17. Emilia

17

EMILIA

I t's sick how my stomach flips when I hear his footsteps. I shouldn't be eager. Not at all.

And yet, as Jurto turns around the corner, I can already feel myself growing wet. And as he comes to a stop behind me, I know he must see the flush covering my body.

"Emilia," he rumbles, and my thighs clench. What is wrong with me? "What have I told you about being on your knees for someone else?"

No one else told me to get down here and scrub the floors. But I've learned after a few trysts that Jurto wants a fight. And I would be lying if I said there wasn't a small part of me that liked making him battle me for it.

I whip around, glaring at him. "You can't tell me what to do, Jurto."

His eyes instantly glaze over and he leans forward. My core clenches, already anticipating the pounding I can't wait for. "Will you ever learn that that smart mouth will get you in trouble?"

I open my mouth to argue but he hauls me up to my feet by my hair. I don't mind it. In fact, I'm surprised by how quickly he's giving in.

My palms slam against his chest as he captures my mouth with his. It's a quick, brutal kiss, and he snaps back, sneering in my face. "I'll just have to fuck that attitude out of you then."

Grabbing my wrists, he spins me around and pins my arms behind me. My chest is shoved up against the wall as he pushes my dress up around my waist. I wiggle, huffing in irritation as he takes away all my control. "Let me go!" I snap.

He chuckles, running a hand over my backside. "Don't fight me like you don't want this." Chills pepper the skin left in his wake, and I fight against him more. But I don't want to get away. I want him inside of me faster than he'll give it to me.

"Jurto," I gasp as his hand delves between my legs.

A deep rumble goes through him as he swipes at the wetness there. "Just like I thought. A liar." I gasp as he pushes in deeper. "Let's see how long it will take to break you, little liar."

It doesn't take long. Soon, I'm spasming around his hand and then his tip is there, replacing his fingers and driving into me. He grunts as he takes me, hard and punishing, and I don't have it left in me to do anything but enjoy it.

When he finally pulls out, our release dripping onto the clean floors, I can barely stand. He lingers for a moment, his hands trailing over my thighs. He's started to do this more, like he doesn't quite want to leave me.

But then he steps back, remembering himself. "Clean this up," he tells me before stalking away and leaving me utterly sated. Not that it will last long. I have no more control than Jurto seems to in this scenario.

The moments after he leaves are always the hardest. I sink to the floor as my body aches, but my mind...my mind is a storm of confusion. I hastily wipe at the tears that threaten to spill. How did I become this person? How did I become someone who aches with desire for a man who humiliates me?

I finish cleaning the floor, the remnants of our encounter wiped away but not forgotten. My hands tremble as I work, my thoughts a chaotic mess. I should despise him. I should hate the way he makes me feel. But every time he touches me, every time he takes me, a part of me yearns for it. My body betrays me, responding to his dominance with an eagerness that shames me.

Later, when I'm alone in my quarters, I sit on the edge of the bed, my fingers tracing the marks he's left on my skin. The bruises on my hips, the bite marks on my shoulder. Each one is a reminder of his possessiveness, a reminder of how he claims me as his.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to calm the turmoil within me. But all I can think about is the way he looked at me, the way his eyes darkened with desire.

The next day, I move through my chores with a sense of dread and anticipation. The servants whisper as I pass, their eyes filled with pity and disdain. They've seen how Jurto treats me, the way he belittles me, orders me around like a slave. And yet, they don't know the full story. They don't know how my body craves his touch, how I secretly wait for those moments when he corners me, his eyes burning with need.

"Emilia!" Jurto's voice booms from the hall, and my heart leaps in my chest. I quickly finish scrubbing the table and rush to stand before him. He's surrounded by his men, their eyes flicking to me with amusement.

"Fetch me some water," he orders, his tone dismissive. "Unless you're too dull to do even that."

I nod and scurry away, my cheeks burning with shame. They laugh as I go, their voices carrying down the corridor. I grip the water pitcher tightly, my knuckles white. How can he be so cruel? How can he humiliate me like this in front of everyone, only to turn around and claim me so passionately in private?

When I return with the water, he barely glances at me. I pour it into his cup, my hands steady despite the turmoil inside me. He takes a sip, then looks at me, his eyes cold.

"Is that all you're good for?" he sneers, and the men laugh again.

I lower my gaze, biting my tongue to keep from responding. I can feel their eyes on me, their judgment heavy. But when I meet Jurto's gaze, I see something there, something that makes my heart twist.

He's testing me, pushing me to see how far I'll go. And I hate that a part of me wants to prove myself to him. So I refuse to break. I only bow demurely and scurry out of his path, hating the way I hope I pleased him.

The day drags on, each task a distraction from the thoughts that plague me. When night falls, I find myself alone in the kitchen, cleaning up after the evening meal. The servants have gone to bed, and the silence is a welcome relief. I scrub at the pots and pans, my mind wandering.

I hear his footsteps before I see him. My body tenses, anticipation and excitement rushing through me. He steps into the kitchen, his presence filling the room. I don't look up, but I can feel his eyes on me.

"Emilia," he says, his voice softer than usual. But that deep rumble is still there.

I glance up, my heart pounding. He's standing there, his expression unreadable. He crosses the room in a few quick strides and grabs my arm, pulling me close. His lips crush against mine, a kiss filled with urgency and need.

I gasp against his mouth, my hands clutching at his shirt. He kisses me deeply, his hands roaming over my body. I want to push him away, to tell him no, but my body betrays me. I melt against him, my fingers tangling in his hair.

He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged. "Do you know what you do to me?" he growls, his hands gripping my hips. "You drive me insane."

I tremble in his arms, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. "Jurto, please…"

He silences me with another kiss, his hands sliding under my dress. I moan into his mouth, my body responding to his touch despite my conflicted feelings. He lifts me onto the counter, his fingers delving between my legs.

"You're mine," he murmurs against my skin, his voice filled with possessiveness. "Only mine."

I arch against him, my thoughts scattering. How can I desire someone who treats me like this? How can I crave his touch when he humiliates me so cruelly? But as he drives into me, all I can think about is the way he makes me feel, the way he sets my body on fire.

When it's over, I cling to him, my breath coming in shallow gasps. He holds me for a moment, his hands gentle on my skin. But then he steps back, the mask of indifference slipping back into place.

"Clean yourself up," he says, his voice cold.

I nod, my heart aching. He leaves without another word, and I'm left alone in the dark, my body trembling with the aftershocks of our encounter. I slide off the counter and sink to the floor, tears streaming down my face.

How can I continue like this? How can I keep pretending that I don't want him, that I don't crave his touch?

I wrap my arms around myself, sobbing quietly. I know I should hate him. I know I should despise the way he treats me. But my body betrays me every time, responding to his dominance with a need that shames me.

Yet I catch myself stealing glances at Jurto, noticing details like the jagged scar on his brow, the way his muscles ripple under his skin. At night, I lie awake, remembering the feeling of his powerful arms around me, the way he holds me as if I am the only thing that matters.

I know these conflicted feelings are wrong but cannot seem to stop them from blooming. I both long for and dread our private moments together, the intensity of his touch and the fire it ignites within me.

Burying my confusion, I focus on finishing my tasks for the night, knowing defiance will lead to another bittersweet encounter. I feel myself fracturing, torn between my mind's resistance and my yearning body's surrender. It's becoming a battle between what I know is right and what I cannot help but desire.

When I finally make my way back to my quarters, my thoughts are a tangled mess. I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind replaying every moment of our encounter. His kisses both thrill and shame me, leaving me flushed with arousal and self-loathing.

I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. How much longer I can deny the way he makes me feel. But as I drift off to sleep, I know one thing for certain: I'm trapped in this twisted dance, and there's no way out.