No, he belonged… to…
Mistress.
An ache thrummed through his chest, pulling like a chord lining his bones. This pain was different from his headaches. He preferred the ache. It meant something. Like his dreams. Sometimes it felt like if he could hold onto the wisps of memory, he’d find what he was missing. But they were just dreams.
Frances bowed his head. “My Queen, I believe– That is, I am certain your toy is ready to be completely obedient. The perfect slave.”
For a few seconds, the Queen didn't seem to hear. Her hips bucked, and she moaned into the other woman's mouth.Dragging her claws down to the man's chest, she leaned back and chuckled at the pained whimper rising up from beneath her.
Her tongue wetted her lips as she met Castien's eyes. He immediately dropped his gaze.
“Are you sure, Frances? He's finally stable?” Her voice was an intoxicant. His mind spun, the tug in his chest demanding he give in, obey, worship at her feet. The differences between compulsion and his own desires collided, mingled, tangled. He was no longer certain which was which. If there was a difference at all.
“Yes, my Queen. He is all yours.”
A hand at his back shoved him toward the bed. He walked the last few steps of his own will.
Her claws caressed his upper arm. Shivers trailed every touch. This need – he couldn't ignore it. The compulsion was worse than a terrible itch, worse than hunger or thirst. He craved her like he was suffocating.
It hurt to need her so badly.
With the sharp edges of her claws cupping his face, she drew him closer to the bed. He didn't resist. The other man had crawled away and was leaving the room. The woman had vanished. Mistress pressed a light kiss to his lips. A cruel smile stretched to her eyes.
She spoke over his shoulder, “We have another Escort in our dungeons. How soon can you break him?”
“I would like to refine the process, highness. There is so much potential–”
“How soon? I want him kneeling at my feet before the tournament ends!”
“I… I'll do my best, my Queen.”
The doors shut softly.
And then all of her attention fixated on him.
He was a courtesan. Service was expected. Normal. There had been clients he hadn't wanted to serve. Mistress wasn't like that. He wanted to please her, but…
It had always been on his terms.
“Kiss me, my shadow,” she breathed just as her lips met his. Desire surged, and he kissed her all too willingly, devouring the taste of her to satiate the hollow hunger that burned and burned.
Her purr of a sigh as she leaned back was like a slap to the face. He reeled at the loss of contact.
“Take off your clothes.”
He removed his shirt and pants, twisting his body, flexing his muscles, glancing at her with heated gazes and parted lips. Sex was his profession. Today was no different than any day in the House of Shadows. He would serve. He always served.
He inhaled and centered himself. Lifting his chin, he leaned closer to her. “How do you want me, Mistress?”
Her fingers snapped. A claw pointed. “Lie down.”
The command in her tone had no place in his performance. He was a courtesan of the House of Shadows, a master of games of control. She wanted him to bend.
Mistress must have what she wants.
Her presence soothed him. He let his mind fall deeper into the compulsion. He let his thoughts wander.
She crawled on top of him, straddling his thighs. He longed for the warmth of a pliable, willing body beneath his hands. The wistful thought blew away.
