Page 67

The door to the dark room opened, and he stepped inside.

I looked up from the bed, instantly aware of the effect he had on me.

His silver eyes, locking onto mine with a possessive gaze, sent a jolt of pleasure through me, leaving my core throbbing with a need I barely understood.

I wanted to run to him, to feel his hands on my body, to hear his praise and his approval.

I didn't understand what had happened to me.

I had always been in control, always the one calling the shots in my relationships.

Yet here, in front of him, I felt insignificant—like I existed only for his pleasure, for his fulfillment.

Perhaps he had cast some kind of spell, or maybe this was my true nature, or maybe he had simply rewritten my own understanding of myself.

But I knew one thing: I would do anything he wanted, anything he asked, just to be in his presence.

He walked towards the bed, and as much as I wanted to run into his arms, my legs wouldn't obey. They felt like jelly from how many times I'd touched myself in anticipation, but nothing quenched the fire; the ache only intensified. I knew I would pay any price just to feel him, to hear his praise.

He came close and sat on the bed, leaning back, and I summoned all my willpower to crawl toward him.

I was a vampire, yet his very presence made me feel lower than a human, as if I were incapable of using my power without his permission.

My hand crawled up his thigh, feeling the thick bulge under my fingers as they crept up to his shirt. Trembling, I unbuttoned it.

"Good girl," he murmured, voice low. "You finally understand not to do anything I haven't asked of you.

" His praise hit me harder than any achievement I'd ever claimed.

I remembered the slap he'd given me the first time I'd tried to take control, how he'd denied me an orgasm afterward.

That punishment had been torture—like an army of ants crawling through my core, the itch unquenchable, the need unscratchable.

I had to hold back as long as he willed it.

And when he finally let his fingers inside me, the pleasure was so intense I'd passed out, leading to another punishment—one without any pleasure at all.

The memory made me shudder, and he noticed, a dark chuckle escaping his lips that made my core clench painfully with need.

I finally managed to remove his shirt, looking up at him in silent question, seeking permission to continue.

He nodded, and I hurriedly reached for the buttons on his trousers, terrified that he'd change his mind.

The moment his pants slipped down, his thick, veined member sprang free.

Silver veining traced along its length, and the transparent liquid at the tip made me salivate.

I wrapped my fingers around him, feeling the heat, and lost myself in the sensation as he placed a hand on my head, a small gesture that sent a rush of pleasure and satisfaction through me.

Before I realized it, he increased the pressure, and his thick length filled my mouth, plunging down my throat with a force that took me by surprise.

My throat burned with the stretch, yet it wasn't pain—it only made the slick between my thighs drip down, my thoughts scattering.

I couldn't think, couldn't focus, could only feel the way he used my head as if it were his possession, thrusting deep without hesitation.

Tears filled my eyes, and I felt them streak down my face, my hair a disheveled mess in his grip, like a leash on a dog.

My breasts ached with a searing need as I instinctively reached up, only to feel a sharp sting as he slapped my hands away. Roughly, he took hold, squeezing with an unrestrained grip that left my skin tingling.

"Don't forget your place," he said coldly. "Always ask for permission." His words burned into me, his piercing silver eyes holding my gaze as my red, tear-streaked ones looked up at him. I knew then that I'd disappointed him again.

"S-sorry," I stammered, but he didn't seem to care. His length plunged even deeper, pushing my limits until I could barely think.

The rhythm continued, each thrust driving me closer to an edge I couldn't reach. I thought I saw red blurring my vision—perhaps blood, or maybe just my eyes straining. My head was swimming in madness, and the throbbing ache between my legs grew unbearable.

I knew, without a doubt, that only he could satisfy this insatiable need. Only he could take away this hunger that consumed me. I asked him over and over, begging in a haze of desperation, but he would only say, "You're not ready."

When would I be ready? The question rang through my mind endlessly. I didn't even care what he wanted; I just needed to know so I could fulfill it. Whatever he asked, I would do it, if only he'd tell me when the time would come, when he'd demand what I could finally give.

At last, I felt him throb, his essence filling me. The satisfaction was blissful, almost addictive, but it wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed him to fill me in every way, to satisfy the ache in my core.

"You may come," he murmured. As if on command, heat flooded my body, the fire inside finally bursting between my legs, drenching everything below me. It was the release I'd been craving, something I couldn't achieve on my own, as though my own body waited for his permission to feel pleasure.

I collapsed onto the bed, my body weak, his essence lingering on my lips. I greedily licked it away, savoring the taste. His member still hung in front of me, and without hesitation, I opened my mouth again, cleaning him off as if it were a sacred task, like a child given their favorite treat.

"You've done well," he said, stroking my hair in a way that made my heart pound with pride. "Now, it's time for your final test."

His words snapped me to attention. This was it—the moment I'd waited for, anticipated with every fiber of my being.

"Your main task is simple," he said. "You remember Finnian?"

I looked up at him, puzzled.

"Your husband," he clarified, amusement in his voice. "What a poor pet, forgetting its past so easily."

The memory came back. Finnian—that man had tried countless times to contact me, had even come to the academy repeatedly. I had refused to meet him each time, seeing no use in his presence. But now, perhaps he could be useful. Perhaps he could help me, help me please my master.

"There will be a vote soon to decide whether I am worthy to be declared heir to the throne," he explained, his voice a low murmur as he guided my head, keeping me focused.

"Finnian's vote is important. Without his support, it could turn unnecessarily bloody and complicated, which I would rather avoid. "

His hand caressed my head, urging me on, praising me without words, and I continued to serve him, driven by the hope of his approval.

"But the problem is," he said, voice growing colder, "he doesn't like me much. And that, my dear, is where you come in. Your task is to make sure he votes in my favor."

Realization dawned, each word etching itself into my mind. This, then, was his ultimate goal, perhaps even the reason he'd drawn me into his world from the beginning. But what did it matter? If this was what he required of me, I would fulfill it gladly.

"I'll be leaving soon," he said, pulling back from me, leaving me feeling empty and cold in his absence. "You'll see me again only once you've completed the task."

A surge of panic flooded me. How could I survive without him, even for a single day?

"Shh," he soothed, his fingers brushing over my slit before pinching the fleshy bud standing proud, sending a spark of pleasure through me. "Be good. Next time we meet, you'll have a reward."

The promise lingered as he dressed, concealing himself piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the warmth I craved. I lay there, dazed and hollow, watching him leave, the door closing heavily behind him.

"Only if you fulfil your task" his voice lingered in the dark room making me understand my purpose.

"I'll do it," I whispered to the empty room, my voice rough, broken, filled with a desperate determination.

The smell of desire, madness, and longing hung thickly in the air, echoing the only thought that remained.