Page 29 of Capricorn

“Delayed…what?” Doesn’t he know I’m already an expert, baptized in denial my first month here?

“It’s a controlled response, a way to ease the mind and body into recognizing that pleasure, like pain, isn’t something that controls you. You control it.”

Shameful heat spirals low in my belly. “What do you suggest?”

“Tonight, when you’re in bed, I want you to bring yourself to the edge of orgasm. Picture the cliff. But this time, instead of jumping, you’ll take your power back.”

I swallow, fingers gripping the cushion beneath me. “You’re telling me not to…come?”

“Control is yours, Novalee.” A twitch of a smile pulls at his mouth. “The longer you hold out, the stronger your power grows. Don’t climax tonight, or even tomorrow. Draw it out. You’ll know when it’s time to let go.”

“This method sounds…” I search for the right words. “Strange, coming from a shrink.”

“I specialize in sexuality.” He glances at the clock. “And unfortunately, that’s all the time we have.”

“I thought you cleared your schedule?” I hold his gaze, brows arched in challenge.

“You gave me exactly what I needed. There’s no need to keep you.”

I blink, momentarily thrown.

A game. That’s what this is.

An illusion of choice.

The quiet manipulation of my mind.

And I’m already playing—my queen’s piece moving across the board before I realize the match has begun.

10

The sun is slipping below the horizon when I return to the House of Capricorn. Golden light slants across the floor, while the richness of seared steak and garlic butter drifts through the air. For the first time in weeks, my mouth actually waters.

I’m hungry.

I follow the scent, Astrid trailing behind, but Sebastian’s paintings catch my eye. The session with the shrink left me too raw to face them, so I push past the urge and step into the kitchen. Dirty pots and pans clutter the counter beside the stove.

Did Oliver cook?

That’s unexpected. He seems the type to have his meals sent up by the staff. I make my way into the dining room, and there he is, seated at the head of an oblong rustic table. In the center, fluttering candles surround a vase of white carnations.

Oliver glances up, fork halfway to his lips, and smirks. “I figured you’d be famished after all the not talking you did during your session, so I took the liberty.” He nods toward the spot at the other end, where a plate awaits beneath a silver lid.

Sliding into the chair, I eye him with mock skepticism. “I didn’t realize the men in this tower knew how to cook. Should I be impressed or concerned?” I lift the lid to find a flawlessly browned steak, roasted potatoes, and tender carrots bathed in a glaze. “Or was this more of a ‘supervise while you drink’ kind of effort?”

A twitch of amusement pulls at his mouth. “I can work up a sweat when motivated.” His gaze drops to my cleavage, eyes darkening to warm espresso, and something unwanted stirs between my legs. I’m so caught off guard, I don’t notice Astrid’s voice cutting through the charged moment until it’s already breaking the spell.

“I’ll take supper in the queen’s suite,” she says, reminding me we aren’t alone.

Oliver doesn’t acknowledge her, but I catch the flick of his fingers as he dismisses my babysitter. She vanishes from the room, and in her absence, his scrutiny screams at me. I’m halfway through my steak when he breaks the silence.

“How was your session?” he asks, studying me over the rim of his glass.

“It was fine.”

“And short.” He takes a slow sip as I move the food around my plate. “Sully always did have a way of making people talk.”

“Then I guess he chose the right profession.”

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