Audacity (Seraph)

This lord’s bedchamber is as richly appointed as my first impressions suggested. Behind him stands a majestic four-poster bed: a great, hulking thing carved from oak. Its heavy hangings are a deep red, and a thrill courses through my body at the thought of the guards closing them around us so it’s just me and him in a womb-like space where he can consume me entirely.

The guards ahead of me move forward until they’re in front of him. They stop and move to the side to give their lord a clear view of this virgin they’ve brought to his bedside. We stare at each other again, and I take him in.

His hair is more tousled than I’ve seen it, his beard less neatly clipped. He’s in a fine doublet made from burgundy-coloured velvet and punctuated with a wide leather belt. His breeches look like wool; his long boots are black leather. I spot several chunky rings on his fingers.

I bet they’ll rub against my clit when he explores his new plaything.

‘I said, let me see. Take down your hood.’ His voice is brusque, his entire demeanour straddling that line of bored and pissed off.

‘Yes, my Lord.’ I reach up for my hood and slowly slide it off my head. I’m not sure if it’s my words, or the full sight of my face, but he swallows hard, his eyes roving over me before jerking to one of the guards behind me.

‘Take off her cloak.’

They both step forward, crowding me as they attempt to undo the horn and leather closure of my cloak with their free hands. Their proximity has me shivering in delight. I couldn’t be more aware of the things I agreed to in my questionnaire, but I have no idea at all of what Gabe has planned for me tonight.

Even so, when they slide the cloak off me, leaving me in a so-called gown that’s little more than an expanse of muslin, the full significance of this situation hits me.

I’m alone in a room with five men, the overlord in front of me even more intimidating than his armed guards.

I’m hyper-aware of my nipples, hardened beyond all decency by arousal and something approaching frostbite, poking through the thin fabric. I’m conscious of my growing slickness, of the tremors of my thighs as they press together. I’m aware that his lordship can already see far too much of the bride he’s wrenched from her groom, all for the lordly pleasure of shattering her innocence and pumping her full of his seed. He can already see far too clearly how nubile she is, how ripe for plunder.

He steps forward, looking me over in a haughty way. It’s as though he’s been born to it, as though he’s been raised his entire life seeing everything and everyone as his property. His gaze rakes over my face, over my breasts. It floats downwards, taking in the way the fabric skims my hips, and I wonder if the maid was right, if he’s assessing my worthiness for his seed.

‘Take off your shoes,’ he orders, and I toe them off. They’re barely worthy of the term shoes, but barefoot, I feel even more exposed. He stares at my feet before wrenching his eyes from my body and glaring at one of the guards in front of me.

‘Remove her dress. I want to see.’

Despite myself, I freeze. I can still hear the drummers’ tattoo, low and insistent, through the windows. It sounds to my jacked-up nervous system like the beat of danger. Of sacrifice. It sounds like the beat to which blood is spilt and lives are shattered.

This is it. This is why I’m here, and the Athena of this millennium rejoices while her thousand-year-old ancestor shrinks. I need this so badly. I need them to tear my dress from my limbs so he can feast upon me, to consume me so mercilessly that I’ll never be the same again.

Beside me, two of the guards grab at the slit of my gown’s neckline and yank, hard, and the fabric rips with a sinister shriek. I gasp involuntarily. The curtains have opened on the spectacle that is my body, leaving me perfectly, nakedly on display as they slide the remains of the gown off my shoulders and it drops to the ground behind me.

I’m hyper-conscious, my senses on fire. The warm air kisses my skin just as his gaze sears it. I stand completely still, arms by my sides, as he takes me in. He reaches up and scratches at his beard, and it seems to me he’s struggling to contain himself.

He may think he’s bringing this maiden to her knees, but I’ll be damned if I haven’t brought him to his by the end of our night together.

His voice, when he speaks, is a bark.

‘Leave us.’