Page 62 of Twisted Kings

I’m low-born and always will be. He’ll be a murderer, at least once over, if his plans come to fruition. Nothing about this can be what he’s saying, and I have to remind him of that.

And myself. The darkness in him will drag me down under if I’m not careful.

“It’d be duchess, and no, you won’t,” I swallow hard as I pull away, trying to gather myself so I don’t caught in his web. I can only go so far along with this, only indulge himsomuch. It’s a fine line, courting his desires so that he’ll tell me his plans, but not so much that I’ve implicated myself.

And when you save the duke, do you think he’ll thank you for it? Or will you risk everything for him, just to be thrown aside likeall nobles do to people like you?

“Leave the wretch here,” Benedict says, stepping away. “Come.” I follow, without a look behind me, the drunken feeling of relief flooding my body more and more with each step. He leads me from the library, and bars the door behind him. He gives me a smirk. “Let him explain how he got locked in there to my brother,” he sneers.

I stand there, not sure what to do. I should go to my room, I should—

Benedict watches me, and then steps close, stepping into my space.

His hand comes to my chin and he tilts my head up. My eyes are wide, his closing, as his mouth covers mine. I can’t help it. He’s so warm, such a contradiction, broken and protective at the same time. I lean into him, pressing up on my toes until he catches me around the small of my back, his arm encouraging me to stay.

I’m falling into this. It’s happening again. I’m caught, my baser nature cheating me out of a promising, honest future. My body wants what it wants, and my heart—

It’s lost to him. He’s caught it, in his hands, keeping me close. I can’t pull away. I don’t want to.

He makes a sound, deep in his throat, that has me shuddering.

“I think you want this more than you’re willing to admit,” Benedict whispers to me, slowly pinning me against the wall, his hands on my wrists. I’m not afraid though, not like with Frisco.

Because he’s right. I do want this. I want him to absolutely wreck me. The last minutes of panic and terror fade away, replacedonly by a burning need for him, for him to hold me still, for him to take whatever he wants. My breath keeps catching and I can’t do anything about it, his superior height and weight holding me here.

If I’m not lying to myself, there’s something more to it than his superior strength.

It’s him. The way he smirks, the way his hair falls over his forehead and into his eyes, and the fire in his expression when he looks at me. Like he’s really seeing me, forme. I’m more than just a domestic help to him, and he knows it.

I know it.

A flash of warning sounds off in my belly. This is the same old path I’ve walked before, and last time, God, last time, it ended with me in hell. But it was never like this, was it? Paris was never like this house, Benedict was not like the last man I let touch me.

But still— I can’t. I shouldn’t. I open my mouth to protest and he kisses me, not letting me speak. My words dissolve into a moan instead, his hands sliding down my wrists, down my arms, to my shoulders. His fingers pull at the neckline of my shirt, the urgency in it setting me on fire. My thighs tighten together, that familiar flush of heat flooding between them. I want him. It’s such a mistake, but I do. I want him to fuck me right here, while everyone is within earshot so I have to keep quiet.

It’s filthy and horrible, and I’m signing my own proverbial death warrant. Why am I risking everything for him?

Is there something wrong with me that I can’t keep it together around him? I’m such an idiot. His hands wrap around my breasts through my uniform, the thin linen doing nothing to hide the warmth of them and how big they are, dwarfing me. Hebites his lip, dead sexy, and it kills me as he groans, though he keeps it quiet.

“I want you right here,” he says, mirroring my earlier thoughts, “I want to fuck you into this wall and not care who stumbles out to see us. They’ll be drunk anyway.” He kisses me again, tongue finding mine, and he gets a hand down between us where his hips are pinning mine to the wall. The gasp slips out of me as he works his fingers up and under my uniform, between my bare thighs, teasing right over my pussy through my underwear.

“Don’t,” I whisper, shaking my head. We’ll get caught and I’ll pay the price but he won’t. It’s me who’ll be thrown out on my ass and then everything I’ve worked for— everything I’ve run from, it’ll find me.

It’s all going to come crashing down around me.

“Why not? We own you,” he whispers, and that shouldn’t be hot, it should bewrong, the way he says it. “I can take what I like.” His eyes glint in the darkened hall, but he pulls back, with one last drag of his thumb over my pussy.

He stands apart from me as I try to catch up with my breathing, my head spacey and focus narrow on him. There’s a noise at the end of the hallway, and I move lightning fast to smooth my uniform down.

“Benedict?” Holy sh— It’s the duke. Mason’s emerged from the evening’s gathering and is walking toward us, bearing down on us like a wrecking ball. He’s going to see my uniform’s all messed up, and that my lips are kiss-swollen—

Benedict steps in front of me, hiding me from view for the most part.

“Brother, is the conversation not scintillating enough for you?” He asks, as the duke reaches us. I bob the tiniest of a curtesy, ducking my head and not meeting the duke’s eyes when he looks at me. His gaze cuts to his brother instead.

“I was wondering why you abandoned Dramelia, when she was your guest for the evening. She’ll think your interest is waning,” the duke says, ignoring me completely, and I’m grateful for that. But— wait, Dramelia wasBenedict’sspecific guest for this house party? My heart pinches, and it shouldn’t hurt, but it does because I am a fool and an idiot. Of course. I’m just a play-thing. It’s all the same with men like the marquis.

“Ha!”

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