-crystal crown hit the floor hard and shattered.
I was left bare except for my lace panties and the toy dagger strapped to my thigh.
I didn’t give a fuck what he did to me.
I wasn’t afraid of him or his threats; I could escape him with my safe word or, worst case, with a practical move or two that I’d learned over the last year and a half.
But Sofia had planned this night for months. She’d visited The Black Ledger before and loved the place. I wouldn’t ruin this for her—or for Margaretta.
So I decided to make it easy. Make the King look good and just get through it.
This was my call, and I’d end it the second I decided otherwise.
I lifted my lashes and smiled up at him. “Your wish is my command, my liege,” I said, loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear.
He chuckled, pleased, throwing his robe to the side.
My gaze slid to Sofia. She answered with a sex-drunk smile, cheeks flushed, eyes glossy.
At least she was having fun.
The blonde knight unlocked Sofia’s cuffs. She sat up, rubbing her wrists, still breathing hard. At the King’s gesture, the knight pulled her forward onto her knees and kissed her, as if he adored her. A theatrical reward.
The King nodded his approval.
The dark-haired knight eased me back onto the table, then moved in front of me and lifted my feet up.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
Goddammit. I wasn’t some virginal nun. Why did this rattle me? Why did my pulse jump so fast?
Next, he picked up one of Sofia’s hands and placed it on the other side of my hips. Sofia’s face hovered between my thighs.
He hooked his fingers into my panties and pulled them free from beneath my hips, sliding the fabric up to my knees before drawing it down my calves and off my feet, then tossing them aside. He spread my knees wide and gave my pussy a couple of soft pats, as if to say stay put.
At the same time, the blonde knight lifted Sofia’s hips and set her knees on either side of my shoulders.
Her pussy was red, swollen, and slick with her own juices. The jeweled butt plug glinted between her cheeks.
Not a position I’d ever imagined myself in tonight.
But there was no running away. No backing out. I’d embarrass Sofia, and she’d gone out on a limb to get the owner to let me join tonight.
Just breathe, I told myself, inhaling deeply.
I let my mind drift—sun-warmed blanket, ocean waves rolling in and out, fingers tracing circles in the sand. This was the place I went when things were too much. I’d gotten good at it since leaving home so many years ago.
The blonde knight pressed a hand onto Sofia’s lower back, forcing her closer.
Her pussy met my mouth.
A heartbeat later, her tongue slid over my clit.
Fuck. Being on display like this really wasn’t my thing.
And yet—better Sofia’s cunt on my tongue than pleasing Sir Dick-a-Lot.
Ruining this for her wasn’t an option, which meant it was time to put on a show. I did it every damn day, and tonight was no different.
I rolled my hips into the contact as moans spilled out of me.
My fingers clamped around Sofia’s cheeks, spreading her open not just for me but for the crowd.
I angled my face so they could easily watch my tongue work her pussy, licking and sucking with deliberate showmanship.
Locking eyes with men and women alike in the audience, each one got a private performance as I drove my tongue in and out of her.
I arched my back, made my thighs tremble, and panted on cue, selling the edge I wasn’t actually on. Then I pretended to come with a high-pitched whine, my hips bucking, a cry tearing out of me as if my body had finally snapped.
Filthy praise rained down with the applause.
But all that ran through my head was how easy it was to fool men.
Most of them had no fucking idea what a real orgasm looked like.
Suddenly I felt a prickle.
Not the kind that came from being watched by a room full of people hungry for a show. This was different; the intensity was focused and singular. The kind of attention that narrowed until it pressed right into me.
Someone who knew me.
Someone’s attention was so fixed, it crossed whatever thin line separated bodies from instinct. The sixth sense I’d always had—the one that flared every time something was about to happen that would alter the course of my life—lit up all at once.
Every molecule in my body went on alert.
I scanned the terraces.
And there he was.
Tall, massive, dressed in a tailored black suit that fit with precision, he occupied a shadowed alcove one level up, arms crossed, back against the wall as if nothing in the room concerned him—except me. His expression was just a hard scowl, eyes locked onto mine.
Recognition hit me fast. He was the man from the church.
Few men were built that way. Fewer still carried that kind of controlled violence, the kind you never mistook for bravado.
Why was he here?
Why was he back after nearly being caught at Our Lady of Lourdes? And why was he standing there judging me—really judging me, as if he wanted to tear the place apart?
Wait. No.
He didn’t get to do that.
An attacker in a church, with God-knew-what intentions, had no right to stand there judging me—judging me as if I were the sinner.
Fuck him.
Instead of fear, something wicked curled low in my gut. Defiance. A dangerous, reckless urge to provoke.
So I doubled down.
I reached for the King and guided his hands to Sofia’s hips, then shifted on the table, angling my body and leaning back farther until my head tipped off the edge the way Sofia’s had earlier.
My eyes were drawn to the shadowed alcove again, meeting his furious gaze.
Then I smiled.
A promise and a challenge wrapped into one.
I cocked a brow and refused to look away; the words screaming in my head: You don’t own me. You don’t get to judge me.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move.
Then he pushed off the wall.
His posture snapped upright, hands curling into fists at his sides. His nostrils flared. Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto fractured, and those eyes of the unholy turned murderous, setting my blood on fire with equal parts fear and hunger.
And with terrifying certainty, I understood that the course of my life had just changed.