14. Jurto

14

JURTO

H rogun grunts as I slam into him. "Ease up, Jurto," he huffs as we break apart.

"I thought we were training," I retort in a low growl, scoffing at his protests. "Are you going to ask your opponents to ease up?"

Gritting his teeth, he turns away from me, stalking across the arena. But Varg is standing there when I turn around, his arms crossed over his chest as he surveys me. "Something you want to talk about?"

I slam my shoulder into his as I stalk past, letting that be all the answer I give, but it doesn't deter him. Not when he mutters low, "Something like Emilia?"

I don't even have time to think, my body acting on instinct as I grab him by the throat and slam him against the wall. "Don't fucking say her name," I snarl.

Just her name has me unraveling.

The memory of her in the kitchen flashes through my mind—her breathless gasps, the way her body responded to mine with such raw, unbidden need. It was intoxicating, consuming. One taste of her was not enough. It would never be enough. The thought of her, the feel of her, it's all I can think about. I need more. I need to possess her, to claim her over and over until she knows she belongs to me completely.

Varg's eyes widen in surprise before narrowing with a knowing gleam. "You haven't been the same since we won Emilia. Is the pussy really that good?" he taunts, his voice dripping with mockery.

His words ignite a firestorm of rage inside me. "You don't know what you're talking about," I growl, tightening my grip on his throat. "She's more than that. She's—" I cut myself off, not wanting to reveal just how deep my obsession with her runs.

Varg chokes out a laugh, his hands coming up to pry at my fingers. "Looks like she's got you twisted up in knots, Jurto. Never thought I'd see the day."

I snarl, shoving him harder against the wall. "Shut your mouth before I shut it for you, permanently."

Internally, I know I shouldn't act this way. This rage, this possessiveness—it's not rational. But I don't care. I've always taken what I wanted, done what I wanted. And with Emilia, it's no different. She's mine.

With a final shove, I release Varg, watching as he slumps against the wall, rubbing at his throat. "You're losing it, man," he croaks, but I'm done listening.

Turning away, I stalk out of the training room, my mind already filled with thoughts of Emilia. I'm done with practice, done with training. There's only one thing I want, one thing I need.

She's under my skin, and I know deep down that one taste will never be enough. I can already feel myself itching for more, craving to have myself buried deep in her with tears on those pretty cheeks.

And Emilia… Emilia will learn that she belongs to me, in every way that matters.

I scowl, frustrated with myself. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was just a prize, a token of victory. But now, she's something more, something I can't easily define. I find myself thinking about her constantly, replaying the way she begged me to break her. It's as if she's infiltrated my very being, and it's unsettling.

The aggression I felt earlier, the anger—it's morphing into something else. Obsession. Possession. I want her, not just physically, but completely. I want to own every part of her, to have her know that she belongs to me and no one else. The thought of another man even looking at her fills me with a rage I can barely contain.

I try to shake off the thoughts, but they cling to me like a second skin. Her voice, her touch, her taste—they haunt me. I run a hand through my hair, growling in frustration. "Damn it, Emilia," I mutter under my breath. How did this happen? How did one night with her turn my world upside down?

I think back to the way she looked at me in the kitchen, her eyes wide and filled with fear and something else—something that mirrored my own desire. The way she said my name, the way her body arched into mine, it's all I can think about. And it's not enough. It will never be enough.

My fists clench at my sides. I need to see her, to feel her again. The logical part of my brain tells me to stay away, to regain control. But the primal part, the part that's driven by instinct and need, demands that I go to her.

I know I'm growing more attached to her, more obsessed. And it's dangerous. But I don't care. I've never cared about the rules, about what's expected. I've always taken what I wanted, done what I wanted. And I want Emilia. I need her.

With a growl, I make my decision. I will have her again. I will possess her completely, until there's no doubt in her mind that she belongs to me.

As I stalk into my home, the sound of scrubbing reaches my ears. Following the sound, I push open the door to my kitchen to find Emilia on her hands and knees, scrubbing the stone floor with determined focus. Her hair falls in loose strands around her face, and despite the menial task, there's a fire in her eyes that captivates me.

A smirk tugs at my lips. I decide to provoke her, to see that spark of defiance that intrigued me so much before. I call over two orc servants who are passing by, their chuckles already bubbling up as they join me.

"Look at this," I announce loudly, my voice dripping with mockery. "Our little human, hard at work. Isn't she a sight?"

The orcs laugh, their eyes glinting with amusement as they watch Emilia. She keeps her head down, her cheeks flushing a deep red, but she continues scrubbing in silence.

"Hey, human," I call out, my tone mocking. "You missed a spot right there." I point to a random patch of floor, knowing full well it's spotless. "Are you even capable of doing anything right?"

The orcs snicker, nudging each other as they watch. Emilia's shoulders tense, but she doesn't lift her gaze. She scrubs harder, her knuckles white with the effort.

"Isn't it pathetic?" one of the orcs jeers. "A human, thinking she can keep up with us."

"Maybe she's just here for our amusement," the other adds, their laughter echoing off the stone walls.

I lean down, my voice a low, dangerous whisper. "What's the matter, Emilia? Too afraid to speak?"

Her scrubbing slows, and for a moment, I think she might finally break. But instead, she takes a deep breath and continues her work in silence. The orcs, growing bored, eventually wander off, leaving us alone.

As soon as the orcs are out of sight, Emilia stops scrubbing and looks up at me. Her eyes are fierce, a quiet but piercing glare that sends a shiver through me. Her bold stare catches me off guard, and for a moment, I'm at a loss.

Why do I feel such a compulsion to dominate and humiliate this defiant human who has stirred these unfamiliar feelings in me? She's just a girl, yet she gets under my skin like no one else ever has.

I expect her to flinch, to cower under my gaze, but she stands slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. She never breaks eye contact, her defiance clear in every movement. My fists clench at my sides as I try to mask the tumult of emotions swirling within me.

The silence between us is charged, every second stretching out painfully. I can see the anger simmering just beneath the surface, mirrored by the fire in her eyes. It's the same fire I saw in the kitchen, the same fire that both infuriates and fascinates me.

I take a step closer, towering over her, trying to regain my composure. My mouth opens, but no words come out. Instead, I find myself studying her, the determination etched into her features, the stubborn set of her jaw.

Her glare sharpens, and she takes a step closer, defiance radiating from her. She's daring me to act, daring me to break the silence. But I can't. I'm caught in the intensity of her gaze, conflicted and confused.

Why does she affect me this way? Why do I feel this intense need to provoke her, to see that spark of defiance in her eyes? It's more than just a desire to break her. It's something deeper, something I can't quite grasp.

Troubled, I finally break eye contact and turn to leave, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and frustration. This game we're playing—it's dangerous, intoxicating. And more than anything, it's a challenge. One that I'm determined to win.

But as I walk away, her audacious spirit continues to intrigue and confound me in equal measure. I struggle to understand my own actions toward this girl. Every instinct tells me to dominate, to conquer, yet there's something else, something deeper that I can't quite comprehend.

As I make my way back to my quarters, her image remains burned into my mind. Her fire, her defiance—it's like a drug, and I can't get enough. But with each encounter, I find myself more troubled, more consumed by thoughts of her.

I struggle to understand my own actions. I could just take her. I could force her beneath me at any time. But I want the resistance and the submission, and I only want to take her when I know she'll give me both. Emilia has become an enigma, a puzzle I'm determined to solve. And as much as it unsettles me, I can't deny the thrill it brings.

This game we're playing—it's dangerous, intoxicating. But more than anything, it's a challenge. One that I'm determined to win, even if it means losing myself in the process.