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B loody fucking hell.

The words hang suspended in my mind like a fog of profanity as Briar finally emerges from her chambers. Every iota of control I’ve cultivated deserts me in one violent rush, composure shredding beneath the onslaught of raw, visceral need detonating through my veins.

Rooted in place, I can only gape in rapture while drinking in the breathtaking vision standing mere yards away. That lithe frame swathed in skintight onyx moulding to each sumptuous curve like a second skin—the flirtatious lace hem sneaking up her thigh and the thigh-highs peeking out from beneath a blatant tease of the treasures lurking out of reach. Her blonde curls tumble in soft waves past those sculpted collarbones exposed by the plunging neckline, a sultry siren’s call commanding my undivided attention.

Christ, she’s an absolute goddess come to life. How did I ever delude myself into believing I possessed restraint around this thoroughly bewitching creature?

“Well?” That husky timbre ghosts over my senses as Briar pirouettes in a slow, teasing revolution—letting the raven-hued silk swirl around those sinfully toned thighs. Her lips quirk into a wicked smirk, one arched brow raised. “Cat got your tongue, Whitlocke? For someone in such a brutish hurry earlier, you’re awfully quiet now.”

The blatant taunt provokes a guttural rumble of desire from deep within. Nostrils flaring, I fight the urge to close the distance and claim that snarky mouth with bruising fervour. Force her onto her knees until I can strip away every layer hiding that lush form—reveal the feral wildcat lurking beneath, all corded sinew and rampant lust clawing to be unleashed.

Christ, I want her in the most primal, ravenous sense. A fact manifesting into my lapel, if the pronounced bulge tenting the fine wool is any indication.

Beside Briar, Sid lets out a low appreciative whistle—openly blatant in her appraisal of her friend’s dolled-up appearance. Leave it to that shameless minx to eye-fuck every exposed inch on display, irises gleaming with rakish appreciation. How she manages such brazen ogling in my presence, I’ll never bloody fathom.

“So now that your makeup is done, where you two dolly birds headed all gussied up like this?” she drawls in a low, throaty cadence. “Looks like somebody’s prepping for a night at the local cathouse rather than mere ‘society function’ lessons. Where’d you get the dress anyway?”

Lush lips peel back over Briar’s teeth in a grin even as her eyes flash with unveiled challenge. “ bought it, had to make sure his charity case was well dressed. And we’re going to The Grand Charities Gala, if you can believe attempting to pass this off as anything other than a sick test of obedience for his own amusement.” Her scoffing laugh is devoid of humour, hips swaying as she stalks across the hardwood on those skyscraper heels.

Briar stops within a hair’s breadth of my space, ocean irises glittering up at me through her lashes with unrepentant defiance. “Just another opportunity for the elite to gawk at fresh meat being trotted out for their perverse entertainment. All while pretending to donate crumbs towards charitable causes, naturally.”

The bitter cynicism lacing her husked consonants slices straight to my core through layers of meticulously crafted veneer. It would be astonishingly easy to allow any lingering traces of goodwill to curdle into outright malice at her shameless antagonism. One sharp reprimand, nothing more—one syllable hissed with enough lethal venom to strike her tongue into silence.

Yet, I find myself paralysed by indecision, utterly disarmed by how profoundly and irrevocably this impetuous, sharp-tongued vixen has beguiled me with her relentless provocations. The resentment simmering in her blazing stare is a visceral mirror reflecting every tainted facet of the distorted realm I’ve been groomed to personify and defend. How can I truly chastise Briar for recognizing the same repugnant truths I myself fervently reject while clutching at delusions of reform?

“Such vitriol from a woman still eagerly lapping up the luxuries these trials reward her with, despite comprehending the rules,” I grit out, each consonant carved from granite and steel. “One might assume she enjoys putting on the occasional sideshow to lure those salivating depravities lurking around every corner.”

Sid snorts indelicately at my scathing assessment, earning a sidelong glower before I refocus every intensity on Briar. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, that gloriously unfettered torrent of spirit flaring in those deep sea pools to match my own simmering intensity. I can’t parse the tangled web of emotions warring across those exquisitely sculpted features—only know each fractured nuance tantalises and infuriates me.

Moving with glacial deliberation, I finally allow one palm to ghost along the sumptuous flare of Briar’s hip with a lingering caress. Her sharp inhalation echoes through the charged air, yet she doesn’t flinch or retreat at my blatantly covetous touch. In fact, those lush lips part incrementally around the barest hitch of breath as my callused fingertips map the lush terrain of her waist before drifting lower. Lower, until the plush mounds of fabric obscuring the vee of her thighs nestle into my splayed palm with torrid intimacy.

“Perhaps we’re both merely players upon this sullied stage, chafing at roles we never chose yet must embrace for a greater legacy,” I murmur, refusing to relinquish my soul-searing hold over her stare, fingertips grazing along the trim of her thigh-high. “Resist and rail against the inevitable all you desire. Some destinies are etched in granite long before our earthly vessels draw breath.”

Briar’s Adam’s apple bobs as she swallows hard, eyes darkening to molten sapphire beneath the onslaught of naked hunger radiating from my form. For one heartbeat, I’m certain she’s preparing to unleash another acidic barb from that wicked tongue designed to strike deep into whatever remnants of decency still flicker through my blackened soul like dying embers.

Then Sid clears her throat with emphasis, shattering the moment into fragments. “Right, you two seem to have the infuriating-foreplay routine down,” she drones through an exaggerated yawn. “Though I can’t help noticing you’re both still dressed, so mission failure on making any headway this evening so far.”

Glancing between our tightly entwined forms, that delicate brow arches upwards in a sceptical expression. “Unless you’re meant to be some twisted bread and honey at this garden party. In which case, congratulations on nailing the look of two miserable cunts ready for death’s sweet embrace.”

The spell shatters. Briar tears herself from the vortex of my dominion like a skittish filly, gulping in a breath of air. My hand, bereft of the cushioned treasures nestled between her thighs, clenches at the empty air with frustration.

Raking me with a scalding look of challenge and lingering lust, Briar heaves her tits upwards to resettle them before stalking off towards the kitchenette to snag her clutch. Even after witnessing so many dizzying facets of her mercurial temperament, that lithe form moves with a hypnotic sway of hips and tumbling curls that makes my jaw go slack with unbridled want.

“Come along, Whitlocke,” she tosses in an imperious cadence over her bare shoulder, the words a taunt. “Our adoring public awaits for you to make a proper show pony of me. Wouldn’t want to keep the morbid congregation waiting.”

Outwardly masking the predatory sneer threatening to unfurl my lips, I straighten my tie and tuck away my ravenous compulsions—refocusing every atom into composing a mask of unflappable poise. If it’s a performance this minx craves, then a bloody performance she shall receive before this interminable evening has elapsed.

With one final molten glance trailing over the swell of that sinful hourglass silhouette, I spin on my heel and stalk towards the door, leaving Sid to lounge on the sofa. The heavy oak barrier swings wide, ushering us into the yawning maw of debauchery and sin where Briar’s next Trial awaits.