Chapter 2 The Agreement #3
His hands fell obediently to his sides, fingers curling into fists as he fought to maintain restraint. Satisfied, I leaned forward, taking him into my mouth with slow deliberation.
The taste of him was familiar. Salt and skin and the faint metallic tang that always reminded me of his sword harness.
I worked him deeply, taking his entire length until my nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base.
His breath stuttered above me, his discipline cracking further with each movement of my mouth.
Rain fell beyond our shelter in a steady rhythm that I matched with my movements.
Water dripped from the edges of the hedge, occasionally striking my shoulders or back—cold pinpricks that heightened every sensation.
In the distance, thunder rolled across the sky, muffling the sounds escaping Darius’s throat as I hollowed my cheeks around him.
I always felt powerful like this. Able to bring one of the strongest men in my kingdom undone with almost no effort. It was intoxicating, watching him tremble before me.
He grew closer to his release, the telltale tightening of his muscles, the urgency in his breathing unmistakable. Before he could finish, I pulled away, releasing him with a slow, deliberate motion that drew a sound of frustrated need from his lips.
I smiled and rose, my sodden skirts clinging to my legs.
Understanding darkened his eyes to the color of forest shadows.
Without a word, he grasped my waist and turned me to face the palace wall.
The stone was cool beneath my palms as I braced myself, anticipation coiling tight in my belly as he lifted my skirts from behind.
The rain had soaked through every layer of my clothing, leaving nothing dry, nothing sacred.
Darius’s hands were warm against the chill of my exposed skin as he positioned himself behind me.
I closed my eyes, focusing solely on sensations.
The sound of his panting breath. His fingers digging into my hips.
The blunt pressure of him seeking entrance.
I was not made for softness.
He entered me with a single powerful thrust that drove the air from my lungs in a gasp that was not quite a cry.
The familiar stretch and fullness anchored me to the present, driving away thoughts of the Butcher and Nocthar and all that awaited me beyond tonight.
Here, pinned between stone and flesh, I existed only as nerve endings and racing blood and building pleasure.
Darius set a relentless rhythm, each thrust driving me into the wall, the rough stone scraping my palms. I pushed back, demanding more—harder, faster. Demanding everything he could give me.
I knew I wouldn’t find my release this way. I rarely did from this act alone, but that wasn’t what I sought. What I wanted was to feel used and using in equal measure, to assert my ownership over my body one final time before it became a bargaining chip in a game of kingdoms.
What I wanted was for Darius to come undone, to know that, even as I was being traded away like property, I still held power over my own pleasure.
His movements grew more erratic, his breathing more ragged. I felt him swell within me, teetering on the edge of release. “Mireille,” he gasped, the word part plea, part worship.
I tightened around him deliberately, drawing a broken moan from his throat. “Finish,” I pleaded, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. “Inside me.”
He obeyed with a choked cry, hips jerking against mine as he spilled himself deep within me.
His forehead dropped to my shoulder, his breath hot against my rain-chilled skin as he shuddered through the aftermath.
For several heartbeats, we remained still, the only sounds our slowing breaths and the steady patter of rain.
Then I moved, breaking the connection. I smoothed my skirts down over my legs, unconcerned with the wetness between my thighs or the state of my appearance.
When I turned to face him, I offered him not a lover’s tender smile, but a practical one—the smile of a transaction completed to mutual satisfaction.
“Thank you,” I said simply, watching as he righted his clothing with hands that still trembled.
His eyes met mine, searching for something I couldn’t—wouldn’t—give him. “This all could have been prevented,” he said softly. “If you had said yes when I asked for your hand.”
I nearly scoffed. Darius loved to spin that fantasy, as though he had ever truly asked me to marry him. As though he’d gone to my father for permission.
Even if he had, it never would have been allowed. He was destined for a noble bride. And I, for some decrepit Earl, if not for this bartered arrangement with the Blood King.
“And now I’m promised to another,” I replied, irony curling my lips. “Perhaps it’s better this way. I never could have been what you needed, Darius.”
“You never gave yourself the chance to try,” he countered, reaching out to brush a strand of wet hair from my face. I allowed the touch, brief as it was. “We could have been happy.”
I stepped away. From his hand. From the dangerous territory of might-have-beens.
“I’m not built for happiness,” I told him, the closest thing to truth I could offer. “Only for survival.”
The rain had softened to a gentle mist, the storm moving eastward. Soon, the paths would reopen. Servants would venture out to assess the gardens. Our moment of privacy was ending, as all things must.
“I should return to my chambers,” I said, smoothing my hair as best I could. “There will be much to prepare before my betrothed arrives.”
Darius winced, then nodded. His captain’s mask settling back into place, though his eyes still held the heat of our encounter. “I’ll escort you.”
We emerged from the alcove into the open garden, the palace looming like a silent judge. Water dripped from leaves and petals, the gentle music at odds with the heaviness in my chest. Tomorrow would bring the Blood King, and with him, the end of all I had known.
But tonight was mine. One final assertion of will before duty consumed what remained of my freedom. As we walked silently toward the palace doors, rainwater squelching in my slippers, I carried that small victory close to my heart like a hidden blade.
The last weapon of a condemned woman.