The hand that cupped her br*ast moved slowly, savouring the sensation. His warm tongue flicked over her hardened n*pple before his lips bit lightly, almost playfully. A breathless moan escaped her lips, full of pleasure and submission.

“Haah… hmmm… ah…!”

Cyrene’s slender fingers raked down his back repeatedly, crumpling the fabric of his clothes into a dishevelled mess. She shook her head, panting heavily. The fear that had gripped her body just moments ago was gone, washed away as if it had never existed.

The deep, relentless thrusts that penetrated her tickled the depths of her p*ssy. His practised movements brought waves of pleasure so naturally that Cyrene could only surrender to the sensation. Even as she exhaled in shallow gasps, the heat inside her continued to build.

“Your Highness, ah-mm!”

Her whole body shook uncontrollably. The sound of the desk creaking beneath her mingled with her screams, which escaped in high, desperate moans. Between her legs, sticky fluids dripped steadily onto the floor, forming a small puddle and filling the room with a pungent, musky scent.

“Ahh, ah…!”

Her vision blurred as she was overwhelmed by a climax that never became easier to endure, no matter how many times it happened. Her stomach clenched tightly, the tension rippling through her entire body.

“Haah…”

Areos kissed the nape of her neck. The place where his hand had gripped her earlier throbbed with pain. When his tongue brushed over that sensitive spot, the mixture of pain and faint pleasure sent another shiver through her.

Areos pressed his body against hers, moving roughly inside her still tight walls. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he captured her lips in a deep kiss. Cyrene found herself thinking that he felt a little strange.

Anger would flare up one moment and fade the next. He had never been a particularly consistent person, but lately his moods seemed even more erratic. What struck her as particularly odd was how desperately he was clinging to her now.

“Haah…”

Breathing heavily, Cyrene wrapped her arms around his broad back. Her waist and back, pressed against him, felt like they were on the verge of breaking. It was as if he was trying to go deeper, his movements so intense that the pressure inside her was almost suffocating.

“Ugh, ahh…”

Having just experienced a climax, her body was hypersensitive and another wave of pleasure began to ripple through her. Cyrene gasped and shook her head, but there was no escaping the relentless sensations he was forcing upon her.

“Hmmm… ah…”

Areos kiss descended again, consuming her as if even her shallow breaths belonged to him. It felt even more suffocating than when he had gripped her throat. She couldn’t tell if it was the tightness of his embrace or the possessiveness of his lips as they claimed every part of her.

“Mmm, ugh…”

Cyrene felt him push her shoulder away for a moment, only to pull her back into his arms. The deliberate movement was followed by a satisfied moan from him. The p*nis that had filled her so completely seemed to grow even larger inside her.

The only sound in the room, apart from the creaking desk, was the echo of Areos devouring her every whimper and moan.

***

She had lost track of how many days had passed. Counting them on her fingers had quickly become pointless. Cyrene wandered aimlessly through the garden, finally turning back after a while, albeit reluctantly. 

Would he come if she had s*x with someone else? 

The thought hit her unexpectedly. After all, with the exception of their first meeting, Ilion had only appeared after she had s*x with someone else. Cyrene looked around the empty garden. The solitude brought a strange sense of relief, mixed with a strange, inexplicable anger. 

As she walked with a slightly frustrated expression, a shadow fell across the ground at her feet.

“Are you angry?”

Cyrene’s head snapped up, startled. The man she had been thinking about was standing right in front of her. Her lips parted in surprise and Ilion gave her a faint smile.

“If you’re not crying, you must be angry.”

“No.”

Cyrene took a tentative step towards him. Since he had been at the party, she thought it might be acceptable to touch him. Although she had never touched Ilion directly, she didn’t think it would matter. 

After all, none of the men who had touched her at the party had seemed to mind. She reached out and took hold of his sleeve.

“Hmmm.”

Encouraged by his lack of reaction, Cyrene stepped even closer. This time, she opened her arms to embrace him.

“…”

Ilion stayed still.

She could easily tell that his body had stiffened, but she rested her cheek against his chest and inhaled deeply. Even though he didn’t embrace her in return, she felt a strange sense of relief. She didn’t understand why.

What made it so special? No matter how much she thought about it, she couldn’t find the answer. Yet there was a sense of security in his embrace that she couldn’t find with anyone else.

“Cyrene.”

His hesitant voice was accompanied by a light tap on her shoulder, a touch that was oddly comforting. Cyrene wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. Her chest ached with emotion and she wanted to feel him completely, without barriers. Like the others, she wanted to strip off her clothes and press her bare skin against his.

Slowly, Cyrene raised her head and began to pull at his clothes.

“This isn’t right.”

“Why not?”

Ilion grabbed her hands and pushed them away. She twisted her arms slightly, but he didn’t move. He had no intention of backing down. Cyrene frowned in frustration.

“Do you dislike me?”

“That’s not it.”

“Don’t you want to have s*x with me?”

Everyone wanted her. Cyrene knew all too well the emotions reflected in the eyes of men. Ever since she had come of age, she had felt it in every fibre of her being, day in and day out.

If Areos had allowed it, even the servants and guards would have laid hands on her.

When Cyrene clung to him, blinking up at him, Ilion pushed her shoulders back awkwardly, his expression troubled.

“No, it’s not that.”

Her gaze moved down. She could clearly see the outline of his p*nis pressed against his trousers. A moment of uncomfortable silence hung between them.

“It’s unfamiliar.”

What does it have to do with anything?

Cyrene tilted her head in confusion. Ilion sighed deeply and took her hand gently. He led her to a shady bench, pulled out a handkerchief and spread it out for her to sit on.

Cyrene stared blankly at the pristine white handkerchief, which seemed to glow even in the shade. What was the meaning of this? She looked up at Ilion in confusion and he gently guided her to sit on it.

“…”

It felt strange. Why spread out a handkerchief? Why make her sit on it? When Cyrene started to get up, Ilion pressed her shoulder lightly, urging her to stay seated.

“So your dress doesn’t get dirty.”

What difference does it make?

She kept the question to herself, sensing that asking would lead to a conversation she didn’t know how to navigate. No one else had ever cared if her dress got dirty. When she was with Areos, she was either sitting on his lap or lying on the floor. Other men only cared about what was under her dress, never the dress itself. If it got dirty, they just threw it away and replaced it.

Her fingers fiddled with the edge of the handkerchief sticking out from under her dress. It was strange to touch something so clean. Ilion watched her with a strange expression before rubbing his face with his hands, as if trying to compose himself.

“Are you all right?”

All right? What did that even mean?

She was fine. There was good food, nice clothes and a comfortable bed.

Although most nights that bed belonged to the Crown Prince.

The things he said always seemed so strange and foreign. Cyrene didn’t quite understand his question, and Ilion seemed to realise this belatedly, letting out a short sigh.

“I meant, is His Highness the Crown Prince treating you well?”

“Yes, he treats me well.”

She nodded without hesitation, not needing to think. Ilion bit his lip, and this time a deep sigh escaped him. Since meeting her, he seemed to do nothing but sigh.

“…If he treats you well, then… other men… no, never mind.”

He stopped himself in mid-sentence, his unfinished thought hanging in the air.

He whispered roughly, then closed his eyes tightly. Cyrene stared at him blankly, taking in the shadowed expression on his face. When she cautiously reached out and took his hand, his calloused fingers flinched slightly.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ilion took her hand firmly.

“I will do everything I can to get you away from His Highness.”

Get her away?

Cyrene blinked as the meaning of his words sank in. Did he mean Areos was going to leave her? The mere thought made her body freeze with fear.

“No.”

“Cyrene. It’s not good for you to stay with the Crown Prince.”

“I don’t want to be abandoned.”

“It is not abandonment – it is freedom.”

When she tried to pull her hand away, Ilion held it tightly between his hands. The warmth of his touch was comforting, but it also made her uneasy. Why was he so determined for her to escape Areos? 

Cyrene knew nothing of the world beyond her own. The only time she had ever left her confines was in the carriage with the Crown Prince. The unknown world beyond was terrifying.