Page 15 of Poisoned Vows

It’s nothing, of course, to find out which room they gave her, or to get the key. No one would deny me anything here except my father, and he’s already gone to bed. Thankfully, so has Marika. Once again, I can’t stand the idea of facing her censure or dealing with her reaction if she’s already found out what I’ve done.

I know part of my father’s worry is that my rebellion will feed hers. That because I’ve done something outside of our traditions, she’ll start to think that perhaps she can, too. That whatever marriage he’s been crafting for her behind closed doors won’t go as smoothly as he’s planned.

I don’t think Marika has that kind of rebellion in her. But I’ve been wrong before.

Before tonight, I wouldn’t have thought I did, either.

Lilliana’s room is on the third floor, towards the back of the long hall. I slide the key into the lock, turning the knob—and meet resistance.

I frown, confused, and push the door open. I hear a thump and a low moan, and I shove myself through the opening, peering down in the dim light to see a shape on the floor.

“What the fuck?” I realize she’s crumpled on the floor, and my first terrified thought is that she’s found some way to kill herself. That the idea of marrying me was so horrifying that she opted for another way out.

I crouch down next to her, fingers against her slim throat. I feel her pulse, like a trapped butterfly under her skin, and let out a breath as relief washes over me. I don’t care about her—not like that—but it seems I care enough to not want her dead.

She lets out another low, soft moan, and I realize that she’s not passed out—not exactly. But she’s clearly so exhausted that even being pushed over from where she must have fallen asleep against the door hasn’t woken her up. I look down at her and feel a wave of unfamiliar pity wash over me.

I wonder if she’d hate being pitied as much as I do.

She curls into herself, another of those low moans slipping from her lips, and my cock swells. It’s easy to imagine her making that sound for a different reason, one that has to do with me. I feel myself lengthen along my thigh as I reach down, scooping her into my arms and lifting her off of the floor. She’s still in the dress she wore to come here, and the fabric slides dangerously against her chest, threatening to reveal her breasts to me.

As I lift her against me, I smell the sharp tang of feminine arousal, and my brow furrows.

What the hell?

I carry her across the room, laying her back on the bed. Her head lolls to one side, her body sinking into the softness of the mattress, and I know I should cover her up and leave her like this. Anything else will only lead down a risky path, one that threatens to come very close to that line I’ve drawn for myself.

But I can still smell the scent of her. Iknowit’s her, because I had her on my fingers earlier. I can still feel the slick, wet heat against my hand. She’d been angry and terrified, and to hear her tell it, so innocent that she’d never even made herself come. But she’d gotten wet for me. Formytouch.

I want more of it. Desperately.

No woman has ever made me feel this kind of lust. This kind ofneed. My hope is that by legitimizing it, by making her my wife so that taking her to bed is no longer by force, I’ll quell that hunger. I’ll have her, and I’ll grow bored of her, like everything else. I’ll put a child in her, and then I’ll go back to my own diversions, without ever having delved too deep into the kind of darkness there’s no coming back from.

Fuck.The thought of my cum in her, taking root, has my cock aching. I reach for her hand before I can stop myself, bending over her sleeping body so I can breathe in the scent on her fingers, to find out if my suspicion is correct.

Oh fucking hell, it is.

I can smell her all over her fingers. I don’t think she was lying when she said she’d never touched herself—I know when someone is lying, after many years of honing that particular skill—which can only mean one thing.

She hated what I had to do to her downstairs in my father’s study. But it also turned her on enough that she couldn’t stop herself from making herself come for the first time in her life.

I’m aroused and furious all at once. The thought of pretty, innocent Lilliana on the floor with her hand up her skirt, stroking her clit until she came all over her hand, has me throbbing to the point of pain. But at the same time, I’m angry beyond reason that she stole her first orgasm from me.

I’d had the chance to be the first one to make her come,ever, and now she’s felt that pleasure. I won’t get to see her surprise as she experiences it for the first time. I won’t get to watch her discover it.

“I’m going to punish you for that,” I murmur, and the words startle me. I’ve said them before, certainly, but to women who wanted to hear them, paid or otherwise. I’ve said them in the middle of a scene, negotiated and agreed upon, with a safeword in place. I’ve never said it to an innocent, defenseless,sleepingwoman, locked in a room in my house, with nowhere to escape from me.

The thought makes my cockache. I can feel pre-cum dripping from the tip, sliding down my shaft, creating an excruciating friction in my jeans as my shaft slides along the fabric it’s trapped in. It feels like I’ve been hard all fucking night, since the moment I saw her walk through that door, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make it back to my own room without doing something about it.

I won’t fuck her. Not like this. I’ll wait until our wedding night if it fucking kills me, just so I can live with myself. But I needsomething.

I slip my hand under her skirt, and I feel the damp patch of fabric beneath her. “Oh, youfilthygirl,” I groan, my cock throbbing as I reach to undo my buckle, so I can free myself. “I bet your pretty pussy is such a mess. Dirty girl.”

The words slip out of my mouth, crooning, as I slide my fingers between her thighs. I’m right—she’s fuckingsoaked,her entire pussy and her inner thighs drenched, sticky from it, and when I slip my fingers between her folds, I’m greeted by a goddamnlakeof arousal.

“Ohgod.” I drag my fingers through her pussy as I free my cock hastily with my other hand, feeling her hips twitch as I stroke her clit. My cock springs free, the cool air of the room striking my swollen, heated flesh, and I draw my hand away from her as I use her wetness to lube my shaft, mingling it with my pre-cum as I wrap my fist around my aching length.

My left hand slips under her skirt, where my fingers were a moment before, and I find her swollen clit easily. I can’t imagine how exhausted she must be to sleep through this, but though I can see the rise and fall of her chest, her breathing quickening a little as I slide my finger in slow circles over her sensitive flesh, she doesn’t wake up.

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