Page 24 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

In the dim light, she could almost pretend…

Skylar squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out reality. In her mind, it wasn’t some nameless stranger arching beneath her. No. It was Arye. The hard planes of his chest, slick with sweat, pressed against her soft curves. His body was a landscape she longed to explore, to claim as her own. Even the scent became his in her imagination—a potent mix of raw masculinity, leather, and that hint of citrus that always clung to him.

Arye. Arye. Arye.

His name pulsed in her mind, a forbidden mantra that sent scorching heat coursing through her veins. It felt so good, but she needed more. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, drawing blood. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him, their lips meeting with raw hunger and passion. Would he be gentle, or would he match her intensity?

“You feel so?—”

The man’s voice shattered the illusion, grating against her ears. Rage and disappointment burned through Skylar, hot and bitter. With a rough growl, she clamped her hand over his mouth, silencing him. Her nails dug into his cheek, leaving moon-shaped imprints that would fade long before the marks on her hips.

“Silence,” Skylar commanded, her voice low and dangerous. “I need silence.”

She felt his eyes widen beneath her palm, a flash of fear mingling with lust in his gaze. Good. Let him be afraid. Let him feel a fraction of the turmoil roiling within her. She reveled in the power she held over him. Over Arye. Slowly, she trailed her free hand down his chest, her fingertips leaving fiery trails on his flesh.

Skylar increased her pace, pursuing her climax with feverish abandon. She took what she needed, hard and fast, using the man beneath her as nothing more than a tool for her pleasure. The coarse sheets scratched at her skin, a stark contrast to the smoothness of his length as it slid in and out of her. She could feel every inch of him, thick and hard, stretching her, filling her in a way that made her complete.

But it wasn’t enough. It didn’t feel right. She needed more.

As her climax built, she imagined it was Arye buried deep within her, Arye’s hands on her body, Arye’s eyes burning with desire as he watched her lose control. She bit her lip harder tokeep from crying out his name, but the taste of her own blood only added to the intensity of the moment.

Harder. Faster.

Her hips moved with a will of their own, seeking that blissful release. The bed groaned in protest beneath them, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust. The rhythmic thudding echoed through the room, punctuated by their gasps and moans.

And then, finally, she fell. Her climax crashed over her like a torrential wave, drowning her in sensations so intense they bordered on pain. She threw her head back, a choked scream escaping her lips as her body shuddered and convulsed. For a fleeting moment, there was no war, no duty, no lies. Just pure, carnal ecstasy.

As the last waves of pleasure ebbed, reality came crashing back. Skylar opened her eyes, chest heaving, to find the stranger gazing up at her with spent desire. Blonde hair, green eyes, tanned skin. The sight made her stomach turn. It wasn’t him. It would never be him.

“Please leave now,” she said firmly, already dismounting him, her body glistening with a sheen of sweat. Her legs wobbled as her feet touched the cold wooden floor, the rough planks creaking beneath her weight.

“Already? But I thought we’d?—”

“I won’t ask again,” Skylar cut him off. She turned her back on him, reaching for her discarded clothes. Her movements were sharp, efficient, a clear contradiction to the languid passion of moments before.

Behind her, she heard the rustle of sheets, followed by the soft thud of feet hitting the floor. The man muttered under his breath as he dressed, his words becoming clearer as his frustration grew.

“Damn noble women,” he spat, yanking on his boots with an angry tug. “Think they can do whatever they want.”

Skylar ignored him, focusing on lacing up her breeches. Her fingers trembled slightly; whether from exertion or emotion, she couldn’t tell. The man’s complaints swept past her, meaningless noise.

“You’re all the same,” he continued, his voice rising. “Spoiled, selfish bi?—”

Skylar turned to face him, her expression hardening. “We’re done here,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your services are no longer required.” Her hand instinctively reached for her sword, resting within arm’s reach.

The threat hung heavy in the air, thick enough to choke on. For a second, she thought he might argue further. But something in her expression must have given him pause. With a final glare, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Silence fell, broken only by Skylar’s ragged breathing and the faint sounds of the inn below—muffled laughter, the clink of tankards, snatches of drunken song. She stood motionless, staring at the closed door, feeling hollowed out and strangely bereft. The satisfaction of her release faded quickly, leaving behind a gnawing emptiness that threatened to consume her.

It was a mistake. It was always a mistake.

Shame washed over her, hot and suffocating. She’d used that man, imagined him as Arye, taken her pleasure without a thought for his. It was wrong. Selfish. Disgusting.

Just like everything else in her life. She was living a lie, deceiving everyone. Why stop at one more sin?

Skylar shook her head violently, as if she could physically dislodge the thoughts. She needed to focus, to get moving. Her mother was waiting.

With practiced efficiency, she finished dressing. Each layer felt like armor, shielding her vulnerable core from the world.Last came the wig, short silver-white strands settling into place like a helmet. She stared at her reflection in the grimy mirror, watching Duke Skylar Anathemark emerge from the ashes of her momentary freedom.

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