Page 23 of Bloody Kingdom

She’s alone, touching herself.

The realization makes me swallow hard, fighting against the burn in my throat as my hunger for her rears its ugly head once more. But it’s not my thirst for her that’s painful, it’s my painful need for her.

She moans and pants as she chases her release, go straight to my cock, making it press painfully against the confines of my slacks.

Fuck!

My hand reaches for the door handle without thinking, my fingers just brush the cool glass of the knob before I realize what I was about to do. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to stay put. If I was truly strong, I would walk away right now, but the need to hear her come has me staying in place.

In my head, I picture the way she touches herself. What gets her off? Does she like is slow and gentle? Or hard and rough? I lean my head against the cool panel of the door, squeezing my eyes shut as I imagine the way her fingers play with that sweet pussy of hers. They delve inside of her, thrusting into her slick walls. The heel of her palm rests on her sensitive clit and she grinds herself against it.

Silently, my own hand moves to the belt of my slacks. In seconds, my dick is free and I’m fisting it, swiping the pearl of precum around the crown with my thumb. I should feel filthy doing such a thing, where anyone could see me, but I can’t stop myself. A need like I haven’t felt in centuries is soaring through me.

I set my tempo to how I think she would do it as I continue to picture how she’s touching herself. I imagine as one hand works between her thighs, the other plays with her pebbled nipples. They pinch and pull at them until they hurt. When that’s not enough, she trails her fingers up to her throat, and wraps her hand right where my hand rested just hours ago. In her mind, she remembers the way I looked at her and the way my thumb pressed into her pulse point. She squeezes her own throat, but I imagine it’s my own hand slowing the blood flow, just like I imagine it’s her hand around my cock.

Her breathing and heart rate become more erratic, the moans becoming more intense. She’s close. I work my cock faster to catch up with her. We may have gone into this alone, but we are coming together.

As she comes, she cries out my name, “Silas.” The sound is muffled, like she covered her mouth as she did it. But it’s still the sweetest sound. It sends me right over the edge. In a flash, I’ve pulled the pocket square from my suit jacket. As I come inside it, I picture it’s her hot cunt I’m filling.

I can’t move, I stay leaning my head against the door panting softly as I come back down. It’s been months since I’ve come that hard. Nothing and no one has kept my attention or filled me with such need until Quincey. It wasn’t really her that did this, so what would the real thing be like?

She said my name as she came, she was thinking about me as she touched herself. Suddenly the idea of her calling me by my first name doesn’t sound as unpleasant as it did. In fact, if she said my name the same way she said it just now, I may insist she call me nothing else moving forward.

The creaking of the floorboards on the other side of the door drags my mind away from my illicit thoughts and the reality of what just happened crashes down on me like a bucket of ice water.Shit.

Quincey moves across the room, her footsteps getting louder the closer she moves toward the door. I silently curse myself for being so weak as I quietly stuff my cock back into my pants.How could I be so stupid?

In a blink of an eye, I’ve moved from her door to a dark shadowy corner down the hallway. There isn’t even the slightest possibility she can see me with her poor human eyes, but still, when her door creaks open, I freeze. She steps out barefoot into the hallway, her head swinging from side to side as if looking for something.Me. She must have heard me at some point. Even in the dark, I can see the faint flush to her cheeks. Her hair is mussed in the back as if she’d been thrashing her head.

Not finding anything, she slips back into the room, once more putting a door between us. We are going to need more than a door to keep us separated if I keep losing my control.

Ican count on one hand the number of times I’ve been in the same room as Silas in the past two weeks. He’s avoiding me and honestly, I’m avoiding him. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the act of boldness has since filled me with nothing but shame and embarrassment.

It’s not because I pranced around butt naked in front of him either. It’s because of what happened later that night.

The way he touched me and looked at me with such a hunger in his eyes, awoke something in me. It awoke a need I was too weak to ignore. That night as the rest of the house slept, I touched myself as I thought of him. I thought of all the dirty wicked things he’d do to me as I made myself come with my fingers.

Of course, I wasn’t thinking about the real him—the jerk who scares me. I was thinking about the version I saw just for a moment while I stood in front of him naked. The man who looked at me like I was a delectable treat for him to feast on. That’s the man I want—or wanted.

As the lust-induced fog lifted and I lay there in bed panting, the crushing humiliation that I’ve felt since filled me. How could I masturbate thinking of someone who’d kidnapped me? Who scares me?

Stockholm syndrome. That’s the excuse I’ve settled on and the only one I’m willing to accept. Even if deep down I know it’s not true, but like I’ve said, I’m not good at facing my realities.

“Della?” Ira’s eyes peel open, looking dazed from his pain med-induced sleep. He’s been having a rough couple of days and I’ve upped his dosage to keep him comfortable. Due to this, he’s been pretty out of it, rambling on about things that don’t quite make sense, but I still just sit and listen, responding when I can.

I put down the romance novel Duke picked up for me when he was in town. He laughed at the sexy man on the cover as he handed it to me, claiming that romance books are nothing but porn for women. I’d just rolled my eyes and slapped him in the arm with the hardback while telling him to shove it.

Reading has become my only escape since being here, all the silence is starting to drive me mad. I’m not even allowed to go for jogs around the property to clear my head. The restlessness is starting, and I know I’m this close to going completely stir crazy.

Della’s attitude toward me has softened some, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say she likes me. She’s been great about sitting with Ira while I take a break. Sometimes I go read in the library Silas showed me during his tour, other times I just wander the large house.

Each time I stop right in front of the hallway I know leads to Silas’s office and his bedroom. I’ve been good thus far and haven’t passed the imaginary line he drew, but each day, as the boredom sets in, the more curious I get.

His work hours are weird, I know this, but I only ever see him at night. No one has said where he goes all day, and I haven’t been brave enough to ask. I don’t want Della or Duke to get the wrong idea if I go around asking about their boss—shit.Our boss.

“No, Ira, it’s me.” I lean forward, placing my hand over his. “It’s Quincey.”

“Sorry, dear.” Ira blinks multiple times, trying to clear his vision. On the bedside table sit his wireframe glasses that I had slipped off his face while he slept. I hand them to him silently and wait for him to put them on. “Your hair. I thought you were Della for a second. She used to be blonde too, you know? I used to joke with her that working for Laurent all these years has turned her hair gray.” His voice is labored like he’s fighting for each word, because well, he is.

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