At the Edge of Submission

Hector seized her collar.

“What have you done to be crying like this?”

Her frail body was lifted clean off the ground.

His hand tore roughly into her clothing.

Her breath constricted.

He had gripped her by the throat.

The next instant—

Eyes, murky and luminous like lamps lighting the gates of hell, pierced into hers.

The moment their noses brushed past one another, his panting lips collided with hers.

The soft, easily crushed contact like pudding was only the signal.

Her lips were pressed flat, her teeth forced apart.

Heat flooded in through the opening like a bursting dam.

A hot, throbbing tongue surged into her mouth as though it had been waiting for this moment.

The rounded yet pointed tip burrowed beneath her smaller tongue, stabbing at the glands that drew out saliva.

Hector coiled around her tongue and stimulated the tender roof of her mouth.

Her head tipped back toward the cavern ceiling as their lips fused completely.

She did not even notice when his cloak fell into the cave.

Upon the rock layered thick with fallen leaves, the cloak bearing the Montparnasse imperial crest spread wide, and her velvet mantle tumbled after it.

Only when she hit the ground did she realize the deep kiss had merely been the beginning.

“Your… Majesty… I…”

Though she found a sliver of time to stammer as he dragged her deeper into the cave—into a place no wild beast could discover—she could not dare refuse him.

If she voiced the truth—that she loathed him to the marrow—she felt certain she would meet a second death.

Her violet eyes, sharp with alarm, met the merciless glow of a ruler who knew only domination.

“So you want to be held by me that badly?”

The hand clutching her bodice ripped several buttons free, sending them flying.

Rrip—

The sound of fabric tearing seemed to declare that her fate had not changed at all.

Even after life repeated, why was it still the same?

His darkened gaze demanded an answer.

His heavy body pressed down over her fallen form.

The muscles of his lower abdomen, crushing against her pelvis, felt as hard as bone.

Even then, the straight line of his nose and the arrogant curve of his cheekbone hovered in her vision.

He stood at the extreme edge of male beauty, almost unreal.

For a fleeting instant, she felt disoriented by that brilliance.

Before she could register it, ruthless hands moved.

Whether cut or ripped, her garments split open in moments.

Her riding jacket and the shirt beneath were rendered useless, exposing her skin down to her navel.

A knee shoved between her thighs, splitting them apart like paper.

Along with her legs, the shame she could not confess fractured open.

She restrained the urge to kick.

A futile attempt would only worsen matters.

If she misstepped, the dagger at his side could lodge in her throat.

No matter how her pretty face might momentarily captivate him, even a slight irritation could erase his favor.

Like a rat trapped in a jar, she proved her helplessness as his hand wrapped around her neck.

Her throat—through which breath passed—and even her jawbone were encompassed in his grip.

He looked fully capable of snapping her neck on a whim.

Until she answered his question—whether she wished to be held—the level of violence would only rise.

Her reply was predetermined.

Feeling the damp seep of fog into her breasts, she squirmed within the iron-hard body pinning her.

“D-do it.”

She felt his body pause.

Unexpectedly, Hector brushed the disheveled strands from her forehead like a tender lover.

Her face lay fully exposed.

Every minute muscle revealed her expression.

Though she had asked him to take her, it was obvious she did not mean it.

His swollen lips twisted faintly.

Teeth that gleamed as though ready to bite her flickered between them.

“Will that suffice? You should beg properly.”

Even delivered with a light, almost playful smile, his words carried weight.

Chloe realized that this was the moment she must crawl and submit.

One wrong word, and her second life would end as miserably as the first.

Her exposed skin grew damp beneath the fog.

Goosebumps rose like the skin of plucked poultry.

Her frightened complexion deepened toward violet.

“I want… to be held by Your Majesty.”

She hated it.

In this life at least, she had sworn never to share her body with this man again.

The reality of acting against her true feelings tore at her.

She tried not to look miserable, but her brows knit and her eyes curved in distress.

The faint smile that had hovered on his face vanished.

His gaze fell like the blade of a guillotine, as though to say this was all she could manage.

“You should at least act like you’re dying to be fucked.”

For a moment, Chloe froze as if doused in cold water.

Her pupils dilated.

Memories she wished to forget surfaced.

His foul mouth matched his brutal nature.

Tyrant Hector had never watched his tongue.

His temper flared easily; his moods swung wildly.

When angered, he would spew obscenities without hesitation.

Like the cruel punishments he handed down for minor offenses, his speech was merciless.

When the Emperor of the Empire used gutter language, anyone kneeling before him turned pale.

The word struck her anew.

It did not belong in such a noble mouth.

Pinned beneath his massive body, dread swelled within her.

In the past, he had not stopped at his own vulgarity.

He had demanded she repeat the same words.

If she failed to act sufficiently debased, she had been forced to service him through the night.

Chloe turned her head, her eyelids trembling.

His old obscenities rang in her ears like hallucinations.

I want to be fucked—

That phrase alone she could never utter again.

She did not want to feign lewdness.

If she failed to respond obscenely, what punishment awaited?

Perhaps a slap.

Perhaps a broken bone.

Perhaps worse—a blade.

With Hector, any of those outcomes were possible.

Biting her lip, praying to escape this moment with her body intact—

“Don’t play pathetic with me. Hm?”

Steel flashed before her eyes.

The dagger, adorned with jewels befitting an Emperor, gleamed wickedly sharp.

In the narrow cave, light flickered across its edge as Hector raised his brow, eyes tinged with madness.

With tyrannical hands he controlled her body at will.

The remaining scraps of fabric were sliced away and cast aside.

“Utterly insolent.”

The long fingers of a predator traced down the line of her throat.

His hand slid without hesitation across damp skin, reaching the swell of her breast.

Spreading his hand like casting a net, Hector seized her breast and squeezed hard.

A gasp tore from her at the force.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh.

As though punishing her for defying imperial will.

Her breasts were not large.

Poorly developed in youth, they were modest at best.

Her former husband had often mocked her for lacking fullness.

She had even kneaded herself nightly in futile attempts to create volume like a courtesan’s.

It had achieved nothing.

She had remained slender and slight.

Hector’s rough hand kneaded her breast again.

Between his spread fingers, the flesh bulged.

Her pale pink nipple rose softly between his thumb and forefinger.

Untouched by a man in this lifetime, it hardened sharply at the sudden sensation.

He pushed the jutting peak between his lips.

Pinning her squirming body with his arm, he pressed his jaw into her soft breast and devoured it greedily.

His lips, feral now, bit down hard.

The edge of her areola fit neatly between his front teeth.

The flesh stretched long into the mouth of a beast.

Her once pale sensitivity flushed red as his fierce tongue sucked relentlessly.

It was utterly bewildering.

She had never experienced this configuration before.

In the past, she had been the one pressing her pitiful breasts to his mouth in seduction.

This was entirely different.