Auctioned to the Cruel King - Chapter 73: Chapter 73

Vivian’s POV
His tongue was soft and slow and hesitant.
Pathetic.
I sat at the edge of my bed, fingers fisted in his hair as his head moved between my legs…sloppy, wet sounds echoing in my room. He thought he was doing well. They all did—eager mouths with no real hunger. No reverence and no teeth.
He licked me like I was porcelain—something to be pleased gently.
I didn’t want gentle. I wanted to be ruined.
And none of them knew how.
I let out a sigh—one born of boredom more than pleasure—and looked past the gilded canopy above me. My eyes traced the carvings in the dark wood, indifferent to the man kneeling on the floor, groaning into my cunt as if his moans would distract me from how little he knew.
He tried to suck at my clit.
He missed.
I shoved his head back.
He looked up, breathless, lips glossy. “Did I hurt you?”
No. Worse. You bored me.
I didn’t answer. I rose to my feet in a slow, unhurried motion, letting my robe fall around my thighs again. It clung where my skin was still damp, and I knew exactly how alluring I looked when I was unfinished.
His eyes followed me, dazed, still kneeling.
“Should I… keep going?” he asked.
I didn't answer.
His mouth opened, closed. I didn’t wait for him to figure out what to say. I turned and walked out—barefoot, half-naked, and utterly unsatisfied.
The halls were empty, soaked in silence. The hour was late enough for ghosts. And I was certain one of them drifted through.
Every man I touched turned to ash in my mouth.
They begged to be called up to my bed. Fought to be seen. But none of them could keep me. None of them could reach the level I needed. They mouthed between my thighs like they were reciting prayers they didn’t believe in. As if the act alone was enough.
It never was.
Because the only one who knew how to worship me already knew how to destroy me too.
And I wouldn’t go back to him. I wouldn't knock on his door again like a hungry little thing with need in her eyes and shame under her skin. I wouldn't show that weakness again.
But fuck, it was maddening.
I dragged a hand through my hair, forcing my steps away from Lance’s corridor. Past the carved doors and heavy curtains. I turned a corner. Another. Until a faint thud caught my ear. Rhythmic and guttural.
I followed it down toward the training hall. One of the sparring rooms.
The door was ajar. A single lantern burned, casting sweat-slicked bodies in gold and shadow. Ric stood, bare arms glistening, chest heaving. His opponent—another guard—was on the ground, wheezing.
Ric rolled his neck, stepping back. Not even out of breath.
The other man groaned. “I yield. I’m done.”
“You were done three strikes ago,” Ric said flatly.
I pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.
Both men looked up.
The other male, wide-eyed, straightened, eyes darting to my robe, to the bare line of my thigh.
“Lady Vivian,” he said, awkwardly bowing.
I didn’t bother acknowledging him. My eyes were on Ric.
He was a wall of coiled muscle and silence, watching me with that expressionless mask he wore better than any armor. A trickle of sweat slid down his throat, disappearing beneath the curve of his skin-tight black top.
The other guard took my silence as dismissal and scurried past me. “Tomorrow then,” he said to Ric.
Ric stayed where he was, hand braced on the wall. I stepped further in, letting the door shut behind me.
“I want to spar,” I said.
His brow arched. “In that?”
I smiled. “I didn’t realize the dress code mattered.”
“It does when your opponent doesn’t want to be sued for touching.”
“Touching me,” I said, tilting my head, “has never been the crime.”
Ric didn’t move.
“You afraid?” I asked, stepping closer.
“I’m tired.”
“Liar.”
He wiped his face with a towel, not bothering to answer. But I saw the tension in his arms. The way his eyes refused to drift downward. His control was infuriating.
“You don’t look at me,” I said. “You never do.”
“I see enough.”
“Is it because of Lance?”
His gaze flicked to mine—finally. “You want to talk about Lance?”
“No,” I said sweetly. “I want to forget him.”
Ric said nothing.
“You avoid me like my skin’s made of poison.”
“It might be.”
I stepped forward again. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough to smell the sweat and the clean musk of him. He smelled like discipline and violence…like steel in the rain.
Fuck, I wanted to taste him.
“You don't get to pretend you’re above this,” I murmured. “Above me.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“You’re resisting.”
“That too.”
I laughed—low and cruel. “Why? What are you afraid of? That you’ll like it?”
He dropped the towel, turned away.
Coward.
I grabbed him by the collar, twisted the fabric, and yanked him back toward me. Our mouths crashed together in a hard, open kiss and rough. I licked into him, teeth nipping, tongue demanding. His mouth didn’t move against mine. His hands never reached for me. Not a single breath from him faltered as I kissed him.
And that, more than anything, made my blood boil.
I pulled away slowly, tasting frustration on my tongue, tasting him. He hadn’t kissed me back. Hadn’t pushed me away either. Just stood there, like I was a storm he intended to outlast.
“You feel nothing?” I spat.
I studied his face, cut from stone, cold and impassive, and something ugly coiled inside me. Something bruised and burning.
“I’ve never seen you touch a woman,” I said. “Never even glance at one. Do you even fuck, Ric? Or has that cock of yours rotted off from disuse?”
His eyes flickered.
I shouldn’t have said it.
I knew I’d struck bone the moment his hand snapped forward.
He slammed me against the wall.
Hard.
The impact knocked the air from my lungs, made my breath stutter as I sucked in through my teeth. My robe parted at the thigh, baring the flesh that collided with his body. One of his knees forced between mine. His hand shot to my throat, fingers locking tight, choking… and not gently.
He wasn’t teasing. More like a warning.
His face hovered inches from mine. “My cock,” he said, “works just fine.” His grip tightened.
My pulse pounded beneath his fingers.
“But the next time you try to play games with me—” he leaned closer, his nose brushing mine, “—I’ll break your fucking neck.”
I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. And gods, the heat between my legs turned molten.
He released my throat after a breath too long. My body dropped a fraction before I caught myself, exhaling sharply. And that’s when I felt it.
Hard. Pressed against my lower belly. Unmistakable.
His cock.
Thick and throbbing through his training pants…undeniable proof that he wasn’t indifferent. That the man who just threatened to kill me was also rock hard with restraint. Still, the bastard didn’t touch me again.
He just turned.
Still dazed, I said. “I see,” I rasped. “So it does work. Pity. You’d be a damn legend if you were a eunuch.”
He didn’t even glance back. He walked toward the door without a single word. No parting glance.
When the door clicked shut behind him. I pressed my hand between my legs, into my pants. My fingers came away soaked.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
Then I started laughing. Low and breathless, born of both disbelief and satisfaction.
“Oh, you depraved thing, Vivian,” I muttered to myself, dragging my hand back and licking the slick off my fingers.
When I finally returned to my room, the male from earlier, whatever his name was, was still there, stretched out lazily on the chaise lounge like some waiting pet.
I narrowed my eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He sat up, startled. “You didn’t tell me to leave.”
I blinked once. Twice.
“Out.”
“But—”
“Out,” I snapped, stalking across the room. “Before I gut you and leave your tongue pinned to my wall for the next idiot who can’t take a hint.”
He scrambled to gather his clothes, panic setting in as he fumbled with the waistband of his trousers.
Reaching for my half-drunk glass of wine on the table, I brought it to my lips, eyes never leaving him as he stumbled toward the door.
“Close it behind you,” I said.
He did.