Page 94 of A Dance Macabre

Her sparkling eyes darken as she studies me. Finally, she nods and curls her gloved hand around my arm.

“We shall.”

Steppingout from the town car first, I help Mercy climb out after me. The loud shouts of the paparazzi heighten behind us as soon as they realize who we are.

My gaze dips to Mercy’s uncovered leg as she steps out, and my throat tightens, longing to sink my teeth into her skin once again. Luckily, I can indulgesomeof my lustful yearnings now that we have the cameras in front of us.

But Mercy surprises me. Before even walking up to the sidewalk, she pulls me against her. Her laced fingers caress my cheek as she presses a lingering kiss against my lips, the paparazzi roaring in excitement. My arm immediately wraps around her hips, pulling her up against me as I groan against her mouth.

“My, my,” I drawl when she finally pulls away. “What was that for?”

She daintily lifts a shoulder and purses her lips, giving me a teasing pout. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she wraps her arm around the crook of my elbow and waits for me to lead us inside.

Mercy doesn’t need to tell me. I know why she’s being more than accommodating. And if I were a gambling man, I’d bet my entire fortune that she knows that I know.

She’ll do everything not to use her words.

The opera houseis a historic Pravitian landmark in the heart of the Vorovsky neighborhood. It’s one of the oldest buildings in the city alongside Mount Pravitia and has just as many ghosts haunting the halls.

Inside, we’re escorted upstairs to a private balcony. Since we arrived fashionably late, the first act has already begun, and we silently find our seats behind a heavy-drawn curtain.

I love the opera.

The music, the costumes, the drama.

But tonight, nothing is as breathtaking as my own muse sitting beside me. I have trouble concentrating, carefully studying every move Mercy makes instead.

She peers down to the stage from behind small gold binoculars. Her back is straight, puffs of red taffeta surrounding her as she leans her torso toward the railing, her breasts pushed up and spilling out of her corset.

What I would do to take a large bite? I would chew slowly, savoring every flavor of Mercy I could taste.

Eventually, I cave to the impulse of needing her near and pull her closer to me with a forceful tug on the front leg of her chair. Her eyebrow lifts, shooting me a curious glance from the corner of her eye, but keeps the binoculars raised.

Slowly, I trail a finger down her left arm, the texture of the lace soft under my fingertips. I take her hand and bring it to my lap. Interlocking our fingers together, I drag her palm over my trousers, pressing our hands over my hardening cock.

I audibly groan, my head falling backward for half a second before focusing back on the stage below.

I ache for her.

Two weeks feels like a lifetime, and if I didn’t have any more self-control left, I’d drop to my knees and bury my head between her thighs.

Who am I truly punishing at this very moment?

I’m cracking alongside Mercy.

I need her.

I’m desperate for her.

Making her squeeze the length of my cock, I lean closer so that my lips whisper across the sensitive skin of her neck. I run my nose behind her ear. Tug her earlobe with my teeth. I feel her shiver and smile against her skin.

“You look ravishing tonight, my ruin,” I finally rasp, “But if you can’t use your words to apologize.” I press her palm even harder against my cock. “Then I might have just the thing for you.”

50

WOLFGANG

After the opera, I take Mercy to Vainglory Tower. She doesn’t say much as I lead her up to my private quarters. It’s as if her unspoken apology is taking so much space inside her mouth that she doesn’t have room for anything else.

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