Chapter 45
Lincoln
Imogen is lying on her side, drinking me in when I wake up, her green eyes sparkling and a pink flush rosy on her cheeks.
“Good morning.”
“Morning, sir,” she purrs seductively.
I roll on top of her, pinning her flat to the mattress. “Why are you blushing, angel?”
She wrinkles her nose and looks even more adorable doing so. “I was watching you sleep, and I thought . . .”
“Thought what?”
“You’ve been hard since I woke up and I thought about how good it would be to take you into my mouth, or to slide myself onto
you while you were still sleeping.” Her blush spreads to her ears and nose.
“That would have been the best way to wake up ever, angel. It’s nothing to feel embarrassed about.”
She gives a single shake of her head. “No, I mean like I thought about how it would be to have you finish inside me, while
you were still sleeping. Is that messed up?”
“No.” I dust my lips over hers. “It’s called somnophilia. Wanting to fuck someone while they’re sleeping. And still, it’s
nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I didn’t realize it had a name. So, do you think about that too, sir?”
I shake my head. “Not exactly that, but I would like to wake you up by sinking my cock into you, or burying my face between
your thighs. I would very much like you to be awake when you come though, angel. But you have my consent to suck my cock,
or sink your hot pussy onto me while I’m sleeping anytime you please. I can’t promise I’ll stay asleep once you do though.”
That adorable, sexy flush races down her neck. She makes embarrassment look so hot. “Thank you, sir.”
“And as we’re discussing consent, do I have yours? Can I wake you up in the middle of the night by sinking my cock into you?”
She blinks, confused. “My consent?”
“Yes. Your permission to do that, Imogen.”
“But, sir . . .” Her face is etched with confusion. “You own me.”
Her words are the equivalent of being doused with a bucket of ice water, or a kick to the balls. Either of those options would
be more appealing right now than facing down the truth of her words. And I know she hasn’t said them out of spite or malice.
There was no intention to hurt, just the mere stating of a fact. Her truth. Her life. And as much as I can tell myself that
she wants this, what other fucking choice have I given her? The princess locked away in this tower with only a monster and
a butler for company.
I rest my lips against her forehead, drinking in her scent for the final time. This is wrong, no matter how right it feels.
I have taken away her free will and the power imbalance between us will always be there. No matter how confident or assertive
she becomes, to her, I will always be the man who holds her life in his hands.
And that’s why this has to stop. I’m no better than the men who sold her, or her grandfather who willingly handed her over
to those sick fucks. She deserves better.
Reluctantly, I push myself off and climb out of bed.
“Lincoln, is everything okay?” I can hear the pain in her voice and that only makes this harder.
I nod, avoiding her gaze while I pull a pair of sweatpants from the dresser drawer and yank them on. “You’ll stay in your
own room from now on, Imogen.”
“What? But why? You just said—”
“I know what I said, but trust me. This is for the best. I’ll leave you to get dressed.”
“Sir?” She calls after me, but I’ve already left. Already headed down the stairs and away from the temptation of her lying
naked in my bed.
I’m a sick piece of shit. Telling myself that I brought her here for her protection when I’m taking horrible advantage of
her naive nature. Jesus Christ, I robbed her of her fucking innocence. I picture her blood rubbing down my palm that night
in my office. That should have been enough to shock me into stopping, but no, then I took her virginity too. My own fucking . . .
“Would you like some breakfast, sir?” Pierre’s voice interrupts my self-flagellation . . . for now, at least.
“Why do you insist on calling me sir?” It comes out in a snarl.
He falls into step beside me and we make our way to the kitchen. “Because I know it pisses you off.”
At least he’s honest.
“Anyway, which name would I use?” His voice has dropped to a whisper. “Sir is easier. Less likely to get any of us killed.”
He offers me a wry smile and I can’t deny the truth of that. Unfortunately.
We step into the kitchen and I take a seat at the table while he makes a start on breakfast. Inevitably my thoughts drift
to Imogen making her way back to her room naked. Or maybe she’ll have taken one of my shirts, and maybe it will smell of her
scent and therefore I’ll never wash it again.
Recalling the pain and confusion in her voice when I walked out of the room has guilt burning in my chest. She did nothing wrong and I should assure her of that fact, but it’s more important for my sanity and her well-being that I just stay the hell away from her.
With that goal in mind, I ask Pierre to serve me my breakfast in my study. Making a start on the research for my next trip
will be the perfect distraction. Perhaps one day I’ll redeem myself enough to give Imogen the truth about our pasts. But until
then, she’s much better off without me.