Page 58 of Wicked Court

“Where is the ruby necklace?”

His voice is a distorted melody. Altered.

But there’s an allure within the menace, an undercurrent that vibrates against my senses, sending an involuntary tremble through me unrelated to the atmosphere.

I bite back a whimper, meeting where I imagine his gaze lies behind the mask.

“I don’t know,” I reply, my voice a mix of feigned ignorance and genuine confusion. “I only learned about it when you demanded it from me the first time.”

The ruby necklace, a gem as red as my bloody family history, a symbol of mysteries I’m entwined with yet still unraveling.

An ominous chuckle escapes him. He reaches out, his fingers dancing across the skin of my thigh, light as a feather but laden with threat.

“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs, and I know whoever it is smiles behind that mask.

He bends toward me.

“You may not know much about it, but you know where it is,” he hisses. “So where is it?”

His voice is like a slithering serpent’s tongue, dripping with the promise of toxins.

But there’s something else beneath it all, a tightness I can’t quite place. Desperation? Need? What is it about this jewelry that sends these guys into a frenzy?

I shake my head, trying to deny him the answer he seeks. “Tell me why you want it.”

He makes an indistinct sound in his throat.

He trails his hand up to my stomach, fingers dancing over my sensitive flesh. A tingle courses through me at his touch. It makes no sense, but feels so wrong at the same time.

Then he moves lower still, grazing my breasts with gentle fingertips before circling my nipple, then going in for a sudden pinch that twists sharply.

Pain shoots through me and I cry out, but also... something else. Arousal?

I cut off my cry despite the mix of emotions assailing me. His hand continues to wander lower still, brushing against my pussy teasingly before squeezing between my legs roughly enough to make me gasp.

His hot breath fanning across my cheek sends shivers cascading into my breasts as growls out the same question: “Where is it?”

Despite myself, I squirm under his touch. The contrast between the cold stone and his probing hands sends mixed signals to my brain, creating a maelstrom of need and denial. Each caress is a question, each probe a demand for answers I refuse to give.

“Tell me why you want it,” I whisper stubbornly.

I won’t let him see how his twisted ministrations fracture my resolve, how they peel away at the layers I’ve built around myself.

His index finger pauses against my cleft. He huffs out an impatient breath, then answers, “Its existence has cursed my family for hundreds of years. My ancestor wronged yours, and now I am the wronged one. I need this necklace, butterfly, to maintain my place in the Court. And believe me when I say I will do so much more to you than simple misfortune if you don’t give me what I want tonight.”

His action belies his nasty threat. His finger slides down, curves, and enters easily. My voice betrays me with its traitorous response, a choked moan.

I close my eyes tightly, trying to anchor myself in the storm he conjures, but I am adrift in a sea of sensation, caught between the need to escape and the urge to sink deeper into the abyss he offers.

His thumb circles my clit, presses down, pinches.

“Now that I’ve given you want you want, answer my question.”

Something wrenches inside of me, a mix of confusion and yearning that leaves my insides feeling like molten lava flowing too quickly in my veins. I don’t want this darkness. I don’t crave it. But damn, he knows how to make me feel things... confusing things...

The porcelain mask glints in the flickering light, an emotionless visage that fingers me and conceals the man I know is Cav.

Butterfly.

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