Page 18 of Warlord’s Plaything

18

HIRA

I wake to heat.

Not the kind from the fire that swallowed House Herox’s war stores.

Not the kind that licked at my skin when I swung my torch and watched the flames consume everything.

No—this heat is different. Closer. Heavier. More dangerous.

It’s him.

Xyron.

The smell of him—dark spices and battle-worn steel— seeps into my senses before my vision clears.

Before I register the silk beneath my fingers.

Before I realize—I’m not in the pits anymore.

I’m in his bed.

I bolt upright.

The moment I move, I feel every ache, every bruise, every reminder of the fight we lost.

The rebellion crumbled under his hands.

And now—so have I.

I don’t recognize the room, but I know it belongs to him.

Everything is too rich, too decadent, too suffocatingly expensive.

Deep black stone walls. Gilded torches casting gold across silk sheets.

And the smell of him, thick in the surroundings.

Like he owns every inch of this place.

Like he owns me.

"I was wondering when you’d wake up."

His voice is a blade against my spine.

I whip toward the sound, heart hammering.

Xyron leans against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes gleaming like molten fire in the dim torchlight.

Too casual.

Too composed.

Like he hasn’t just ruined everything I fought for.

Like he hasn’t stolen me from the battlefield and dragged me here, into his domain.

Like he isn’t waiting for me to give up the fight. Break.

"Go to hell."

The words slip out like a snarl.

He smiles. Slow. Amused. Infuriating.

"Oh, little warrior."

He moves toward me, slow and predatory, his presence filling the space, suffocating the atmosphere between us.

"You’re in my hell now."

My pulse spikes.

Every instinct in my body screams to move.

To fight. To run. To do anything but sit here, caught in his gravity.

But I don’t.

Because running isn’t what I do.

And something dark inside me knows?—

I don’t want to run.

Not from this.

Not from him.

"Why am I here?" I bite out, fists curling in the silk sheets.

Xyron reaches the bed, stopping just close enough that I feel his heat, feel the way the air thickens between us.

"Because you lost." His voice is low, even. Dangerous. "Because you belong to me now."

"You think you own me?" I force out, voice sharper than my shaking hands.

He leans in, not touching me—but so close it doesn’t fucking matter.

"I don’t think, little warrior."

A breath.

A slow, deliberate pause.

"I know."

Something snaps.

I move before I think—lashing out, aiming for his throat, needing to push him back, needing to remind him that I am not something to be owned.

But he anticipates it.

Like he always does.

Like he knows me better than I know myself.

He catches my wrist, twisting, yanking me forward.

And suddenly, I’m caged between his arms.

Between him.

"You still don’t get it, do you?" His breath is warm against my skin.

"You can fight me all you want, Hira."

His fingers tighten just enough to make me gasp.

"But you’ll always end up right here."

Pinned. Breathless. Trapped in something neither of us can fucking escape.

I should fight harder.

I should shove him away, kick, bite, anything.

But I don’t.

This isn’t just rage anymore.

It’s heat. It’s hunger.

I hate the way my body betrays me.Hate the way my pulse spikes when his grip tightens, the way his scent sinks into my lungs, heady and fucking intoxicating. I hate him.

But I hate myself more.

His lips brush my jaw.

Not a kiss.

A warning. A threat. A promise.

"You’re mine now."

His voice is a growl, rough and dark and fucking sinful.

"Say it."

I clench my teeth. "Go fuck yourself."

His laugh is low, deep, vibrating through my bones. "I’d rather fuck you."

Fire. That’s what it feels like the moment his mouth crashes onto mine. The moment control fucking shatters. The moment I stop thinking and start burning.

It’s brutal. Violent. A battle as much as it is a surrender.

Teeth. Hands. Desperation.

I hate him.

I want him.

I want to hurt him and drown in him and fucking ruin him the way he’s ruining me.

And he knows it.

"Tell me to stop." His breath is ragged against my lips. "Tell me you don’t want this."

I should. I know I should. But the words won’t come. Instead, I arch into him, my body answering for me.

He doesn’t need more encouragement. His hands are everywhere, stripping away my clothes, his touch leaving trails of fire in their wake. When his mouth closes over my breast, I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

His tongue flicks over my nipple, teasing, tormenting, until I’m writhing beneath him, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Xyron—” His name escapes my lips, half a plea, half a curse.

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine, and the intensity in his gaze steals my breath. “Say it,” he demands, his voice rough, his hands gripping my hips. “Say you’re mine.”

I shake my head, refusing to give him the words, but my body betrays me, arching into his touch, craving more.

He growls, low and possessive, and then his hand is between my legs, his fingers sliding through my wetness, and I gasp, my hips jerking against his touch.

“You can deny it, Hira,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. “But your body doesn’t lie.”

His fingers slip inside me, and I cry out, my nails digging into his back. He moves with agonizing slowness, his thumb circling my sensitive clit that makes me see colorful motes of lights. I’m trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my body coiled tight like a spring.

“Xyron—” I choke out his name again, my voice breaking.

“Say it,” he growls, his fingers curling inside me, sending sparks shooting through my veins. His eyes smolder, gazing at me, drinking me in with that predatory smile of his.

I can’t hold back anymore. “I’m yours,” I gasp, the words torn from me. “I’m yours.”

A small part of me refuses to give up, but the pleasure is too much. It’s building and building, at the same time, smashing my pride down.

He doesn’t give me a moment to regret it. In one swift motion, he’s inside me, filling me completely and my body stretches to accommodate his huge cock. He pauses, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice rough.

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze, and the raw intensity there steals my breath. He begins to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust driving me closer to the edge. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, my nails raking down his back.

“You’re mine, little warrior,” he growls, his voice a dark promise. “Mine.”

A silent scream escapes my lips. It’s so good. My toes curl and my legs snake around his waist, pushing him on. Every nerve endings of mine are on fire.

“Fuck, little warrior!” he groans, his hold on me tightening. My eyes roll back as his moves even more faster than possible. His cock hits spot inside me I don’t know I have.

I’ve never known sex this good. This exciting.

I’m like a mumbling fool. I can’t argue. I can’t think. All I can do is feel—the heat of his body, the friction of his movements, the way he fills me completely.

My climax builds, a coil of tension tightening in my pussy, and when it breaks, it’s like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. I cry out, shuddering, my nails digging into him.

He follows me over the edge, his movements growing erratic, his breath warm against my neck. When he finally stills, his body pressed to mine, his breath ragged, I feel the implications of what we’ve done settle over me.

He’s ruined me.

And I let him.