Warlord and the Waif by Chloe Parker
CHAPTER TEN
CALDER
SHE YEARNS FOR me, yet she continues to resist me.
We engage in a delicate dance, the brazen woman aggravatingly coy when it comes to matters of desire. I never flinch away from her, making it clear that I am her lord while maintaining an open invitation to my bed. She says no each time, though I well know the heights I could take her to if given the opportunity. I reap some satisfaction in the fact that her blushes deepen and grow more frequent at my presence. The warmth of her is addictive, like the heat of the sun on a clear day.
And I starve for her, because it’s become clear that her touch can ease my pain.
The curse, despite its centuries of relentless torture, seems to lift when she’s near, defying all I thought I knew about myself and the world. The Witch Sylv told me that I would suffer into eternity, her magic mysterious and indecipherable. The creatures of this world were great scientists, and there’s not been a time when I could make heads or tails of their designs. Thus, I have stayed on this planet in agony.
Ella occupies my every thought as I stalk the castle, pacing simply to avoid more dreams of her that leave me wanting. My own touch never satisfies me, the pain too great, Ella the only balm that can give me the pleasure I crave. And even as I try to avoid her, I somehow clash with her anyway.
We fight at each meal, and in the corridors between. She tells me she hates me, that I’m cold and cruel. I insist that she will obey me. I lock her in the tower twice more, but I desire her attentions—however negative—to the extent that I free her, and decide to banish her there no longer.
When she shouts at me, her cheeks flush, her pupils dilate, and her spine bends in a delicious curve to meet my eyes from her small stature. I feast on her rage, the only time she will get close enough for a taste.
I could grab her by the waist, crush her against the wall, and have her riding my cock in waves of pleasure before she had time to slap me in the face. My fantasies stalk me through the halls of Kaer Idunn, reminding me of the lustful man I used to be, and how wild Ella makes me feel.
It only deepens my frustration.
So I come to be more demanding, knocking over my goblet when I want more wine, requesting small tasks that I once might have done myself. The Great Hall becomes a battleground each night as she serves me, and I take great pleasure in seeing her do my bidding, watching the rage spread across her face, her full mouth tight and her eyes narrow. Her body betrays her; she loves this war we wage just as much as I.
We are at a stalemate, fighting instead of fucking, and for the first time in centuries I feel alive with pain that is not from my curse.