40. Liath
LIATH
He’d caught me before. He read people too easily. He read me too easily. If he noticed what I was doing, I lost everything.
I had to go slow.
I lifted my head, moving like I was still foggy from sedation, like I wasn’t thinking straight.
“Do I?” I whispered, letting my voice wobble, “do I have you?”
My fingers tightened on the fabric of his shirt and I moved my lips closer to his.
Deargán stiffened, his gaze searching mine like he was trying to work out what piece of me had shifted.
“Careful, Rua.”
A warning not to go any further.
But I caught the way his irises dilated, his brown eyes turning to thin rings. I saw the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard when his gaze dropped to my mouth.
He wanted it. Wanted me. Even though he was resisting.
“I just,” I breathed, and let the words come out like a confession, like surrender, “I just want to be safe. To be looked after. By you… Bron.”
His name was heavy and hot on my tongue.
His eyes widened, just for a beat. Then he leaned in, just a little, like he didn’t know he was doing it.
I kissed him softly, hesitant at first, the way Rua would.
He didn’t kiss me back, but he didn’t pull away.
So I kissed deeper. I traced the seam of his lips with my tongue, tentatively, as if pleading to be let in.
His restraint broke with a rough sound, his hands pulling me into his lap, his mouth taking over, hard and hungry, like he was angry at himself for wanting this and taking it anyway.
I hated that heat shot through me, sharp and immediate, my stomach tightening, my breath catching against his lips.
I hated that my fingers curled into his shirt before I could stop them, my body pressing into him, grinding against his thickening cock, like it had been starved for this exact pressure, this exact heat.
He groaned against my mouth and his hands slid up my thighs and under my skirt, grabbing my ass, kneading my flesh and tugging me even harder against him.
I gasped, need coiling inside me, threatening to undo my plan.
He caught the zipper of my dress and tugged it down, the fabric slipping from my shoulders, exposing my breasts.
He tore his mouth off me and for a moment he just stared, my nipples hardening against the cool air and under his hot gaze.
“You little siren,” he murmured. “Trying to sing me onto the rocks.”
For a moment I froze. Did he realize I was playing him?
He dove for my breast, his lips latching around a nipple and sucking, his tongue lashing the sensitive tip.
Pleasure shot through me and I arched back, mouth opening on a moan as my head fell back.
I hated that some reckless part of me just wanted to push as far as I could go. To say “fuck it” and just let the pure animalistic part of me take over. To let him fuck me into oblivion.
God, it would be so easy.
I curled my fist in his shirt, my mind flashing to the scar on my palm.
“No.” I pushed his mouth off me.
Instantly, he stopped.
I couldn’t let him dominate me. I couldn’t let him give me too much pleasure, not when my purpose was a thin strip of metal in his pocket.
I’d forget. I’d soften. And I’d lose.
“Let me,” I said.
I slid down between his legs and onto my knees in front of him, letting my hands travel over his thighs, slow and reverent, like I was asking permission with my palms.
My fingers brushed across his pocket. The shape of the key teased my palm through the fabric.
It was there. So close I could almost feel the cold metal through the cloth.
As I undid his belt and his zipper, I didn’t have to fake the nerves because my hands were already trembling.
Oh God, was I really doing this? Was I submitting to the monster who had locked me away, debasing myself on my knees?
But Dervla’s screams still echoed in my ears. I would swallow my pride, my fear, and him, if it meant getting that key.
I looked up at him as I gripped his hem and began to drag his pants down.
For one terrible second, I was sure he’d stop me.
He didn’t. He stood to let the pants slide off his hips and down his muscular thighs, the fabric pooling at his ankles.
His cock sprang free, thick and heavy with arousal, and long enough that it would hurt so good.
My pussy tightened and ached in a way that was half hatred and half selfish need, a need that made me feel like a traitor.
I leaned in and took his cock in my hand. I made my face soft. Rua-soft. And I looked up at him through my lashes.
“I-I don’t know how to,” I whispered.
“Look at me.” Deargán brushed my hair back, his voice gone rough. “Good. Keep your lips soft, like that.” His thumb traced over my bottom lip before he brought the head of his cock to my mouth, letting it rest there. “Open up. Enough to let me slide in. That’s it.”
I let my jaw relax, tongue touching the tip, and tasted salt and skin.
“Don’t use your teeth,” he breathed. “Just lips. And your tongue, underneath.”
“Like this?” I asked, all shy, before I slowly eased my mouth down over him.
He shuddered violently, like his body had been hit by a live current. His fingers gripped the back of my head, not hard but tight, like he was trying to keep himself from shaking apart.
The sound he made was guttural, something between a gasp and a growl, and his thighs flexed under my hands. He twitched against my tongue and the shudder ran all the way up his spine, visible in the trembling of his arms.
He cursed, low and vicious, the word hissing out of him like steam. “Fuck. God, that’s perfect.”
He tasted of salt and musk, the pulse of him throbbing thick and urgent on my tongue. I moved slowly at first, letting my lips drag and my mouth hollow out as I pulled back.
Each time he hit the back of my throat I tasted my own shame, slick with spit and bitter with wanting.
I hated him, but here I was, wet, pussy tensing around emptiness, clit aching for friction, my whole body a fevered contradiction.
I lost myself for a second, maybe two, before I remembered the reason I kneeled here. The reason I let him fuck my mouth. The reason I played soft and innocent.
The key.
My free hand slid down between my legs as if I was touching myself.
Instead, my fingertips brushed the fabric of his trousers, searching for the seam of his pocket, even as I moved my mouth up and down his length.
There it was. My fingers found the seam and I slipped them inside. My fingertips brushed metal with every bob.
Yes. So close.
I sucked hard, pulling my lips back to the tip of his dick and lashed my tongue along the underside of his head.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he grated out. “You—fuck. You have no idea.”
Or maybe I did.
Underneath my ache, my anger, my hatred, was the dangerous thrill of controlling his attention, of controlling him.
I swirled my head and my tongue, working the end of his cock.
He let out a curse, his thighs trembling as his head fell back.
It was the moment I needed.
I pinched the key in my fingers and pulled it out as I took him deep into my mouth, a soft gag leaving me, spit dribbling from the sides of my lips.
I tucked the key into my palm, the cold metal weight feeling like victory.
His hand tightened in my hair and he froze.
My breath stopped.
Shite. He’d caught me.
For half a second I thought he’d wrench me up by the roots and rip the key from my hand.
He tilted my head back so I was looking right up at him, my cheeks hollow and my eyes wet.
He held me there, just like that, as his hips bucked forward, violent, almost punishing.
His face twisted, every sharp edge of him fighting itself, and the sound he made was a fractured gasp, half growl, half plea.
I kept the act in place, even as my heart hammered like it was trying to crack my ribs.
Salty cum sprayed the back of my throat as he shuddered and cursed up to the ceiling.
I smiled around his cock as I gripped the key in my hand.
For the first time since I’d woken up in this place, hope turned sharp and bright inside me that I might actually win.
The corridor felt brighter than usual as Deargán walked me back to the main part of the ward. The key, tucked into my bra, felt like it was burning against my skin.
I kept my pace steady and my expression soft, even as my mind raced. I needed to get away from him without making it obvious that anything had changed. If I moved too quickly or created distance too soon, he would notice.
If he noticed, he would check his pockets, and if he checked, this was over.
I stayed at his side even as every instinct in me screamed to put space between us.
A prickle crept over the back of my neck.
A cluster of girls stood farther down the hall, their voices dropping off mid-conversation as we got closer. One of them nudged another, subtle but deliberate, and their gazes slid over me in a way that made heat spread across the front of my chest.
They were looking at me. Judging me.
My hands lifted to my mouth. My lips still felt too sensitive, too swollen, and the awareness of it burned hotter under their gaze.
Shit. My hair was probably a mess, too.
I brushed my palms over my hair, trying to smooth it down, but the strands slipped through my hands in disarray. The more I tried to fix it, the worse it seemed to feel.
Could they see what I had just done? Could they see the blow job written all over my face?
Heat crawled up my neck, sharp and suffocating, and I dropped my hands, forcing myself to lift my chin even as the shame settled heavy in my chest.
As discreetly as I could, I shifted so I was walking half a step farther from Deargán’s side.
His hand settled at the back of my neck, his fingers curving just beneath my hairline in a hold that was far too deliberate to be mistaken for anything other than possession. He drew me closer to his side, as if I belonged to him.
My breath caught. Heat flared under my skin, my body betraying me again by responding to his touch. My nipples tightened and wetness leaked out into my panties.
It didn’t matter what I thought or knew, my body was on Team Deargán. All it wanted was to be under his control, to let him use me however he saw fit.
All it wanted was to be his.
The girls noticed. Of course they did. Their attention sharpened, their gazes clinging to that single point of contact as we passed them.
Shame warred with the stupid smugness of being publicly claimed by him.
I overrode my stupid body and I tried to step out of his hold.
His grip tightened. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep me right by his side. Enough to make it clear that I was not the one deciding the distance between us.
“Doctor,” I hissed under my breath. “Everyone is staring.”
“Let them,” he said easily.
The space around me felt different now.
I felt marked.
We reached the end of the corridor near the common room doors, a natural place to part, and my shoulders stiffened in anticipation of goodbye.
Down the hall, the girls were still watching, their stares turned to disapproving glares, their arms crossed over their chests.
Deargán did not even glance at them. His gaze remained fixed on me. As if I was the only thing in the corridor worth his attention. He pulled me even closer by the hand still around the back of my neck and leaned down.
“You don’t need them,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. “You only need me.”
Something in my chest recoiled hard enough to hurt. Even as a small, traitorous part of me wanted to believe him. Wanted only to need him.
He watched me for a moment, something unreadable settling behind his eyes, and then he straightened, his hand finally falling away from my neck, as if nothing had passed between us at all.
I repressed a small sigh of relief.
“I’m moving you out of the general rotation,” he said. “You are responding… better than expected.”
I went still. “What does that mean?”
“You’ll work directly with me from now on.” The words landed slowly, heavily. “Exclusively.”
His hold around me tightened like a noose, making it hard to breathe.
“Oh.” My breath came out all in a rush as I struggled to hold on to my Rua-mask. “I’m honored, but that’s not necessary. I don’t need special treatment.”
His gaze sharpened. “It is not a question of necessity. It is a question of progress.”
My pulse started to climb again, my mind scrambling for a way out of this.
“You will be moved to a more controlled section of the ward,” he continued. “Fewer distractions. More focused care.”
Isolation.
The word echoed through my head, loud enough to drown everything else out.
He tilted his head slightly, studying my reaction. “It is a privilege. Very few patients are deemed suitable.”
I forced my face into a placid Rue-like smile, even as everything in me reeled. “Thank you. I’m truly… grateful.”
His gaze held mine for a moment longer, as if he could see straight through my lie.
“I’ll start the paperwork now,” he said. “We’ll move you first thing tomorrow.”
He paused just long enough to reach up and brush a loose strand of hair back from my face, his fingers grazing my cheek in a gesture that felt far too intimate for the open corridor.
“Until tomorrow, little doll,” he whispered, his voice a dropping to a low rumble. Then he turned and walked away without looking back.
I stood there frozen to the spot.
Down the hall, the girls’ hushed observation broke out into excited whispers. But I did not hear them over my heartbeat thudding like a warning drum in my ears.
His kidnapping me. His locking me up here. His gaslighting. And now his special treatment plan.
I didn’t know why he was doing all of this.
I didn’t know what he wanted from me.
But I knew deep in my bones, that what he was offering was not a way out.
He was trapping me further.
And whatever his twisted plans were for me, it was escalating.
I would not stay long enough to find out.
In my bedroom, I used my teeth to tear the stitching out of the left breast of my dress, a thrill going through me as RUA disappeared.
I had the key. I would break into the Special Ward.
I would get Dervla.
I would get Maeve.
Nuala told me about the section of the outer wall choked with ivy, thick enough to climb.
That was how the Ravenwood students broke in.
That was how we would break out.
Tonight.