Page 121 of Born for Silk

“Maybe they are dancing for the lords at the carnival.” She hums. “That’s a little… provocative, but then, the men need to unwind. It is good for their temperament.”

“Dancing.” I find myself grinding out the word, hoping to turn the jealousy it carries to dust between my teeth. Jealous inflictions imply I want something that they have… But I don’t.

Because he is mine.

My king.

They want what is mine. I don’t feel jealous; I feel territorial. There is a distinct difference.

We stay on the balcony, enjoying the music and occasional cheer from the carnival below. Crown-light fades into last-light, and fires, torches, and lamps from lanes create blazing dots across The Estate.

Ana, Daisy, Blossom, and I open up to each other. We share stories from books we were never meant to read and discuss the old-world. We consider the ideology of The Crust—a state of peace and endless happiness or just a place to decay. And while we talk, I realise I am not that different. They have the same wandering mind, only they are better at controlling it.

After they leave, the Missing Moon must be hanging high, surrounded by stars that will never filter the haze, as I roll around in his bed, the enormous surface swallowing me.

I dream about a small boy holding a dead baby bird, not knowing what has happened to it. I don’t know how I know that, but he is in pain and desperate to stroke the feathers, to soothe it.

The little thing is upside down, its legs curled, feet crimped in tight agony. I follow this boy as he strolls around a grey underground with flickering lights, which does not make sense because how would a bird get down there?

The boy in the dim fades to the words, "Aster..." He slowly drifts away from me, and I feel myself reaching out my fingers, feeling a sadness I cannot comprehend—I don't know him.

"Aster."

I flutter my eyes open to Rome crawling on the mattress, his heavy weight rocking me from side to side as he climbs over me.

"My king," I whisper in my sleepy daze, but the sadness clings to me for a few conscious moments longer.

Then warm lips seal my mouth and flood my heart with love and contentment.

Heat blankets my skin as his kisses deepens, and his hands trail over my body, seeking, searching, worshipping. I should be frightened by how large his palms are, how much surface they cover, how possessive his grip is.

But I’m not.

His fingers slide between my thighs and find my core wet and warm already.

A moan leaks from my sleepy mouth and into his kiss.

He dips between my folds, playing up and down the slick valley but not pushing past the entrance and into me. He stirs me, my eyes rolling to his perfect rhythm.

"The thought of you has been distracting me all night. You have power over me."

More moans roll along my tongue. My hips circle with his skilled fingers, chasing the edging pleasure. "I need to take back some power, little creature," he utters darkly.

With that, he rolls me onto my side and covers my back and legs entirely with his large form.

Between my thighs, two fingers return to their motion, to their mixing of pleasure, to their stoking of need.

His other hand positions his cock. He doesn't wait, rousing me with his warm touch while he takes his power back and pushes through me.

My eyes fly open, and my steady, soft moans spiral into uncertain whimpers and mewls.

I dig my nails into his sheets.

He hooks my leg backward over his and pumps into me. "Fuck, yes. You’re so wet."

“My king.” My voice trembles.

“I am here. You’re safe” He reaches for my hand, brings it back, and sets my fingers on his thick, veined forearm. “Remember your claws, little creature.”

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