Chapter 7
ISABELLE SAT IN AN intimate dining room, completely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food filling the small space.
There had been five courses, each one more luxurious than the last. Small plates of meat and cheese, a large roast, green salad, oysters, truffles, and vegetables slowly filled the table, until a final tray of macarons, chocolate biscuits, and candied fruit arrived.
She had eaten ravenously, fully aware that she had no idea how long she’d been asleep before Rul’s erotic wake up.
A glass of red wine sat untouched, calling her name, though she’d not been eager to dull her mind. Not in a place like this.
It was beautiful, of course, from the crystal goblets to the fine candelabras adorning the table, but she was still a prisoner.
One who was expected to let these demons use her at their whim, a thought which was not as unappealing as it should have been.
She was consciously aware of the knife in the pocket of her dress, having swiped it from the dining table while no one was looking.
No matter what her body craved, her mind resisted, wanted to fight back, wanted to go home.
A squeeze at her thigh jolted her to awareness, Bellinor’s firm hand gripping her tightly.
“Come here, my dear,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his lap, the pink macaron forgotten on her plate.
So much for the polite silence from dinner.
He pressed his face to her hair, breathing in deeply as Rul watched from across the table with a smirk. He was immaculately dressed now, dark pants and a delicate sage shirt matching the green of her own outfit.
Bellinor’s arms constrained her like a vice, one hand gripping her skirt and dragging it up her legs.
“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to escape his grasp, to no avail.
He slid his hand under her skirts, brushing along her inner thigh until he found her center, his fingers circling her clit languidly.
“Have you already forgotten? A plaything gives herself freely with no complaints. Yes?”
“Yes.”
She was tempted to reach for the knife, but she had plans for that later, instead tensing her muscles and trying to resist the sweet seduction of lust burning between her legs.
There was pressure at her ass, a hard cock that she felt compelled to grind against, though she refused to give him that satisfaction.
The sensation was exquisite, mixed with the fingers stimulating her clit, and she let out a small whimper.
“I love corrupting the moon mother’s sweet devotees,” he whispered, bringing her back to awareness in a surge of anger.
“I am not corrupted.”
Both men chuckled, the mannequin servants all noticeably absent.
“You’re in le Voile with me. You begged me to claim you. You were eager for it, enjoyed the way I finalized our bond.”
Irritation welled in her chest, heat flushing her cheeks with righteous fury.
“I didn’t understand what that meant,” Isabelle said, turning to look at his face. “You tricked me.”
His smile only enraged her further, the subtle rocking of his hips sending continued jolts of arousal through her.
“What’s done cannot be undone.”
“Not all enjoy the bonding as much as you,” Rul said with a lick of his lips, interrupting the heated exchange.
Isabelle glared at him, though a tremble of fear coursed through her.
The bath may have lulled her, but she needed to remember the danger she was in, the fact that this wasn’t a mere abduction.
These men were beasts in every sense of the word, Bellinor’s true form so monstrous that he could tear her apart in an instant.
Rul had locked her up and had his way with her.
It was only a matter of time before something worse happened, at least, if she didn’t step up and try to do something.
For now, she played along, rocking her hips into Bellinor’s touch, which earned her a delighted groan. He slid his fingers through her slit, wetting himself with her arousal before pressing two in and petting along her walls. She ground against his palm, the stimulation making her head spin.
“Should I let her come?” he asked, and Rul chuckled. “I can smell her blood pumping, hear her pulse quickening. Already so close to the edge.”
“I’d rather make her come on my cock again.”
Bellinor tsked, tapping at her sensitive spot from the inside, squeezing it between his palm and fingers.
“Something that you will still be paying for, naughty boy.”
Rul’s forked tongue flicked over his lips as Bellinor kept a steady pace, gripping her around the middle when the pleasure was too much and she tried to squirm away.
Goddess, his fingers weren’t enough. She wanted him to bend her over the table and take her right there while Rul watched.
There was something seriously wrong with her, the way her mind was reeling more than it ever had before, the dark and improper thoughts brought to the surface with just a touch.
Isabelle moaned, closing her eyes and trying to forget where she was, focusing on her building pleasure until she felt herself teetering on the edge.
Bellinor was merciful, keeping his movements steady until she let out a gasp, her climax racing through her and leaving her a quivering mess in his arms. He withdrew his fingers, moving them straight to her mouth, which she accepted eagerly.
Rul’s eyes widened as she hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard and enjoying her own sweet taste.
What was coming over her? She’d been tempted by Henri and Pierre back in Marilet, but never had she been so inflamed with passion, so desperate for more, more, more.
With Bellinor’s hands on her, it was as if she completely forgot about her faith, everything she’d devoted her life to since her father’s passing. Even that dark day that was always on her mind faded when she reveled in pleasure, her only worry being the quest for release.
Bellinor brushed her hair over her shoulder, planting a kiss right under her ear, surprisingly tender after all he had done to her.
A knot welled in her throat, and she had to fight off tears, embarrassed by the overload of emotion.
He was a monster, and yet it was comforting to be in his arms, to relinquish power to him.
She could almost forget the knife burning a hole in her pocket, or the fact that she didn’t belong here.
“Such a good little whore,” Bellinor whispered. “Evidently, Rul’s cock was not enough to please you, was it?”
The ghastly word brought a flush to her cheeks, though not necessarily an unpleasant one. It intensified the shame she already felt about giving in to her lust and disappointing the moon mother, the doctrine of chastity and piety that had been instilled in her since she’d joined the temple.
Abasement and arousal went hand in hand, every lustful bodily reaction and thought causing her distress when she knew it was a sin. But here, she had no choice but to accept the wrongness of it all.
Rul glared, his tail flicking behind him.
“I pleased her just fine, Master.”
A growl rumbled in Bellinor’s chest, his cock twitching against her legs, coming to life once more. He glared at the door and a servant appeared, a mannequin that was the same as all the others.
“Take her to her room,” he ordered, helping Isabelle to her feet and shoving her toward the door. “I will come to you later, my dear.”
He was speaking to her, but looking at Rul, already stalking around the table to meet the other demon. As Isabelle followed the servant, she saw him lower his pants and grasp Rul by the hair, the rest of the scene disappearing as the door swung shut behind her.
Isabelle lay in bed, examining the knife and trying to fend off sleep, though it called to her.
The marble handle fit perfectly in her grip, and the blade had sliced through the thick roast with ease.
She had little hope that it would do much, not when she had seen the power of Bellinor’s true form, but she owed it to the moon mother to try.
She was not corrupted, just… lost. Misguided. In need of Celeste’s love now more than ever.
It was the only true love she’d felt since the death of her father, and even that had been marred by grief and loss.
But the moon mother had guided her, protected her, loved her even when she sinned.
If the Goddess couldn’t forgive her, Isabelle didn’t know what she’d do, so instead, she purged the thought from her mind and waited.
She was nodding off to sleep when she heard a noise, a door creaking open and footsteps moving through the room.
The knife trembled in her hand, and she tried to hold it steady, awaiting the intruder.
She had expected him to come–or him and Rul–but now that the moment was here, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to do what needed to be done.
She closed her eyes, holding the knife at her side and trying to steady her breaths.
The mattress shifted as someone got on the bed and straddled her waist, pinning her.
A hand cupped her cheek, and then a gentle kiss was pressed to her forehead, warming her despite the icy chill racing through her.
She shouldn’t enjoy this, but there was something thrilling about danger being just a breath away, about the idea of someone needing her so badly they’d resort to something unforgivable.
She dashed those thoughts as the sheets were pushed aside, a hand sliding under her sheer nightgown and questing toward her center.
Before she could second guess, Isabelle lifted the knife, blindly stabbing into the air above her until a hard form stopped her.
She screamed, letting go as the embers in the hearth flared to life, revealing Bellinor in his human form caging her to the bed.
The marble handle stuck out of his shoulder, almost a mirror to the spot where he’d marked her with his bite, and there was a wicked grin on his face.
“Naughty plaything. Was I not clear with my expectations?”