Chapter Nine Ronan

Chapter Nine

Ronan

“When I told you to kneel at my feet, I feared your next move would be assaulting my manhood with your foot,” I say as I stride down the cobblestone street with Elara trailing several paces behind me. The evening sun casts a warm glow over the bustling marketplace, and the lamplighter strolls by, illuminating the street as vendors begin closing their stalls.

She passed her final lesson with flying colors, though she’d acted dangerously cheeky toward the end. The minx had purposely tempted me as she buffed my boot, making me hard and distracting me from my conversations with the other men. She knew they couldn’t see her teasing looks; it’s the only reason she got away with it.

“Don’t go counting any unhatched chickens, my lord,” Elara says, adorning the title with a thick coat of sarcasm. “The night’s still young.”

A bubble of mirth builds in my chest until it spills over as genuine laughter, and for the first time in ages, I don’t suppress it before it escapes. There is a lightness that follows its release, a sensation like walking on air, that I’d long forgotten. I can almost forget the reason why we’ve ended up here.

Almost.

I will never truly forget, but I’m loath for this feeling to end. So for a short time, I will set the past aside and enjoy the present.

Risking a glance over my shoulder, I catch the mischievous glint in Elara’s green eyes and a menacing grin revealing that chipped canine I seem to be obsessed with. I’ve encountered less threatening expressions on hungry jackals than what Elara’s aiming my way.

I don’t bother hiding my amusement as I face forward once more. “There is no need to be sour, nymph. You performed well. You are ready for the pawn trial tonight.”

“Oh goodie, I’m finally the perfect indentured servant. Just what I always hoped I’d be,” she retorts.

The alpha in me reacts before I can temper it. I spin around and grab her by the scruff of her neck, guiding her firmly as I stride into a narrow alleyway between two stone buildings. The shadows envelop us, the din of the marketplace fading into a distant murmur.

For her part, she remains quiet. If she protested or struggled as I know she wants to, it would draw unwanted attention.

Once we’re far enough that our words won’t be overheard, I push her back against the rough stone wall. My hand encircles her throat, holding her in place.

“You should be pleased with what you have accomplished these past days, yet you are still vexed. So tell me what it is that you want, Elara. Speak, and I shall endeavor to grant your wish, if only to spare myself your continued petulance.”

She scoffs, glaring up at me with fiery defiance. “Oh, that’s rich coming from King Broody himself. Just because you’re suddenly in a good mood for the first time since we met doesn’t give you the right to demand I match it.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips, my gaze narrowing as I step closer, closing the distance between us until she has no room to retreat. “Then I will make other demands of you.”

I press my body firmly against hers and roll my hips, grinding my throbbing erection into her belly. Her gasp is soft, but her pupils widen, the spark of desire flashing in her eyes betraying the defiant set of her jaw. She can deny many things, but she cannot deny how her body reacts to my touch.

“Fold your arms behind your back,” I order, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Hands clasping opposite elbows.”

She hesitates, the barest flicker of rebellion sparking in her gaze, and I seize the moment. My thumb and forefinger find the sides of her neck, applying just enough pressure to slow the blood coursing to her brain—a gentle reminder of the control I hold. Her pulse beats wildly beneath my fingers, her eyes darkening to a luscious jade, rich with the same need that’s been simmering in me for too long.

Slowly, she does as I instruct, her hands finding the curves of her elbows as she locks her arms behind her back. I press her harder against the wall, pinning her arms in place. She might not be secured with rope or chains, but she is bound all the same. Bound by the shadows surrounding us, by the dark desires I can no longer restrain.

“Yes, you naughty nymph,” I whisper in her ear, releasing my hold on her neck to squeeze her breast hard enough that she feels it through the corset.

Her back arches, pressing her into my palm. A soft whimper escapes her lips that nearly shreds the last of my propriety.

“That’s it,” I croon, feeling the shiver run through her. “Now, spread your legs. Let me feel how your cunt weeps for me.” Her chin juts defiantly, a silent challenge in the stubborn set of her jaw, daring me to push her further. A challenge I gladly accept. “Spread. Your. Legs.”

I kick one of her feet to the side, forcing her stance wider. Her breathing is shallow, chest rising and falling in slight gasps, drawing my gaze to the soft swell of her breasts above the edge of her dress. I fist a hand in her hair and yank her head back so she has no choice but to meet my gaze. I want her to see the hunger there, the carnal thoughts swirling in my eyes, to know exactly what I intend. Then I reach down and ruck up the front of her skirt, my fingers brushing her thigh as I seek out the scrap of fabric she wears beneath.

A groan escapes me when I find it—the pale blue undergarment she wore the night she fell into my world. It’s the same fragile garment she washes each evening and hangs by the fire to dry while she sleeps. It’s a scrap of lace so small, so insubstantial, I struggled to think what its purpose could be. Now, I understand. It was never meant to be practical. It was meant to tempt, to taunt, to drive me to the edge of reason.

My fingers trace along the edge of the lace, savoring the way it clings to her, barely concealing the heat beneath. I let my touch linger, savoring the damp warmth that meets my fingertips, the softness of the lace doing nothing to mask the slickness of her arousal.

“You tremble so sweetly for me,” I murmur, letting my breath tickle her ear. “Yet you pretend to be unaffected. Tell me, what game are you playing, nymph?”

Her breath hitches as I press the heel of my hand firmly against her mound, a gasp slipping between her lips as her body reacts despite her resolve. My mouth finds her neck, placing a lingering kiss on the sensitive skin before I graze her with my teeth, savoring the way she shivers beneath me. She remains stubborn though, biting down on her lower lip, as if that will somehow hold back the torrent of desire building within her. But I know better—I know how this will end, and so does she.

“I asked you a question,” I growl, my voice low and commanding. “Answer me, or I’ll make you beg for the release you so clearly need.”

Her lips part, and for a moment, I think she might defy me. But when I press a finger between her folds, teasing her entrance, she gasps again.

“My lord,” she breathes, the words a shuddering whisper, heavy with reluctant desire. “I… I want—”

“Tell me what you want, Elara.” I slip a finger inside her, slow but deliberate, curling it to find that sweet, hidden spot I know will unravel her. “Speak clearly. I won’t give you what you need until you say it.”

Her head falls back against the stone wall, eyes fluttering shut as I thrust my finger deeper, then add a second and a third, stretching her as though I’m preparing her to take my cock. Her breath hitches, and she braces herself, but I feel her trembling, the tension coiling tighter, her need clawing its way to the surface.

“I want you to stop teasing me,” she finally admits, her voice strained, the words dripping with frustration and lust. “Please, my lord .”

Her submission stirs something primal, a wild urge to take her, claim her here and now, with my teeth marks on her throat and my hot seed dripping from her cunt, consequences be damned. But beneath that raw desire is another, softer need—to protect her, to keep her safe, even if it means protecting her from the darkness within me. It’s a battle I fight every time I’m near her, every time she looks at me with a mixture of challenge and surrender.

“Begging already?” I taunt, though even I hear the strain of my own control slipping. “You’re not nearly done paying for that insolence earlier, my naughty nymph.”

I thrust my fingers deeper, curling them just so, hitting the spot that makes her cry out. Her body jerks, hips rising to meet my hand, and I grind my palm against her bundle of nerves, giving her the friction she craves. I savor the way her breath catches, the way her whimpers fill the space around us, mingling with the darkness.

“Tell me you belong to me,” I demand, my voice rough as I work her with practiced skill. “Say it.”

Her eyes snap open, locking on to mine, wild and desperate. There’s a flicker of defiance in her gaze, a brief spark of rebellion, but it’s quickly consumed by the waves of pleasure threatening to drown her.

“I…I belong to you,” she gasps, her thighs trembling as I bring her closer and closer to the edge. “My lord, I—Oh my—”

Her words dissolve into a broken gasp as her body shudders, her release writhing just beneath the surface. I press my fingers deeper, the final stroke pushing her over the edge, sending her spiraling into a climax that rips a moan from her throat, sharp and sweet, echoing against the narrow alley walls. Her body bucks against my hand, thighs clenching, and her cunt clings to me as the waves crash over her. Her head falls forward to rest against my chest, her breaths coming in ragged, uneven pants.

“You did well, my pretty nymph,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head as the last tremors fade from her body. “But we’ve lingered too long. We must get you to the trial so you can make me proud.”

I pull back, adjusting her clothing, tracing the fabric that clings to her. With a final glance, I lead her to the street, our roles slipping back into place as lord and pawn. In the eyes of the world, we are distant, indifferent, bound by nothing but duty. But beneath the surface, the war of my opposing desires rages on—the fierce, possessive need to claim her fully and the more dangerous instinct to keep her safe, to let her go before I lose all control.

For now, the latter is winning, holding the darkness at bay. But I don’t know how much longer I can resist the temptation to ensure she knows exactly who she belongs to.