Page 14 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

14

T he quiet of the room felt oppressive, expectant. Octavia had retired to Marcus’s apartments for the night — her absence leaving me vulnerable in ways I didn’t want to examine. And Tarshi... I had practically pushed him out the door earlier, and the guilt twisted inside me as I pictured his expression. It had been for the best, I told myself. The look Septimus had given me as he’d left earlier had been unmistakable, dark with promise and threat intertwined, and I knew he was coming back. If he’d found Tarshi and me together, I didn’t dare think of what might have happened. No, it was best Tarshi had left.

My hands trembled slightly as I seated myself at my dressing table and began removing pins from my elaborate hairstyle, watching dark curls tumble down around my shoulders in the polished bronze sheet before me. I had left on my stola, loving the deep red colour against my skin, despite knowing it would offer no protection against him. I’d already had to sheepishly hand my ripped tunic to Octavia, and beg her to get me another, though thankfully I had a spare in the dresser. He would not be deterred by an expensive stola, I knew that.

Every sound from the corridor outside made my heart stutter. Each passing moment stretched into eternity as I waited, knowing he would come. Wanting him to come, despite everything.

The sound of footsteps finally came — measured, deliberate, unmistakably his. I froze as the door opened without a knock. Of course. He would never announce himself, never ask permission. I could feel Septimus’s presence even before I saw his reflection appear in my mirror — a dark silhouette hovering at my bedroom threshold, watching me with the patient hunger of a predator. I turned slowly to look at him.

Septimus filled the doorframe, darkness clinging to him like a second skin. His eyes found mine, and the hunger there made my breath catch.

“Octavia is with Marcus tonight,” he said, his voice lower than usual, rougher around the edges.

“I know.” My own voice sounded strange to my ears — too calm, belying the rapid flutter of my pulse.

The click of the door closing behind him felt like a trap springing shut.

“Tarshi?” he asked, though the curl of his lip suggested he already knew the answer.

“Out.” I forced myself to meet his gaze steadily. “He needed air, apparently.”

Septimus moved into the room with deliberate steps, each one bringing him closer with predatory intent. My body tensed, caught between the urge to retreat and the shameful desire to close the remaining distance between us.

“Convenient,” he murmured, the word carrying accusation.

“Is it?” I fought to keep my voice level, aware of the betraying heat creeping up my neck, the too-fast rhythm of my breathing.

“You know why I’m here, Livia.” He circled the room with predatory grace, trailing his fingers along the edge of my bed before coming to stand behind me. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, but not touching. Not yet. He stopped before me, towering and imposing, forcing me to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “We have unfinished business.”

Something stirred low in my belly at his words — memory and anticipation tangling together. I reached for safer ground. “The feast went well. Marcus made the connections we needed. The mission progresses as planned.”

“I’m not here to discuss the mission.” His finger traced my jawline, sending unwelcome sparks of sensation radiating from his touch. “And neither are you.”

I caught his wrist, needing some semblance of control even as I felt it slipping away. “What makes you so certain of my intentions?”

He leaned down, his face hovering inches from mine. His breath smelled of wine and something darker, more primal. My heart hammered against my ribs as he invaded my space, making me acutely aware of how much larger he was, how much stronger.

“Because I know you, Livia Arelius,” he said, his voice a rumble I could almost feel against my skin. “I know what you want, even when you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

“You know nothing,” I managed.

“I know you sent him away tonight.” His voice dropped to a near-whisper that somehow felt more threatening than a shout. “I know you’ve been thinking about what happened earlier — what almost happened. I know you’re wet for me right now, just from this conversation.”

Heat surged through me, shame and desire mingling in equal measure. I fought to keep my expression neutral, though I could feel control slipping with each passing second. “Arrogance was always your most prominent feature, Septimus.”

His smile was slow, predatory, knowing. “Not my most prominent feature, and you know it. This time, there will be no interruptions. This time, I will finish what I started.”

“You presume too much,” I said, but the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

Septimus’s hand shot out, gripping my chin with enough force to make me gasp but not enough to hurt. “Do I?” His thumb brushed across my lower lip, testing its fullness. “Your body has always been honest, even when your mouth lies.”

I jerked my face away, standing abruptly. The stool scraped against the floor as I put distance between us, my back hitting the wall. “What happened earlier was a mistake.”

“Was it?” He advanced on me with unhurried steps. “A mistake you’ve been replaying in your mind? A mistake that has your pulse racing right now?” He stopped mere inches from me. “A mistake you want me to make again?”

“I hate you,” I whispered, the words lacking conviction even to my own ears.

His laugh was dark, rich with promise. “Hate me all you want, Livia. Just do it while I’m inside you.”

The crudeness of his words should have repulsed me. Instead, heat pooled between my thighs, my body betraying me as it always did with him.

His hand moved to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there — a reminder of his power, his control. My breath caught, and I hated my body’s betrayal, the way it responded to his touch despite everything that had passed between us.

“Tell me to leave,” he challenged, his thumb stroking the pulse point beneath my jaw. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll go.”

The words stuck in my throat. I could lie to him — I had lied to far more dangerous men than Septimus — but somehow this deception felt beyond me. Instead, I remained silent, my eyes locked with his in silent defiance.

His smile widened, victory already gleaming in his eyes. “As I thought.”

In one fluid movement, he pulled me to my feet. His hands found my wrists, pinning them behind my back as his mouth descended on mine — not gentle, not asking, but taking. Claiming. His kiss was brutal, demanding, stealing the breath from my lungs and the resistance from my limbs. I struggled against him, but it was token resistance at best, and we both knew it.

When he finally released my mouth and my wrists, I was gasping, my lips swollen and tender.

“Fight me all you want,” he murmured against my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “We both know how this ends.”

“I hate you,” I whispered again, the words lacking conviction even to my own ears.

He laughed, the sound dark and rich.

“Hate me harder,” he growled, teeth grazing my earlobe as his free hand slid from my throat to my shoulder. “It makes it better when you break.”

His hand found the clasp at my shoulder, fingers working it open with practiced ease. The expensive fabric, baring one breast and he bent down, taking my nipple in his mouth. I gasped as his teeth grazed my sensitive flesh, my body arching involuntarily into his touch. The stola slipped further, the expensive fabric pooling at my waist as Septimus’s hands worked with brutal efficiency to remove it.

His mouth trailed fire along my collarbone, up my neck, teeth scraping against my pulse point while his hands finished their work on my clothing. The stola fell completely now, leaving me bare before him, and he pulled back to observe his handiwork.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “Pretending you don’t want this, when your body is begging for me.”

“I never said I didn’t want it,” I shot back, finding a sliver of defiance. “I said I hate you.”

His smile was wicked, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Good. The feeling’s mutual.”

In one swift motion, he lifted me against the wall, his strength effortless as my feet left the ground. I gasped, instinctively wrapping my legs around his waist, feeling the hard ridge of his arousal through his clothing.

“Look how eager you are,” he murmured, one hand sliding between us to stroke between my thighs. His fingers found me slick and ready, drawing a satisfied growl from his throat. “Already so wet. Your body doesn’t hate me, Livia. Your body remembers exactly what I can give it.”

“Fuck you,” I hissed, even as my hips betrayed me, rocking against his hand. “Just because my body responds doesn’t mean—”

“Doesn’t mean what?” His fingers slipped inside me, curling in a way that made my words dissolve into a gasp. “That you’re dripping for me? That you’ve been thinking about this since I left you aching earlier?”

“Bastard,” I hissed, even as my hips rocked against his hand.

“Such language from a noble lady.” His teeth grazed my neck, biting down just hard enough to make me cry out.

His fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving me empty and aching. I bit back a whimper of protest as Septimus stepped back just enough to unfasten his own clothing. The loss of his body heat was momentary, but it felt like an eternity as I watched him free himself, his cock standing proud and thick between us. He wrapped his hand around my throat, pinning me against the wall, his other hand moving up and down his shaft. His eyes never left mine as he stroked himself, a display of raw dominance that made my mouth go dry. The pressure of his hand against my throat wasn't painful, but it was a constant reminder of his control — of how easily he could take what he wanted.

“I was good to you earlier. Now I think it’s time you repaid the favour.” His grip tightened, forcing me down slowly onto my knees in front of him. I knelt before him, the cold floor biting into my skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through my veins. His hand remained on my throat, thumb tracing my jawline with deceptive gentleness.

“Open,” he commanded.

Pride warred with desire as I looked up at him, defiance flickering in my eyes. I pressed my lips together in defiance, earning a dark chuckle from above.

“Still fighting?” His grip tightened slightly. “We both know how this ends, Livia. The only question is how much you make yourself suffer before giving in.”

He was right, and I hated him for it. Hated how well he knew me, how easily he could read my desires. I glared up at him, lips parting just enough for his thumb to press inside. I bit down — not hard enough to hurt, just enough to remind him I wasn’t completely conquered.

He laughed. “There she is. I’d be disappointed if you made it easy.”

His hand guided my head forward, the blunt head of his cock replacing his thumb, pressing insistently against my lips. I could taste the salt of him already, feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“Take me in your mouth,” he ordered, “or I’ll bend you over right now and take what I want without making you come first.”

The threat — the promise — sent a shameful thrill through me. I parted my lips, letting him push inside, filling my mouth with his thickness. His groan of satisfaction made my inner walls clench with need.

I wanted to bite him, to hurt him, to make him feel a fraction of the turmoil he caused within me. Instead, I took him deeper.

His fingers tangled in my hair, controlling my movements as he thrust deeper, testing the limits of how much I could take. I gripped his thighs, nails digging into the hard muscle as he hit the back of my throat. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to yield.

“Gods, your mouth,” Septimus growled, his voice strained. “Made for taking cock.”

I glared up at him, trying to maintain some semblance of defiance even as I worked my tongue along his length. His eyes darkened at my look, and he pulled back suddenly, his cock slipping from my lips with an obscene sound.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

When I didn’t move quickly enough, his hands were under my arms, hauling me to my feet. In one fluid motion, he spun me around, pressing my chest against the cold wall. His body covered mine from behind, his breath hot against my ear.

“I’ve thought about this all day,” he whispered, his voice a dangerous rumble. “Bending you over, making you scream. Watching you try to pretend you don’t want it even as you beg for more.”

His hand slid down my spine, over the curve of my arse, between my thighs. I bit my lip to stifle a moan as his fingers found me slick and ready.

“So wet,” he taunted. “Is this what hating me does to you, Livia?”

“Shut up,” I hissed, pushing back against his hand despite myself.

His laugh was dark against my ear. “Make me.”

I could feel the hard length of him pressed against my back, hot and insistent. His fingers circled my entrance, teasing but never quite giving me what I needed. The frustration built within me, a coiling tension that demanded release.

“Septimus,” I growled, half warning, half plea.

“Yes?” His voice was maddening in its calm, as though he had all the time in the world to torment me. “Something you want?”

His fingers slipped inside me, two at once, the sudden fullness making me gasp. My hips bucked against his hand, seeking more, but he withdrew almost immediately, leaving me empty and aching.

“Bastard,” I spat.

His teeth grazed my shoulder, hard enough to mark. “Say please.”

“Never.”

His hand cracked across my arse, the sudden sting making me cry out. Heat bloomed where he’d struck, radiating outward in waves of shameful pleasure.

“Say. Please.” Each word was punctuated by another sharp slap, until my skin burned and my legs trembled.

“Please,” I finally whispered, the word torn from my throat.

“Please what?” His voice was velvet-wrapped steel against my ear.

I closed my eyes, swallowing what remained of my pride. “Please fuck me.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his approval sending an unwelcome thrill through me.

His hand gripped my hip, fingers digging into flesh hard enough to bruise as he positioned himself. I felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance, teasing, not quite giving me what I needed. My body trembled with anticipation, with need, with shame at how desperately I wanted this — wanted him — despite everything.

“Tell me again,” he demanded, his voice rough with desire. “I want to hear you beg for it.”

I bit my lip, fighting the words even as my body betrayed me, pushing back against him, seeking the fullness only he could provide.

“Stubborn to the end,” he chuckled darkly. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Without warning, he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. The sudden fullness tore a cry from my throat, pain and pleasure mingling in equal measure. He gave me no time to adjust, setting a punishing rhythm that had me clawing at the wall for purchase.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled, his hips snapping against mine. “To be fucked against the wall like a common whore?”

“You talk too much,” I gasped, each thrust driving the breath from my lungs.

His grip tightened, one hand sliding up to tangle in my hair, yanking my head back. The sharp pain sent sparks down my spine, intensifying everything.

“And you fight too much,” he growled against my ear. “But we both know it’s just for show.”

He pulled out suddenly, leaving me empty and aching. Before I could protest, he spun me around, lifting me with ease. My back hit the wall as he hoisted me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“I want to see your face when you come,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “I want to watch you break for me.”

He entered me again in one fluid thrust, the new angle hitting places inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. My nails dug into his shoulders, drawing blood through the fabric of his tunic.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there was almost unbearable — hunger and hatred and something else, something dangerous I didn’t want to name.

“Keep your eyes on me while I fuck you and admit it,” he demanded, his voice strained with exertion. “Admit how much you need this. How much you need me.”

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, determined to deny him the satisfaction. But my body betrayed me, meeting each brutal thrust with equal fervour, my inner walls clenching around him as pleasure built to an unbearable peak.

“Never,” I managed, the word breaking on a moan as he changed the angle, hitting a spot deep inside that made stars explode behind my eyelids.

Septimus growled against my ear, his free hand sliding between my legs to find the sensitive bundle of nerves at my centre. His fingers circled with devastating precision, knowing exactly how to touch me.

“Your mouth lies,” he said, teeth scraping my shoulder. “But this doesn’t.” His fingers moved faster, matching the relentless rhythm of his hips. “Your cunt knows who it belongs to.”

I wanted to deny it, to maintain some shred of dignity, but the coiling tension within me was becoming unbearable. Each thrust drove me higher, closer to that precipice where thought would shatter and only sensation would remain. His pace increased, becoming almost brutal in its intensity. The wall scraped against my back, pain mingling with pleasure in a heady cocktail that left me dizzy. His fingers worked mercilessly between my thighs, drawing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough with exertion. “Come around my cock like the good little whore you are.”

I wanted to resist, to deny him the satisfaction, but my body had other ideas. The tension coiled tighter, tighter, until it snapped with devastating force. My back arched, a cry torn from my throat as pleasure crashed through me in relentless waves. My inner walls clenched around him, milking him as he continued to thrust through my release.

“That’s it,” he growled, his rhythm faltering as his own climax approached. “Take it all. I want you dripping with my cum.”

His words would have shocked me once. Now they only fuelled the fire raging through me as my release crested, my body convulsing around him. Septimus groaned, his rhythm becoming erratic as he chased his own pleasure. I could feel him swell inside me, the telltale sign of his impending release.

“Where?” he demanded, his voice strained, the single word heavy with meaning.

I knew I should tell him to pull out. It would be the sensible thing, the safe thing. I had the herbs to take, though they were never completely reliable. But sense and safety had abandoned me the moment he’d walked through my door.

“Inside,” I gasped, the admission torn from somewhere primal and reckless. “I want to feel you.”

His eyes flashed with triumph as he drove into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt. I felt the hot pulse of him as he came, filling me with his seed, marking me from the inside. His forehead pressed against mine, our breath mingling as we both trembled with the aftershocks of pleasure.

For one unguarded moment, vulnerability flickered across his features — something raw and honest that made my chest ache. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual mask of cold control.

He lowered me slowly, my legs too weak to support my weight immediately. My body felt used, claimed, satisfied in ways I didn’t want to examine too closely. Without his support, I slumped against the wall, watching as he efficiently rearranged his clothing.

I felt the evidence of our joining trickle down my inner thigh, hot and viscous. The sensation should have disgusted me. Instead, it sent a perverse thrill through my body — a reminder of what we’d just done, of how completely I’d surrendered.

Septimus watched me with hooded eyes as I struggled to steady myself. His gaze tracked the path of his seed down my leg, a possessive gleam in his dark eyes that made my stomach clench with renewed desire.

“You look thoroughly fucked,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction. “It suits you.”

I glared at him, summoning what remained of my dignity as I pushed off from the wall. “Is that all you came for? To mark your territory?”

His laugh was low and dangerous. “If I were marking territory, you’d be wearing my bruises where everyone could see them.” His fingers traced my collarbone with deceptive gentleness. “Don’t tempt me.”

I expected him to leave immediately — to reassert the distance between us with some cutting remark or dismissive gesture. Instead, he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with unexpected gentleness.

“Come,” he said, taking my arm and guiding me toward the small bathing area in the corner of my chamber. I was too exhausted to resist as he poured water from the pitcher into the basin, dampening a cloth.

“I can clean myself,” I protested weakly as he pressed me to sit on the edge of my bed.

“Shut up, Livia,” he said, but without malice. He knelt before me — a position so at odds with his dominating presence moments before that I could only stare in confusion as he began to wipe the cloth gently between my thighs.

The tenderness of the gesture was more unsettling than his violence had been. I watched, transfixed, as Septimus cleaned the evidence of our coupling from my thighs, his movements careful, almost reverent. Another cloth to wipe gently over my flushed skin, and then before I realised what he was doing, I was cradled in his arms.

“Septimus, what-”

“Enough talk,” he said firmly. He laid me down gently, pulling the linens up and over my body. I watched, wary and confused, as he moved around my chamber with unexpected care. He poured water into a cup from the pitcher by my bedside and brought it to me, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

“Drink,” he commanded, but the edge had left his voice.

I took the cup, our fingers brushing in a way that sent unwelcome sparks through my still-sensitive body. The water soothed my parched throat, and I hadn’t realized how thirsty I’d been until the cup was empty.

Septimus took it from me, setting it aside before sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and I shifted slightly, uncertain of what this new mood meant. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken things.

“Why are you still here?” I finally asked, my voice rougher than I’d intended.

His gaze flicked to mine, dark and impenetrable. “Would you prefer I leave you used and alone?”

“I would prefer consistency,” I shot back. “This…” I gestured vaguely at his current demeanour, “Whatever this is, doesn’t suit you.”

A smile curled at the corner of his mouth, but it lacked its usual cruelty. “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to.”

He grinned, pulling back the blanket and sliding in beside me.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m staying.”

“Staying? Why?”

His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me gently against him with casual possession. “Because I want to,” he said, as if that explained everything. “And because you’re not as indifferent to me as you pretend.”

“I never claimed to be indifferent,” I muttered, stiffening against him. “I said I hate you.”

His chuckle rumbled through his chest against my back. “Keep telling yourself that.”

He pressed his face into my neck, kissing me softly, then inhaled deeply.

I could feel every hard plane of his body, the heat of him seeping into my skin. Despite my exhaustion, despite everything, my treacherous body responded, melting against him.

“I do hate you,” I whispered, but the words lacked conviction even to my own ears.

“I know.” His lips brushed the nape of my neck, surprisingly gentle. “Hate me tomorrow. Tonight, just sleep.”