Sixteen

It could be the wine talking, or it could be the fact that I’m actually relaxed for the first time in, well, maybe ever, but this is the best pomegranate I’ve ever eaten. I wiggle my toes, relishing the tangy sweetness of the fruit while blissfully unaware of the world beyond the copper confines of the tub. Juice cascades down my chest, creating a sticky scarlet mess that mingles with the lavender buds that scent the air and float languidly on the surface of the bath, but I’m too relaxed to care.

The door to the bathroom opens noiselessly, the steam shifting, sending a rush of cool air through the haze. It feels like I’ve only been in the bath for a few minutes, but I don’t have my phone or a clock, so it’s hard to know for sure. Regardless, getting out of this tub is the last thing I want to do.

“I guess this is what they mean when they say ‘time flies when you’re having fun,’” I toss over my shoulder to the attendant who’s come back to make sure I don’t shrivel into a waterlogged prune. “Actually, I’m not sure you have that saying here. Within this kingdom, I mean. It’s definitely a thing we say in Cups.”

Keeping hold of my fresh pomegranate in one hand, I grip the side of the tub with the other and push myself to my feet, my back to the maid. Water slides down my slight curves, splashing silently into the bath. “I do understand Lady Whitmore’s obsession with these, though,” I say, popping another seed into my mouth before glancing down at the scarlet rivulets painting my chest. “Although eating in the bath was a terrible idea.”

I turn to face the maid and gasp. A flush of warmth that has nothing to do with the bathwater spreads through me.

Kane stands there, the thick lines of his body outlined by the dim candlelight. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, his gaze capturing mine. Then that sinfully sweet smile curls his lips, and his dark eye sweeps over me. His gaze is a caress that lingers on each inch of my exposed skin. My heart skips a beat, then races, pounding against my chest. Every inch of me is hot and thrumming as he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, his stare smoldering with raw desire.

“Sweet enough to eat,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that rolls down my spine.

My grip goes slack, and the pomegranate slips from my hand before landing in the tub with a splash that bathes my naked thighs. “Fuck,” I mumble, my cheeks burning.

“Is that a request?”

My chest squeezes, the heat of his words searing through me. “I—I dropped my pomegranate.”

He laughs, dark and predatory, his gaze drifting down my chest, lingering on my bare breasts. “You seem to have two very perky, luscious pomegranates right there.”

A deeper flush spreads across my naked body, burning a vivid rose as I plunge back into the water. He stalks closer. The scents of pine and woodsmoke drifting from him make my mouth water.

“Kane, you should—” I start, but when I glance up, I gulp and my protests evaporate as he glides his hand along the swollen erection pressing against his tight breeches.

I keep ending up with a dick in my face.

Although Kane’s looks much bigger than the last one…

My heart hammers in my chest, each beat pulsing beneath my skin. Heat coils in my belly, deep and low, and I have to press my teeth against my bottom lip to keep from moaning as I imagine that same hand tracing the curves of my body, his lips against mine, his mouth hot and hungry, tasting me, claiming me.

Don’t be desperate, Hannah.

The thought is a sharp, sudden intrusion that rips through the heat twisting in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and curl my fingers around the copper rim of the tub, forcing down the need licking through me in feverish waves.

Don’t want him more than he wants you. You always confuse hormones and pleasure and sex with real feelings, and you always get hurt.

With a shaky breath, I force my lids open, my gaze darting to Kane’s face and the eye patch shielding one of his wicked eyes, the other gleaming with hunger. The room feels smaller somehow, his presence pressing in on me from all sides as if the space between us has condensed into a tangible, living thing, thick with heat and steam and the heady scents of lavender and wine and pomegranates.

The gleam in Kane’s eye makes me tremble as he claims the distance between us and kneels beside the tub. His large hand dips into the water, the muscles in his forearm flexing as his fingers wrap around the pomegranate bobbing at the surface. He captures the fruit and lifts it from the bath. Water beads along its scarlet skin, droplets cascading down its sides as he holds the pomegranate just above the water’s surface. He pauses, his stare never leaving mine, and the room seems to hold its breath.

With a slow, purposeful motion, Kane presses two thick fingers into the pomegranate’s soft pulp. Juice begins to flow, spilling over his fingers, staining them with its rich, vibrant crimson as he delves deeper, the pomegranate yielding to his touch, the seeds exposed and glistening.

He turns his hand, letting the juice drip in a tantalizing slow stream back into the bath, while the air around us thickens with the syrupy sweetness.

“Tell me, Fawn, is your fruit always so wet?” Kane’s gaze, dark and unyielding, remains fixed on mine.

Heat creeps up my neck, but I refuse to look away. “Only when it’s ripe.”

His lips part slightly, a hint of a smile playing at the edges. “You should have stayed before—with me.” He lifts his fingers, slick with pomegranate juice. I watch, transfixed, warmth humming through me, as he slowly, deliberately, licks the seeds from his fingers.

I lean forward, drawn in by the tortuous glide of his tongue over each scarlet pearl.

“Tell me you should have been a good girl and stayed here with me.” Every word he utters tightens the threads of lust that keep us tangled together, pulling me closer to the edge of surrender.

Kane dips his fingers back into the flesh for another scoop and holds the seeds to my lips. “Tell me, Fawn.” The demand thrums through me, pouring into my limbs.

“I—I should have stayed.” The words are a breathless whisper, catching in my throat.

“That’s my good girl.” Kane presses the fruit against my lips. I tilt my head back as he dips his fingers into my mouth.

My tongue grazes over the rough tips of his fingers, the salty tang of his skin intoxicating as it swirls with the sweet tartness of the pomegranate. Juice trickles from my lips, trailing down my neck, pooling against my collarbones.

“You know where you belong.” His words caress my cheek, heavy with a possessiveness that makes me ache. He traces a path down my neck with two scarlet-tinged fingers, leaving a sticky crimson trail that feels almost scalding against my sensitive skin. “Baths are supposed to be cleansing,” he says, tracing the dip of my collarbone. “But, my dear Little Fawn, you seem to have only gotten dirtier.”

My breath comes out in shallow pants as his touch slides farther down my chest, and his rough fingertips encircle my nipple in a slow, seductive loop that sends a pulse of heat between my thighs.

I gasp and arch forward, my body craving more of his touch, more of him.

His fingers fall away from my skin, leaving behind a tingling sticky-sweet trail as he plunges his hand into the bathwater. The warm liquid swirls, sending ripples cascading against me, their gentle waves brushing my aching breasts. “You’ve made a mess, haven’t you?”

My gaze finds his, dark and intense, and I nod, my lips parting as I draw in a trembling breath.

“And you need to be cleaned.” His fingers resume their tantalizing movements in the water, gently stirring the surface, creating soft swells that fan out and wash over my skin in warm waves.

The heat in my belly twists tighter, coiling into a knot of desire. I nod again, a whimper catching in my throat.

“Tell me, Fawn,” he coaxes, his voice dripping with temptation. “Be a good girl and tell me you need to be licked clean.”

“Kane, I—”

The door to the room swings open, the sudden intrusion slicing the raw need that hangs hot and sweet within the room.

“My lady—” The attendant’s voice flutters through the steam like a startled bird as she clutches the freshly pressed gown to her chest, her gaze darting between Kane and me.

The maid’s entrance is a cold splash, an abrupt reminder of where we are and who we’re pretending to be.

“Pardon me. I—I didn’t mean to intrude,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing a vivid pink. “I’ll—I’ll busy myself elsewhere.” She turns on her heel, ready to escape, but I can’t let her leave—not when her interruption has stopped me from acting out the mistake I’m both drawn to and terrified of making.

“No, wait, please stay,” I call out, my voice steadier than I feel. “Ashwood and his erection were just leaving.”

She freezes, her body rigid, her eyes wide as she glances back at me.

“Actually”—Kane’s voice cuts through the steam-thickened air, his devilish smirk widening—“I was hoping to come, not go.”

The maid lets out a mortified squeak.

“My lord,” I scold, “I believe you speak out of turn.”

“Next time, there will be no speaking.” As he rises to his full height, he trails his hand out of the water. His wet fingertips graze my tight nipple with a featherlight touch. “Only doing.”

I lift my chin in defiance despite the desire that throbs in my core. “Are you threatening me, Lord Ashwood?”

Kane’s lips curl, part smirk, part seduction. “Think of it as a promise I’m only too happy to keep.”

The attendant, her presence nearly forgotten, flinches at the exchange and keeps her eyes fixed on the tiled floor as she mumbles a flustered apology and quickly makes room for him to pass.

Kane lingers in the doorway, his gaze smoldering with an intensity that might burn me to the ground. “Lady Ashwood will dress in the bedroom.”

“Yes, my lord,” the maid responds mechanically before hastily retreating into the dressing room to lay out the gown.

I can barely make sense of my scattered thoughts over the rapid beat of my heart and the heat of unresolved tension that thrums against my skin. I take a deep breath, hide my gold scar, and steady myself as the attendant returns to assist me out of the bath and wrap a warm towel around me.

My knees are softened butter as I walk through the dressing room, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps. Kane stands by the window, his silhouette framed against the fiery-orange sunset that filters through the heavy drapes, their deep-maroon fabric glowing like flames around the edges. He turns as I enter, and his dark eye meets mine, its heat burning into me.

After the warmth of the bath, the cool air of the bedroom is brisk against my damp skin, its chill prickling my arms. The maid begins her work, gently patting my body dry with the soft, fluffy towel, absorbing the leftover moisture from the bath in swift dabs.

Kane’s presence is commanding, his gaze lingering, heavy and intent, its weight pressing into my bones. I try to ignore the way it scorches my skin, the way it sets my veins ablaze and spreads through my belly, but right now, he holds me captive.

Once I’m dry, the maid sinks to the floor and guides black silk stockings up each of my legs before sliding a woven band to the top of the stockings at my midthigh, where she buckles them into place.

I can’t tell if Kane is murmuring his approval or if I’m hearing my pulse between my ears as the maid steps away and returns with a cotton chemise. She holds it up, its fabric gossamer thin and translucent in the soft light. I slip my arms through the sleeves, the cotton brushing against my skin like a light breeze.

“Lady Ashwood will go without a chemise or undergarments.” Kane’s instruction cuts through the air, and the attendant and I pause, chemise not yet over my head.

The maid’s hands tremble slightly as she grips the cotton. She glances between Kane and me, then slowly removes the chemise and sets it aside.

“Your corset, my lady.” Recovering her composure, she retrieves the garment and wraps the silk and bone around my waist.

My breath catches as the cool fabric encircles me. Her fingers move swiftly as she fastens the front and moves to lace the back. She pulls the laces snugly, the corset molding to my body, accentuating the gentle curve of my hips and rise of my chest and giving me the posture of a prima ballerina.

Kane’s attention doesn’t waver, and goose bumps crest against my skin as he looks at me through dark lashes.

“Tighter.” Kane’s demand interrupts the soft whisper of laces.

The maid pauses, her hands faltering. “We do not lace down so tightly, my lord.”

I clear my throat and find my voice, the words leaving my mouth automatically. “Do as he says.”

Across the room, Kane’s lips curve in an appreciative smile.

I let out a long breath as the maid returns to work. With each tug, the corset tightens. The stiff boning presses into my back and sides, straddling the line between pleasure and pain.

With every cinch of the laces, Kane’s desire winds around me just as tightly, his gaze never leaving the contours of my body. The room grows hotter, the air thicker with an unspoken need that clings as closely as the corset.

“Now the gown,” he commands, his voice low and rough.

With a quick nod, the maid retreats into the dressing room, leaving me cinched and sculpted and on display.

“You look…” Kane begins as he slowly circles me.

My breasts heave, billowing out of the corset as my heart thumps and I take small gulps of air. I want to please him more than I realized. I want him to want me. “I look…”

“Almost perfect,” he concludes.

I shiver involuntarily as he trails a finger down the small of my back, where the corset laces tighten into a knot.

The maid reenters, and Kane steps away, leaning against the bedpost, his muscles straining against his shirt as he crosses his arms over his broad chest. She lifts the beautiful gown and fits it over my newly molded curves. It settles over me in a cascade of deep-blue velvet, and Kane watches as every ripple of fabric spills over my figure.

“Leave the jewels,” he says as the attendant moves to the dresser and lifts the chosen necklace from the tray. “She outshines them all on her own.”

A shudder weaves into my spine, every inch of my skin tingling under his gaze. Though I’m fully dressed, he makes me feel utterly bare, more exposed than when I was submerged in the bath. There’s no hiding the flush of my cheeks or the quickening of my breath. There’s no hiding the effect this man has on me.

As the attendant makes her exit, leaving a trail of soft steps behind her, Kane moves closer, his whisper just for me, “A stunning trophy, indeed.”

He turns to offer his arm, and I settle my hand in the crook of his elbow. Chills chase through me with just the subtle brush of his sleeve against my skin.

“Are you ready, Fawn?” Kane asks as he guides me through the doorway toward where McDougall awaits us at the bottom of the staircase.

I take a deep breath, aware of every stitch of my corset biting softly into my waist, every glance of his dark eye. “I’m ready for everything.”

Kane’s forearm tightens under my palm. “Good,” he murmurs, “because everything is precisely what you need to be prepared for.”