“My what?”
He taps my nose. "Now that I've eaten. It is your turn, little creature.”
Aiding my shaky body, he helps me sit again, my muscles like goo, my brain mush—all my anatomy basically loose and gummy. I like it.
He grabs a muffin from within a glass dome container and holds it out for me, the fluffy pastry looking small in his big hand.
I take it, but notice it’s got a dollop of that yellow pudding stuff on the top. My nose creases for a moment but I soften it. I’ve never been a fan of it. We were served it on apples in the aviary.
His brows furrow. "What is it? You don't like something.”
"No. It's fine.” I smooth my silken gown down my legs. “I’m dizzy, is all.” I lower the muffin to my lap. “What did you just do to me? What was that part of me at the top, a… button… or something, that you touched?”
“You know all about my anatomy, but the part of you that is specifically for your pleasure, you know nothing about. Interesting.” His nose dips into my hair, and he hums. “I will show you very soon. I will take you on a little tour of all the pretty parts that will make you moan for me. But, for now, tell me what is wrong with that muffin."
I try to focus. "It's fine, my king.”
He leans back to stare down at me. "Fine is not acceptable. Ever. Tell me what you want, or I'll summon The Trade Cooks in here and have them slave away all night until they create something worthy of more than a fine from you."
"Don’t do that.” I breathe out hard. “I just don't like the yellow pudding stuff on the top."
"Custard.”
"Yes."
His lips quirk. "That’s lemon butter."
I look at the blob. "Oh."
My face feels warm from what he did to me, and when he scoops a dollop of the lemon butter onto his finger, pleasure stirs me to a puddle.
I instantly wrap my mouth around the tip, sucking the sweet, citrus flavours, moaning.
His eyes darken and he steps backward, leaning against the opposite counter, his gaze never leaving me. “Eat.”
I look down and see the hard, long length between his legs even through his pants. I know how big that is. How thick and hard. In the Silk House, when I imagined the male anatomy, I always considered it would be… tender.
I lick the butter from the top of the muffin, and it pulses in his pants. Shit.
When I had the thick head inside my mouth, it throbbed like that heart I fed Odio. I didn’t know that they moved on their own.
I thought they were, well, fragile.
Nothing fragile about his…
“Stop looking at me like that, little creature. You don’t know what you’re asking for with those big, fuck-me eyes.”
I snap my gaze back to his, finding an expression, dark and frightening.
Using the muffin to redirect my mind, I eat it. It’s good. Tart and sweet and dense, filling.
He watches me enjoy it
Too soon, I take the last bite and lick the doughy residue off each finger, feeling better now that my stomach isn’t empty.
“Is it unbearably heavy…?” I ask, glances at it again. “When it’s like that?”
It unsettles me how still he is at this moment.
“You want to know what my cock feels like while I watch you lick that muffin and then suck your fingers?” His voice strains. “When your little tongue comes out and laps at that butter, my cock throbs like a wound. I can feel my arteries pounding, the pulse is thunder between my ears.” He reaches down and palms his large bulge curving up between his hips. “It feels like my blood is literally boiling.”
He pushes off the counter and possesses the column of my throat. “Like your throat right now. Thump. Thump.”
I whimper, because he’s hot and close and threatening, but I’m not afraid. Without meaning to, I relax into the tight collar he makes with his hand. He dips, his lips meeting my ear, heavy breath rushing into my hair. “But the pain I felt inside my cock while I was licking your wet pussy was worse. Much worse. That was the sweetest agony of my life.”
The question dances on my tongue; will you come to me later tonight? I’ll stare at my veil and pretend I don’t recognise your deep groans, scent, possessive touch.
I open my mouth to ask when he reaches for my cloak. “Time to go back to your room. The Guard will be awake soon. We can’t have him reporting this.”
Chapter Ten
Rome
Her scars...
The tiny white rivers of past wounds that snake down her inner thighs. How did she get them? I could not be more pleased that I executed that Wardeness in the Lower-tower last week. She was careless and blind. This girl—my Aster—has not lived a gentle life needed to be a Silk Girl.
The last-light dim creeps away in the corridor as I leave The Circle and Aster…
"Aster is out,” I state, pushing open the door to Cairo’s quarters to find him hunched on the side of the bed, pulling a shirt on, the lashes from his flagellation on display for a slither of a moment. When I was a young man, I used to wonder what thoughts made him want to pursue a path of penance each last-light before he slept.
Now, I do not care.
I continue, “We are a lord down and she is the smallest. I will take the redhead."
“Iris,” he confirms, standing and stopping in front of me. Bowing his head, he says, “Sire.” He continues his routine, hovering over a small basin, and begins to wash his hands.
His chambers are as barren as his heart, a wooden bed, desk, basin, and bookcases. The minimalist space reflects his commitment to The Trade as his sole identity and interest. “Aster has two very interested lords. It is a pity.”
My back muscles bunch. "Who?"
"You know I cannot say,” he states.
"She is out.” I widen my stance and remember a time when I was eager to be an emotionless warlord like my father. How very unlike him I am when my thoughts and passions bubble away in my veins like molten lava. “Her thighs are scarred. She has been through too much to be a Silk Girl.”
"I'm not going to ask how you know such things.”
"I will not repeat myself. She is out.”
He smiles wirily and looks up from his hands, meeting my gaze in the small brass-framed mirror. "Shall I leave now to inform the other lords they are required to start immediately? We have missed a night waiting for you to finalise your decision.” His brows weave, and I know this is it. “I will ensure there will be no crossovers. You will start with Iris tonight. This is your first time making an heir. Let me explain how it works.” He turns to face me. “Usually, a Guard would monitor the comings and goings, to ensure only one lord is inside The Circle at any time, but over the next five nights, I will stand at the door. You will go first. Do her well.”
I sneer. "She'll be limping by the time I'm through with her. You'll have an heir this season."
“We will have an heir. Make it happen, Sire."
Teeth grinding, I turn to walk back through the door, when his words slice through me, halting my step.
"I shall send Aster to a new placement."
I talk to the open door, my blood roars, ready for what he might say next. Clenching my fists at my sides, I say, "She is mine. I will do whatever I want with her.”