Chapter 35: Something Better Than Dinner Pt2
Vivienne’s brain lost all function. It was as if someone had ripped out the wires and thrown them into the fire. Nothing worked. Thoughts, reason, logic—all gone. Before she could even think or resist, she saw her dress already undone, sliding down her body in silence.
Her sworn enemy—her own traitorous flesh—moved for him. She had not told it to move. She had not given it permission. Yet there it was, betraying her, letting the dress fall to the ground in a heap of fabric. Her arms hung useless at her sides. Her body was no longer her own.
She sat on the table in nothing but her corset and her white petticoat. The linen clung to her legs, thin and soft, but she felt more naked in it than if she had been fully bare.
Her whole skin was burning.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. Not rough. Not mocking. Soft. Too soft. His fingers reached behind her back and tugged gently at her corset, loosening it. He did not strip her, not fully. He only untied enough strings to let her breathe comfortably.
Comfortable. He wanted her comfortable.
Her head exploded with screaming.
What the fuck are you doing? Why are you letting him touch you like this? Why are you standing here like a docile little lamb? Pick up your skirt, punch him, stab him, do something! You’re Vivienne, goddamn it. You’ve robbed men blind, destroyed marriages, lied and cheated your way across Ravelle to Luminelle. And now here you are, letting some mad duke loosen your corset like you’re his blushing bride. Oh my God, I should be dragged to hell by my hair right now.
But her body stayed still.
André began removing his own clothes, one by one. First his dark coat, sliding off broad shoulders. Then his cravat, tossed aside. Then his shirt, white linen falling away to reveal his chest. His belt followed, then his trousers, every motion calm and deliberate.
Vivienne wanted to die.
Of course. Of course he has the body of a god. Why not? Why would he be normal? No, he has to look like every sculptor in Ravelle prayed over him before chiseling him into existence. He has to have shoulders like sin and muscles that make you think of confession. Why couldn’t he be ugly? Why couldn’t he stink of garlic like the old men in the taverns? Why does he look like he was designed to ruin me? God, why do you hate me so much?
André leaned close, his hand brushing her lips with unbearable gentleness. His eyes burned with something she could not name.
"Vivienne," he whispered, voice heavy and low, "I’ll give you my love every day."
Every day.
Her brain shut down all over again.
Every day? Did he just say every day? What the fuck does that mean? Does he mean... does he mean fuck? Every day? Every single fucking day until I’m a dried-out corpse? Does he not have better things to do? Run a chateau? Read a book? Play chess? Fence? Something? Anything? Every day? Oh my God, kill me now.
She wanted to argue. To scream. But her throat locked.
Inside, her thoughts were in chaos.
God, what did I ever do to deserve this? Yes, I robbed people. A lot of people actually. Yes, I ruined some marriages. Fine, maybe I left a trail of broken hearts and empty purses from Ravelle to Luminelle. Maybe the whole of Elysia. But still! This? This is too much. I cannot be punished like this. I won’t survive this madness. I can’t. I can’t.
Her body froze as he pushed her underwear aside. He slid into her slowly, filling her so completely she gasped. Her fingers gripped the table. Her knees threatened to buckle.
His thrusts were unbearably slow. Gentle, too gentle, yet strong enough to feel like he was breaking her apart.
Because he was.
Vivienne bit her lip hard, digging her teeth in to keep from making a sound.
Don’t moan. Don’t fucking moan. You stupid bitch, don’t you dare moan. There are servants outside. If you moan, they’ll hear you. They’ll hear you being fucked in the dining room like a cheap whore. You’ll never recover. They’ll laugh at you until you die. Especially that Madame Miserable. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
André studied her face, his eyes full of dark amusement.
"She’s fighting it," he thought. "Adorable."
He leaned down and kissed her.
Her lips betrayed her instantly. They kissed him back.
And she moaned.
Into his mouth.
André smiled against her lips like a wolf with blood on its teeth. His mouth traveled, brushing that sensitive spot just behind her ear.
Vivienne shivered violently. Her head fell back. And then the moans came, soft at first, then spilling out despite her desperate attempts to choke them back.
Her inner voice was shrieking.
Stop that. Stop moaning, you bitch. You sound insane. You’re insane! You’re supposed to be robbing him, not... not enjoying this like some idiot in love. Are you out of your mind? You are losing yourself. You are finished. Get a grip, Vivienne. Get a fucking grip.
André’s rhythm grew stronger. Faster.
Her body jolted with each thrust. Her voice broke out louder and louder until she could barely hear herself think.
No. No, this is wrong. I’m too close. I’m going to come. I can feel it. I’ll scream. I’ll moan so loud the whole chateau will hear. They’ll know. Everyone will know. Oh my God, what do I do? I can’t let that happen. No, no, no.
Her eyes darted around the room in wild panic. Then she saw it.
Bread.
A piece of bread sitting innocently on the table.
Before her brain could stop her, her hand shot out, grabbed it, and shoved it into her mouth.
She came.
Her body shook violently as pleasure ripped through her. The table rattled. Silverware crashed to the floor. Her muffled cry tore against the bread, her teeth sinking into it as if it were the only thing keeping her alive.
André stilled, still inside her. His face tilted in amusement.
He reached up and plucked the bread from her mouth.
"Vivienne," he said softly, still buried deep inside her. "There’s no one around the dining room. Why are you biting bread?"
He kissed her lips again, the taste of bread still clinging there, mocking her. His mouth was warm, teasing, relentless.
In his head he was laughing. She’s losing her mind. She knows she’s losing control. And she hates it. This is perfect. This is fun.
Inside her skull, Vivienne was tearing herself apart.
I came. I came on his cock biting a piece of bread. I fucking came on his cock biting bread in the dining room. What the actual fuck is my life? Oh my God, this is the lowest point of existence. I swear to the heavens I will ruin this bastard. I will kill this bastard. I’ll cut his heart out with a butter knife and feed it to the dogs.
André looked down at her, saw the wild fury in her eyes, and smiled.
"She wants to fight back," he thought. "Good. More fun for me."
Vivienne gritted her teeth, trembling, furious, and wrecked.
This isn’t over, she promised herself. This bastard thinks he’s won. He thinks I’m some lovesick fool. But one day, I’ll flip this game. One day, I’ll destroy him.
But for now, she was still trembling against him, still caught in his arms, still shaking from the bread-muffled climax.
And André held her tighter, whispering words she hated, words she couldn’t stop hearing.
"My love. Every day."
But in his head he thought: I will ruin you. Every day. Every night. Till you snap. My little thief. You think you’re clever? You think you hold the strings? No. You don’t. I do. This is only the start. I’ll burn through your pride. I’ll make you need me. I’ll make you crawl. And when you break, I’ll smile.
He kissed her hands softly. Smiled at her like a doting fool.
Vivienne smiled back, soft as sugar. But her mind was venom. You love me, don’t you? Then poor you. Poor, pathetic you. I’ll gut you where it hurts. Fuck your golden horse. Fuck your palace. I’ll find your vault. I’ll take everything you’ve got. I’ll strip you bare. You’ll beg. You’ll sob. You’ll choke on heartbreak. And I’ll laugh while you die inside.
On the outside they looked perfect. Sweet. Tender. Two lovers.
But underneath? Monsters. Two wolves dressed as lambs. Two killers smiling as they planned each other’s end.