Word Count: 2845

~Lavelle

I am done. This is happening tonight.

My footsteps are near silent as I pad down the hallway. The palace has long since gone to sleep, although it has evaded me personally. All I have been able to do is stare at the ceiling and contemplate my future.

And I have come to the conclusion that I need to kill Zyre. Tonight.

My heart thumps in my ears as I stalk closer to his quarters, a small dagger sitting in the pocket of my dressing gown. It's a risk, making this move, but I don't see any other way.

The only way I can be free of him is to take him out, and if our ride in the carriage this evening has proven anything to me, it is that I cannot trust myself around him. It's starting to become dangerous.

A single guard comes into view at the same time Zyre's suite door does. He stands straight at his post, shifting as he watches me approach.

"What are you doing here, Lavelle?" He asks softly, surveying me with a keen eye.

I vaguely know this guard. He comes from Zyre's brothers pack, and follows him like his shadow when he needs to additional protection.

He should be easy to fool.

I lean my shoulder against the hallway wall, sighing slowly. "Zyre invited me to his room tonight. I wasn't going to take him up on his offer, but...I can't help myself."

The guards eyes narrow. He knows I've been nothing but resistant to Zyre since he became Alpha. I just hope he has been able to see that strange connection between Zyre and I, as other seem to.

"He's sleeping."

"I know. I was hoping to wake him." I wink, feeling like an utter fool. I just hope this works. Once Zyre has been taken out, I plan to launch myself from his bedroom window and make a break for the forest. No one should be alerted until morning.

The guards shifts uncomfortably. "Fine, but only because I know he will be very pleased to see you."

He cracks open Zyre's apartment door, motioning me inside. I withhold my triumphant grin as I breeze past into the dark clutches of his space.

Mercifully, he didn't take Avi's rooms. He chose a suite on the other side of the palace, that is smaller and easier to navigate in almost complete darkness.

At one point, I knock my knee against small table, gritting my teeth as pain lances up the limb. Eventually, with some stumbling, I make it to his bedroom.

Pressing the door open, I silent glide inside.

In the darkness, I can faintly make out the shape of his bed. I can hear his soft breathing coming from that direction.

Removing the dagger from my pocket, I clutch it tightly against my sweaty palm. Slowly, silently, I let my dressing gown glide off my shoulders, pooling at my ankles, leaving me in my satin nightdress.

Brandishing the blade in front of me, I slowly approach his bed.

This is mania...I'm about to kill someone. Until now, I haven't put much thought to that reality, but this is Zyre, and there is no other escape for me if I don't flee. I'll come back for my father later, when I can assure my own safety.

At that point, I will be returning to claim his power, which I earned.

I take another step, until my knee presses into the plush edge of his mattress. Straining my eyes, I can see him lying on his back, his neck exposed.

I should go for that, but that feels brutal in a way I can't fathom. It would be easier to sink the blade into his chest and let him bleed out. Then I can run.

Raising the dagger an inch, I ignore the screaming voice in the back of my head, begging me to consider my own conscience, my own feelings for him.

But my feelings for him are exactly why I need to do this.

Before I can even consider driving the knife down, Zyre is moving. I barely see him, only feeling his hand as it wraps around my wrist, yanking me toward him with dizzying strength.

I scream as I I'm flipped, losing my footing. I tumble toward the bed, Zyre's arm locking around my waist, pulling me back toward him.

This is where I die. He's going to kill me.

I feel warmth first, and then the hard length of his body. He pulls my back to his front, far gentler than I deserve, before his arm winds under my head and his hand clamps over my mouth.

I'm completely restrained against him, in his bed with him, with the dagger suddenly not in my hand. How he disarmed me through all of that, I don't know. I just know my one chance at defending myself is gone.

I feel his breath ghost against my ear as he speaks. "I know it's you, wife."

My whimper is mercifully contained against his hand. This is it for me. He knows what I came here to do, and he's either going to kill me here, or shove me in a prison for the rest of time.

I shouldn't have let my anger overcome me. I should have crafted a better plan, instead of letting myself become overwhelmed by our intense interaction earlier.

"I could scent you the moment you walked in." His grip tightens over my mouth, pulling my head back into his shoulder. There really is nowhere for me to go.

"You came in here to kill me." The tone of his voice is deceptively difficult to read. I have no idea how angry he truly is. "What am I going to do with you now?"

He loosens his grip enough for my voice to escape through his fingers. "Zyre..."

"Shh, relax." He hushes me gently, like he is talking to a spooked animal. "I'm not ready to let you go just yet."

I grimace, silently cursing the heat that's poured into my lower stomach. I'm facing the possibility of death, but feeling the hardness of his body against me, smelling his distinctly masculine scent, is turning me on, and I hate myself for it.

"Are you going to kill me?"

I feel him angle his head in the darkness. "Should I?"

"No. Please." I shift, only for him to press me closer against him.

He laughs gently in my ear, the rough, deep sound causing my body to unintentionally arch back into him. I don't know what I'm doing, what has overcome me. It's maddening.

"Please?" Suddenly his hand is wrapping around my throat. His grip isn't tight enough to compromise my breathing, just enough to hold me. "Beg me for my forgiveness."

My breath shudders on the way past my lips. I could call his bluff, tell him I don't actually think he will kill his wife, who is the key to whatever his brother wants. I could wrestle out, tell him he's lost his mind before returning to my room.

Or, I could stay here and see where he is taking this.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what I was—"

"Uh ah," he tuts. "I said beg."

"Please, Zyre. Don't kill me. Show me mercy," I whisper, my body almost trembling with anticipation. Not because I think he's going to hurt me...quite the opposite, in fact.

"I'll tell you what, I won't kill you for trying to kill me." His fingers flex against my throat. "But I will not be showing you mercy."

I shiver. "What are you going to do to me?"

He hums quietly, contemplatively. His other hand slides back across my stomach and over my hip. It takes everything in me not to press back into his touch, to demand more from him.

"What would you like me to do to you?" His hands gentle pass over my hip shifts my short nightdress up my legs. I would worry about feeling exposed, if it weren't impossibly dark in this room.

"Let me go."

His hand pauses at my waist. "Are you certain?"

This is my time to get away. I know if I want to, he will let me go, let me return to my room with my dignity intact. He might not even bring it up tomorrow, despite this being a somewhat legitimate assassination attempt.

"No..." I murmur instead, because some self-sabotaging part of myself wants to see where this is going.

His hand moves once again, down over my hip and to my thigh. I stiffen as his fingertips graze my bare skin. It feel electric, my senses heightened with one of them not operational.

I haven't let him touch me at all in weeks. I've kept him at a distance, having been afraid of him, what I might do with his closeness.
Now my careful control has slipped.

"Tell me, wife." His mouth softly brushes against my neck, right below my neck. "What should I do to you?"

"Keep touching me," I insist pathetically, vaguely aware that I will curse myself for this come morning. Right now, though, I want to succumb to the pleasure. I want to know what he is capable of doing to me.

His grip around my throat tightens as his other hand glides lower down my thigh, before curving inward. I feel a moment of hesitation, a subtle consideration for whether he is overstepping a boundary or not. My legs widen slightly for him, insisting that I need more of his touch.

He kisses below my jawline, just above his fingers. "Like this?"

His other hand brushes against my inner thigh, slowly, methodically tormenting me. He drifts closer to my centre, and back down again, melting my thoughts into a puddle.

"Yes..." I breathe.

"Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous," he murmurs, his silken voice making my eyes flutter closed, as I ready myself to give into whatever he wants. "You just tried to kill me, but I'll give you all the pleasure you need on one condition."

I'm so lost, his condition could be for me to forfeit my own life instead of his and I might agree. The torturous drag of his fingertips up my inner thigh, never getting close enough to touch where I need him, is maddeningly.

"I don't want to you to stop," I gasp out, pressing closer to him, but still he doesn't oblige me.

Suddenly his grip on my throat disappears. His hand slides up to cup the side of my face, turning mine toward him. I imagine if there was light, I would be able to see my desperation mirrored in his eyes.

"If I find you soaked for me below your nightdress, I'm going to fuck you with my fingers. Nice and hard, like you deserve." His breath ghosts against my lips, so close but not close enough. "If not, you're free to go without fear of my retaliation."

My breath catches in my throat.

One touch, and he will find the evidence of my desire for him. Once found, it cannot be undone. He will know with certainty that I want him, that I'm attracted to him.

I don't want him to know...yet somehow, I also do.

His hand drifts closer to centre, until I reach out and grab his wrist. "Wait."

He does. He doesn't move his hand closer, but I feel his mouth barely an inch away from mine.

"Troubled about what I may find?" He taunts.

"Well, I..." I break off, knowing there is no denying it. I am addicted to him, his touch. I am soaked for him, and there is no hiding from it any longer.

"You may refuse me at any time, Lavelle. Anytime." His voice is sobering, a sharp reminder at the edge of my mind that while I am trapped in his bed, at his mercy, I control whether this continues at all time.

"I don't want to stop," I insist, my fate decided.

He kisses right next to my mouth in praise, his hair brushes against my skin. I want to melt into his warmth, his perfectly masculine scent. I want to lose myself in him completely, to remember as little about reality beyond this as possible.

"Then spread your legs a little wider so I can determine how this night will unfold," he prompts darkly, nudging at my thigh with his hand.

I oblige him, my nightdress slipping up my hips.

I feel nothing at first, as his hand lifts away from my thigh. I can only feel the soft kiss of the night air against the most sensitive part of me.

And then, he touches me. It's a gentle brush of his fingers at the centre of me, yet it makes me jolt regardless. It's been so long since I've been touched there by someone other than me...I forgot how incredible it feels to allow myself to place my pleasure in someone else's hands.

Zyre groans in my ear at the evidence of my lust. "Fuck, Lavelle. You're drenched."

"I can't help myself," I whisper, because I can't. This is how I am around him, and I'm tired of pretending otherwise.

His fingers rise slowly from my entrance to my clit, where two press down with not nearly enough pressure. Still, I can't help but gasp at the surge of pleasure, my hips raising up toward his hand.

"No, you can't. You crave me, about as much as you hate me," he says against my throat, before kissing there over and over.

I can't even remember why I hate him, as his fingers move in slowly, methodical circles against my clit. I can't remember why I don't worship him, as he is currently doing to me.

"I don't hate you, Lavelle." His teeth graze below my ear. "Quite the opposite. And now, I'm going to fill you up, nice and deep."

My hand grabs the sheet, gripping tightly as his fingers drift away from my clit. I almost beg him to hurry, to leave me untouched for not a moment more, until he sinks a finger inside me in one movement.

My head bows back into his shoulder, a moan shamelessly slipping past my lips. I can't help it. At the sound of my need, Zyre quietly praises me in my ear, before sliding a second finger inside of me.

The fullness, his nearness...it's almost too much. The pleasure is intoxicating, crowding my thoughts, infecting my body. I want more, more, more.

He withdraws his fingers, only to plunge them inside me again, deeper with each pass. He doesn't pause to give a moment's reprieve. He only builds my pleasure higher and higher.

"I have wanted this since the first moment I saw you," he growls in my ear, curling his fingers into a spot inside me that has me seeing bursts of colour in my vision. "I have wanted to unravel you, to feel you come undone beneath me."

I have shared his desires for just as long, I simply can't admit it. Even in this fog of need, I know not to make such declarations of truth.

His name chokes into a moan at my lips as his thrusts his fingers into me, slow and hard. I press back into him with each movement, desperately chasing the pleasure building from deep inside me.

I cannot be sure I can hold it another moment. His touch, his words of breathless praise in my ear...it's all too much.

I feel blindly for him in the dark, clutching the side of his face, feeling the strength of his jaw. I pull him closer, until his mouth it on mine.

He moans softly into my mouth as my tongue sweeps into his. He rewards me by pressing his fingers in deep, curling them into that spot of pleasure that has me exploding into a climax.

He kisses me as thoroughly as he pleasures me, stealing my breath from my lungs as euphoric sensations overcome my body. Splashes of colour brighten my vision as I chant his name into his mouth, overwhelmed by the pleasure.

I come down slowly, shuddering against him. He holds me tight, only drawing his fingers from my body when I'm completely wrung out.

"Well done, my beautiful wife," he murmurs against my skin, while I gasp for air, my body feeling foreign and far away.

I know I should immediately regret what I have done. I know I should want to take it all back.

But as I sag into his body, energy entirely depleted, I can't find it in myself to want that.

🤍••🤍

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~Midika 💜🐈‍⬛