Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Emilie
“That was awful. Could that have gone any worse?” I asked, pacing in front of the massive window in Ladon’s bedroom.
I ran my hands down my face before reaching behind my head and pulling my hair back into a bun.
My skin crawled with the lack of control I felt, and I needed to get the hair off my neck.
“Adrien didn’t take it that badly,” Ladon said, kicking off his shoes and flopping down on the couch in front of the fireplace.
“He just sat there like I’d told him… I don’t know… like I’d told him I was disowning the family. You don’t know him like I do. Trust me, he was in shock. Maybe denial too.”
My brother always spoke his mind. The fact that he’d been stunned into silence was alarming. If he took the news this poorly, how would my parents react?
I inched closer to the bar cart in the corner of Ladon’s room and traced a finger over the top of each bottle. One caught my eye—a tall blue one with elaborate white lines swirling around the base. I picked it up and twisted the top.
Ladon’s voice rumbled in warning. “That’s strong.”
“And?” I asked. I could hear the petulance in my tone, but I didn’t care. I needed something to numb this feeling.
“Am I going to be carrying you to your bedroom?”
I shrugged my shoulders and tossed the lid aside.
“Emilie,” he cautioned. “You don’t want to do that.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Technically, I could. I am king for now. My castle, my rules, princess.” From the corner of my eye, I saw his smirk. He knew I loathed the idea of being obedient to him or anyone else.
But something else bothered me even more. Princess. That cursed nickname he’d given me months ago that had turned into something endearing. But it wasn’t a proper title. It never had been. I was supposed to be a queen next to Cyrus, and now I was nothing.
I frowned and busied myself, looking for a glass to pour the alcohol into.
“What’s wrong?”
I bit my cheek and ignored him, hoping he would drop it.
I should’ve known better.
His hand brushed the small of my back, and I let out a heavy sigh. “You’re right.”
Ladon cocked his head to the side, his silver eyes watching me carefully.
“I’m completely powerless. You could command me to do anything, and I would have to obey. Because I’m not a princess and I’m not a queen-to-be. I’m nothing.”
Ladon shook his head. Slowly, he lowered to the ground, kneeling in front of me. He took my hands in his and let his head fall back, looking up at me through his dark lashes—a sight that took my breath away.
“What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
He gently twisted my wrist and pressed his lips against my pulse, against the white scars that marked my skin. His eyelids fluttered closed, and somewhere in my belly, a pool of warmth and aching desire formed.
He hummed, and the vibration almost brought me to my knees with him. “You might not be royalty, Emilie, but you are my deity. You’re the only thing I believe in.”
The pale moonlight kissed his sharp cheekbones and twinkled in his eyes. I pulled my hand free and ran my fingers through his soft hair, pushing it back so I could see his face properly. He was so strikingly handsome—godlike, even. He leaned into my touch, eyes never straying from me.
Reaching for the liquor again, I drank straight from the bottle. Ladon watched with unwavering interest. It was strong but invigorating. It tasted like lightning and ice—the kind that was so cold, it led to frostbite in seconds.
He took the bottle from my hand and raised it to his lips. Those lips caressed the bottle in a way that made me jealous. Made me want to rip the glass away and replace the space with my mouth. My tongue.
Did he know how difficult he made it to stick to my boundaries? When I told him we couldn’t be intimate until Cyrus was well again, I hadn’t realized how badly I would miss his touch. I thought since I’d been deprived of it for my whole life, it couldn’t be that bad.
But it was. Every day that passed made it harder to resist him. I longed for him. To be close to him. To give him every piece of me.
Maybe it was my attraction to him. Or maybe it was because Ladon was the cure for my dark thoughts. He was like a drug to dull the ache in my chest. No one understood the ever-present grief and heartache like he did.
I grabbed the bottle and took another long drink, shivering as the liquid burned down my throat and into my chest.
“Emilie…” he said, still watching me with reverence.
Rising to his feet, he tried to take the bottle, but I clutched it to my chest. Then I took another sip. I wasn’t a drinker, and it probably wouldn’t take long to dull my senses and inhibitions.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Shrugging, I walked past him, taking another sip as I went. I let the burn simmer before I responded, “Maybe I don’t want to make good decisions tonight. Maybe I want to be carefree.”
I placed the bottle on the end table next to his plush couch. Before I could doubt myself, I grabbed the hem of my sweater and pulled it over my head, revealing a thin satin sleeveless top underneath. My skin was flushed already, but I picked the bottle back up and drank once more.
“Are you going to stand there and watch or are you going to join me?” I asked, settling onto the couch and leaning against the armrest.
Ladon hesitated, and I tried not to take it personally. It was my own fault for telling him one thing but leading him in another direction with my actions.
“Ladon,” I said when he didn’t move.
He cleared his throat and took a step toward me. “I’m coming.”
The liquor emboldened me. “Not yet.”
Ladon paused, and his lips curved into a playful smirk. He came around the couch and took a seat next to me, pulling my feet into his lap. “Give that to me,” he said, reaching for the bottle.
I handed it over and watched him take another drink. It wasn’t lost on me that he chose to set the bottle down on the table at the other end, rather than giving it back to me. Probably for the best since I was feeling the effects already.
I sighed and sank into the plush cushions while he massaged my feet. If I weren’t so stressed and aroused, I might’ve fallen asleep. Instead, I squeezed my legs together as I imagined his hands working on other parts of my body.
Ladon, however, looked calm and relaxed. Unburdened. So different from how I was used to seeing him.
“Tell me something honest,” I said.
“You first.”
“That’s not how this works.”
He grinned and continued to squeeze and rub my muscles in all the right places.
“Fine,” I said. “I miss your touch.”
“I’m touching you now,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“Not how I want you to.”
He stopped moving, and I watched his throat move as he swallowed. Then he slowly turned to look at me. “Honestly, princess, I’m not strong enough to tell you no.”
A tingling sensation ran through my body, and I sat up, shifting until I was straddling him with my hands locked behind his neck and my core pressed against his groin.
He was patient, frustratingly so. I was used to Ladon being in charge and making all the moves. But he was doing his damnedest to respect my wishes when all I wanted was for him to rip my clothes off and cover me with his body.
His hands slid up my thighs and found a resting place on my hips, which he squeezed gently. I leaned closer until our foreheads touched and my breasts pushed against his chest. I was close enough that I could practically taste the icy liquor on his breath. It was tantalizing—delicious torture.
Wrapping one arm around my lower back, he used the other to cradle my head, bringing his lips to mine.
I kissed him, forever crazed by the way our tongues collided and the way he moaned when he bit his lower lip.
The sound of my own whimper caught me off guard, and I rolled my hips, aching to feel his hardening cock.
I tasted the liquor on his tongue, but it was nothing compared to him. Ladon was by far the most intoxicating thing I’d ever consumed. It had only been a couple weeks, but the withdrawal was unbearable.
I felt his hand slide down my back and grip my ass. The fabric of my pants was frustratingly thick—I would’ve preferred no barrier at all. He let out an exasperated sigh, and I knew he felt the same.
His lips traveled from my mouth to my neck, and my stomach tightened as he sucked and scraped his teeth over my skin.
“Emilie,” he groaned, nipping at my earlobe and ripping a frantic moan from my throat.
I pulled back long enough to remove my satin undershirt, leaving behind a pink lace bralette. The fabric was so sheer, bits of flesh showed through the ornate thread work, and I watched as Ladon’s eyes lit up. I cradled his head while he licked his way from my chest to my throat.
“Oh, gods,” I breathed.
Wrapping his arms around my thighs, he stood and lifted me, carrying me to the bed. He gently laid me down, but I didn’t allow him to pull away. I kept my arms and legs locked around him, keeping him tightly pressed against my body.
He felt so fucking amazing—his powerful muscles, his broad shoulders, his hard cock pressing against the seam of his pants. The only reason I released him was so that he could remove his clothes. I wanted to feel the warmth and softness of his skin, too.
Ladon took his time undoing his belt. He licked his lips and asked, “Are you sure about this? You’re not going to regret it?”
I shook my head. “No, I want this. I promise.”
“You haven’t had too much to drink?”
“I wanted this before I took the first sip.”
That confession brought out a soft smile, which he quickly masked. “Okay.” Then, in a deeper, more sultry tone, he said, “Take off your clothes.”
His command stole my breath, but I sprang into action, unfastening my pants and shoving them down my legs. Then I pulled my bra over my head. Before I could hook my fingers into my underwear, Ladon grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me to the end of the bed.