Chapter Ten Elara

Chapter Ten

Elara

Throughout the evening, I glide effortlessly through the opulent ballroom, performing a myriad of tasks with practiced grace. Balancing a gold tray heavy with delicate flutes of champagne, I navigate the elegantly dressed crowd. The countless hours spent under Sally’s watchful eye have honed my abilities to perfection. My posture is impeccable, shoulders back and head held high, yet my gaze remains respectfully lowered. I discreetly collect empty glasses, offering fresh drinks with a graceful bow, ensuring no guest is left wanting.

But the nobles aren’t who snag my attention. The other pawns moving around the room each have a silk collar around their neck, but subtle differences set them apart. Some glide with practiced ease, veterans of countless events, while others are nervous, gazes darting about like frightened mice.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the young pawn next to me struggling with a heavy platter of hors d’oeuvres. Her hands tremble, and a sheen of sweat dots her brow. She stumbles as she approaches a nearby group of guests, and the tray tilts precariously. Swiftly, I step in beside her, steadying the platter with a gentle hand. Our eyes meet, and I offer an encouraging smile before seamlessly continuing on my path.

This trial isn’t only about executing tasks. It’s a test of composure under pressure. A test I know I can pass.

A bit later, as I present a selection of canapés to a group of older women, Lady Clayton approaches. Her sharp eyes meet mine as she selects a morsel from the tray, and a flicker of approval crosses her face before she moves on. It’s brief, but I know I’m in. I’m no longer just playing a role; I’m embodying it.

We’re dismissed as the evening winds down, and the grand hall begins to empty, laughter and music fading into the night. I make my way to the servant’s entrance where Ronan waits for me by the arched doorway, his tall frame partially illuminated by the soft glow of lantern light.

Clutched in my hands is a sealed envelope—the coveted invitation to the Mabon Festival. I consider teasing him, pretending I’d failed, but as I approach, something within me shifts. The desire to please him outweighs the impulse to joke.

“You did it,” he says, noticing the envelope. He reaches out, and our fingers brush as I hand it to him. He breaks the seal and scans the invitation. “I knew you would,” he adds, stepping closer.

The scent of him envelops me, making my head swim. Heat radiates from his body, the subtle tension in his posture mirroring the fluttering in my chest.

“Perhaps I had good motivation.” I smile.

“Modesty suits you,” he teases back.

“Don’t get used to it.”

His gaze dips briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, and I catch my breath. I want to be alone with him, away from prying eyes and the constraints of our pretend roles.

“Shall we head back?” he suggests, his voice laced with a subtle undertone that promises more than just a simple stroll.

We walk side by side through the dimly lit streets, the glow of lamplights guiding our way. The town is quiet at this hour, the bustle of the day replaced by the serene hush of night.

Our conversation is minimal, but the silence is comfortable. Each brush of our arms, each sidelong glance, heightens the anticipation coiling within me.

We stumble into the room at the Gilded Coin, riding the high of the night with the underlying fire still going strong from our alleyway tryst. Ronan closes the door with a swift kick, the sound of it slamming shut only barely registering over the pounding of my heart. Everything about this evening feels surreal, from the success of the pawn trials to the glint of pride in Ronan’s eyes when I gave him Lady Clayton’s invitation.

But nothing is more real than the heat that flares between us now. In an instant, the tension between us thickens like the air before a storm. I hardly have time to register his hands on me before his mouth is on mine, claiming my lips with a fierce intensity that makes my knees weaken. I respond just as wildly, grasping at his shoulders, pulling him closer, as though I could fuse us into one.

His tongue invades my mouth, and I meet it with equal fervor, a battle of dominance that I already know I’ll lose. But losing to him…it’s not defeat. Not in the way it once would’ve felt. It’s exhilarating, liberating even, to give in to this side of me that only Ronan brings out.

In the whirlwind of our kisses, hands claw at clothing, my fingers tugging at his tunic while his tear at the laces of my bodice. There’s no time for finesse, no time for patience, only this driving need to feel flesh against flesh.

When we’re both naked—except for the pawn collar still around my neck—I pause, gasping for breath as I stare at him. Ronan’s broad chest heaves, his muscles taut beneath the moonlight filtering through the window. His eyes, now a dark charcoal and full of intent, rake over my body like a caress, lingering on the gold ribbon around my throat, the ends trailing between my breasts.

The wildness in his gaze is tempered by an intensity that makes my breath hitch. He tilts my chin up, his thumb brushing over my lips. “Kneel,” he commands, his voice a low growl that I feel as much as hear.

My heart races, but there’s no hesitation. The hardwood floor bites into my knees, a delicious reminder of my vulnerability, my submission. It’s a new sensation, one I hadn’t known I craved until now. Only with him.

The clink of iron brings my gaze up to meet his. He holds the manacles, the same ones that bound me when we first met. The sight of them brings back the memory of standing on a stage being auctioned off like I was a piece of property to be bought and sold. Ironic how after only a week, I want nothing more than to belong to the man who purchased me for five hundred gold pieces.

There’s a gleam in his eye as he circles behind me, his presence overwhelming even without his touch. He pulls my hands behind my back and pauses.

“Is this what you want, naughty nymph?”

I close my eyes and speak through the pulse rushing in my ears. “Can I even trust what I want with your magick collar around my neck?”

“It is a physical tether, an assurance that you cannot harm me, but I cannot control your thoughts or desires or force your body to bend to my will.”

I rise to meet his hand as he smooths the silk between my breasts. “Then, yes, my lord. This is absolutely what I want.”

He clasps the manacles around my wrists, and my eyelids flutter open when the cool iron presses against my skin. The chain is short, restrictive, and a pulse of excitement vibrates through me at the lack of control.

“You’re exactly where I want you.” He steps in front of me again, his fingers wrapping around the ribbon ends, winding them around his fist until his knuckles rest against my throat in a silent claim. “Do you know how beautiful you are like this?”

I can’t respond, not coherently anyway. My mouth is dry, my heart racing, and all I can think about is how much I need him. My eyes meet his, and whatever he sees there satisfies him. His expression darkens with approval as he guides me closer.

“Be good and swallow my cock,” he says, his voice rough and commanding. “Thank me for letting you come on my fingers earlier.”

I lean forward, my lips brushing the tip of his erection. The feel of him, hot and rigid against my mouth, sends a surge of desire through me. I open my mouth and take him in, my tongue swirling around the head as I suck gently, testing. His hand tightens on the ribbon, the pressure against my throat a constant reminder of his control.

“Yes, my naughty nymph,” he praises, his voice strained with barely contained pleasure.

I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, my lips stretching around his length. The weight of him on my tongue feels right, like I was made for this. His grip on the ribbon keeps me anchored, both physically and mentally, as I bob my head, working him with my mouth. Every so often, he pulls me down farther, not letting me retreat for even a few seconds, his cock hitting the back of my throat. I gag and my eyes water, but even that feels like a kind of reward—the way he controls every movement, every breath.

I glance up at him through my lashes, seeing the tension in his jaw, the way his muscles tighten as he fights to keep himself from losing control. His eyes meet mine, dark and hooded, and the sight of him watching me as I worship him with my mouth sends a thrill through me.

When I think he’s about to release, he pulls me off with a sharp tug of the ribbon, guiding me to my feet. I’m breathless, my lips swollen and my knees weak, but before I can recover, he moves me toward the bed, laying me down on the soft blanket.

His hands are quick as he repositions my arms, threading the chain of the manacles through the iron rods of the headboard, securing me there. My body is stretched out before him, my legs parted, my wrists bound above my head, completely exposed and at his mercy.

Ronan’s eyes darken with lust as he kneels between my thighs. He doesn’t hesitate, diving between my legs with a fervor that nearly sends me over the edge from the first touch of his mouth. His tongue is hot and wet against my clit, flicking and sucking with expert precision. I writhe beneath him, the sensation so intense that I’m already on the brink of climax.

But just as I’m about to tip over, he pulls back, leaving me gasping and desperate.

“Please,” I whimper, my voice broken with need. “Please, my lord, let me come.”

He chuckles darkly, his breath warm against my inner thigh. “Begging suits you, nymph. But not yet. I want to hear you beg properly.”

I bite my lip, frustration mixing with desire, but I give him what he wants. “Please, my lord. I need it. I need you . Please…”

Satisfied, he lowers his head again, his mouth finding my clit once more, his tongue working me over relentlessly. This time, he doesn’t hold back, pushing me higher and higher until I can’t take it anymore.

I explode, my body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me. But before I catch my breath, Ronan is inside me, thrusting deep and hard, filling me completely. The suddenness of it steals the air from my lungs, and I cry out, my back arching once more as I grasp the bars above my head.

He doesn’t relent, pounding into me with a ferocity that borders on savage. Each thrust drives me farther into the mattress, my legs wrapped around his waist as he claims me with every stroke. His mouth finds my breasts, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of electric arousal through me that only add to the fire burning inside me.

I come again, my body tightening around him as his thumb presses against my clit, the added stimulation pushing me over the edge a second time. My cries fill the room, and I feel him getting close, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate.

“Say it,” he growls, his voice rough with need as he hovers above me, his eyes boring into mine. “Tell me who you belong to.”

I can barely think, my body trembling beneath him, but the words come out in a rush, instinctive and true. “I’m yours. I’m yours, my lord.”

The moment I say it, his body tenses, and he comes with a roar, his release triggering another one from me. We ride the waves of our shared climax together, our bodies locked in a rhythm as old as time.

When it’s over, Ronan collapses beside me, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He reaches over, brushing the damp strands of hair away from my face, his touch unexpectedly tender. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he leans in close to my ear.

“And I am yours.”

The words pierce through me, more powerful than any command he’s ever given. In that moment, I know—my heart is no longer my own.