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You were thankful for the dark of night as it hid your flustering face. You wanted to answer, to assure him, but the words tangled on your tongue.
“I-I promise not to do anything like that again.” His voice cracked softly with shame, and you caught the faint slump of his silhouette.
You knew you had to say something. Anything.
“Hector…” You whispered.
“Yes, my lady?” His reply wavered, tight with worry.
Your tongue felt heavy, your heart battering against your ribs, threatening to give you away. Then, quietly you breathed out, “I didn’t mind…”
You both stood there in silence for a moment, the tension thick as you both let the words hand heavy in the air.
You then felt a soft weight against your shoulder. Hector’s curls brushed your skin as he leaned in, drawing a breath so deep it trembled on the way out. The sound of it was low, almost a groan. Sending a shiver down your spine.
“My lady…” His voice was thick with restraint, heavy with want. “I am a gentleman first and foremost, but…” His breath faltered, and you felt his jaw tighten where it hovered near your neck. “…I am still a man.”
His admission of his sin coursed through your body. The situation was dangerous. You could feel his self-control hang by a thread, ready to snap if you so much as breathed wrong. Was it so wrong if you were to pull that thread?
Your lips parted, as you responded with your own honesty. “I know…”
Hector’s breath caught sharply in his throat. You felt a shudder rippling through his body, betraying the calm he tried so desperately to hold.
“Do not tempt me,” he whispered, the plea barely more than air, every syllable trembling like a man praying for strength he no longer had. His hand shifted against the doorframe, curling into a fist so tight his knuckles turned white.
You tilted your head just enough that your lips accidentally brushed the tip of his ear, a ghost of a movement, so small it could have been an accident. But that mistake was enough to send him over. He lifted his head from your shoulder, his eyes melted into yours, becoming large and dilated with desire
His breath dragged ragged from his chest. “This is your last chance,” he rasped, voice torn and rough. “If I take one more breath of you, I will forget myself.”
You swallowed hard, heat pooling low and deep, the ache swelling until it hurt to breathe. “Maybe…” Your voice trembled, breaking like glass. “…forgetting wouldn’t be so bad.”
That broke him. You felt it in the shiver that rolled through his frame, in the quiet curse he bit back between his teeth. His hand slipped from the frame and landed on your waist, the desperate need to hold you as his mouth crashed onto yours. No more was he careful, no more was he gentle. He gripped you, claiming your body as he desperately pulled you close.
Your head went dizzy in his fever, your body instinctively taking over as your mind took a back seat. Your hands ran into his curls, pulling him as close as possible as you desperately needed him back. Hector groaned, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through his chest as his tongue swept over your lip, demanding entrance with hunger.
You opened for him without thought, without hesitation. His tongue slid into your mouth,
Tasting,
Taking,
Devouring.
His hands roamed like they couldn’t stop, charting every curve, gripping so tight the fabric of your dress strained, seams whining under his fists.
You moaned into him, drowning in the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his stubble, the brutal press of his body against yours. It was too much and not nearly enough. Your fingers tore from his hair and down to his chest, fumbling blindly at his cravat, yanking it loose. You shoved at his open coat, dragging it off his shoulders, needing him bare. Needing him now.
He broke from your mouth with a low, dark, laugh. “My someone is growing desperate…” His hips rolled against yours, slow and obscene, the friction punching a moan from your throat. You tried to reconnect to his lips once more, but his hand caught your chin, holding you still as his other slid up the back of your neck, fingers curling into your hair.
You couldn’t move. Could only stare up at him, your breath shivering between your teeth, your body arching into the heat of his. His hips ground harder, his covered length pressing against your core, stealing the breath from your lungs with every thrust.
“Does this please you, my lady?” His voice was silk frayed to threads, rough and husky, his eyes half-lidded with hunger as he drank in your face.
“Yes…” It spilled out of you on a moan, your hips starting to move with his, desperate, reckless. Heat slicked your thighs; you could feel yourself throbbing, clenching on nothing, desperate for him inside you. His thumb brushed over your lip, pressing down, forcing your mouth open as he groaned like the sound was being torn from his chest.
“You have no idea,” he breathed, the words breaking with need, “how long I’ve prayed for this…”
He seized your mouth again, crushing your body against the door as his hand slid beneath the back of your dress, the other claiming your breast with a hunger that made your knees weaken. The tiny closet sweltered, heat rolling off your tangled bodies, the air thick with the scent of sweat and linen and need. Your skin slicked with it, glowing beneath layers of fabric that now felt like a prison. You could hardly breathe for the weight of the clothes clinging to you. You wanted them gone.
No.
You needed them gone.
Hector felt it too, the fever of your skin beneath his rough hands. With a sharp breath, he spun you around, pressing your chest to the door. His fingers went to the buttons and ribbons at your back, tugging and loosening with an urgency barely leashed. Each undone fastening made the dress slacken. He bent close, kissing down the ridge of your spine, worship in every brush of his lips.
There was urgency in him, yes, but woven through it was devotion. He adored you with every kiss, every undone clasp, as though the unfastening of your gown was no mere indulgence but destiny itself. In that narrow space, in the dark that held you both, you felt it: this was more than desire. It was as if unfastening your gown fulfilled some prophecy written in his soul.
He dropped to his knees to follow the line of buttons, his breath fanning across your back as he worked lower, lower. When he reached the final clasp, nestled at the arch of your spine, he lingered, his cheek grazing your skin. His arms snaked around your waist and thighs, locking you to him as he buried his face against you, inhaling you like salvation.
“May this dream never end…” The words bled from him, before his lips pressed gently to the small of your back.
Your lashes fluttered closed. You melted into his touch, surrendering to the slow worship of his mouth, his hands. Then the weight of your gown shifted. For an instant, confusion flickered—until you felt his hands, rough and hot, gliding up your legs beneath the loosened fabric, fingertips stroking the tender skin of your thighs. At the same time, his tongue traced a molten path up your spine. The shock ripped a gasp from your lips; your body jolted against the door.
“W-what was that?” The words tumbled out breathless, startled. You tried to turn your head, but before you could, his teeth sank gently into the crook of your neck. The bite drew a broken moan from your throat, your fingers curling against the doorframe as his mouth sealed over your flesh, sucking hard enough to bruise.
“Your mind does not need to worry, mistress,” he growled against your ear. His teeth nipped your lobe before his tongue soothed the sting, licking slowly and deliberately. “You need only stand still… I am your servant, after all.”
Behind you, a sound broke the heavy quiet—the metallic clink of a buckle, followed by the soft thud of fabric pooling against the floorboards. Your breath hitched. The thought struck you like lightning: Did he bare himself completely? The truth teased at you when his hands closed hard on your hips, dragging the skirts higher, baring your legs and thin chemise. And then his hardness slid between your thighs, hot and unyielding, straining against the last barriers of linen.
Your slick undergarments made the glide effortless, tormenting. His length rocked against your tender center, rubbing where you burned most, each thrust stealing sound from your lips. He never entered you, but the friction was dizzying.
“Hector…” Your moan quivered against the door, broken with shock and pleasure. You hadn’t believed anything so wicked could feel this divine.
“I want you…” His voice cracked, the words strangled in his throat as his arms cinched tighter around your waist, pulling you flush to him. His hips drove harder, grinding against you with a desperate rhythm. “I want you so badly it kills me… but…” He bent close, his forehead pressed to your shoulder. “…as selfish as I am, I could never dishonor you that way.”
The ache in you throbbed wild at his words. His tip nudged at your entrance and both of you moaned at the contact. It was unbearable.
“Just do it…” The plea tore free of you, raw and wanting. “Please, Hector… I don’t care… I need you…”
He faltered—hips still moving in that frantic grind, his breath ragged, every muscle shaking with restraint. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, slow and aching, his sigh burned through your skin.
“No…” His voice was hoarse. “As weak as I am… my devotion to you is stronger.”
The thrusting slowed, then stopped entirely. Empty air rushed where his heat had been. You turned, chest heaving, in confusion and frustration.
“N-no! You cannot stop now!” you said, your voice trembling from the wreckage of denied release. “You cannot make me feel that and then—”
Hector’s eyes met yours—storm-dark, but steady now. “It’s not a matter of what I want, its about what needs to be. And I will not change my mind.” His voice was iron, though his body shook as though he was at war with himself.
Your lips curled, the start of a curse, “You bast—”
“That does not mean,” he cut in, “I will not satisfy you.”
The retort died on your tongue as he sank to his knees before you. Your breath snagged hard in your chest. “W-what are you—”
“Serving you.” His answer rumbled from deep in his throat like a vow.
With reverent hands, he swept your skirts higher, letting the fabric billow over his head as his lips found your thighs. A gasp clawed from your lungs at the first kiss—a soft drag of his mouth over fevered skin. Another followed. And another. Long, slow, worshipful strokes as he worked his way upward, tasting the salt of your sweat, the trembling of your flesh. His fingers hooked the edge of your undergarments.
The whisper of linen peeling down your legs was louder than the hammering of your heart. You shivered as the last barrier slid past your knees, leaving you bare to the cool air
Bare to him.
His breath scorched the place where your heat throbbed most.
“Do you know what to- DO!” The question shattered into a cry as his mouth sealed over you, tongue plunging into your folds in one greedy, devastating stroke.
You buckled against the door with a gasp, your fingers clawing grooves into the wood as his mouth consumed you, his tongue sweeping every secret, every ache, leaving nothing untouched. His groan vibrated against your core, deep and hungry, as if the taste of you undid him as much as his touch undid you. He didn’t rush; he savored, lapping slow, then fast, circling that aching bud until your knees gave a violent tremor and your voice cracked on his name.
“Hector~!” You writhed under his mouth, reduced to whimpers and sobs as he drank every sound. His hands clamped your thighs as he devoured you, groaning as he could feel your entrance beginning to tighten in bliss. And when you broke, the heat exploded in you, tearing so loud you bit your own lip to muffle it. He held you through it, sucking and licking until you collapsed against the door, trembling, as you panted from your descent in ecstasy.
Hector rose slowly, his lips wet with you, his chest heaving as his eyes glazed in bliss.
“Forgive my wickedness…” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, voice hoarse. “But I’m afraid this may not be the last time I have you like this.”