"Do not even think of it, Aunt Beatrice," Adrian warned, his voice devoid of fear. It carried a chilling certainty as he continued, "Your insignificant life simply cannot bear the cost of harming a single hair on my head."
He stared right through her, his piercing gaze dismantling the arrogant facade she was so desperately trying to maintain.
"I know it would be incredibly easy for you to kill me right here," He went on, his tone conversational.
"You certainly have the strength to do it."
"Behind these four walls, you could end my life before I even took a second step."
"But..."
"But you must ask yourself if that is truly worth making an enemy of my mother."
"I mean you have seen exactly how protective she is of me."
"No matter how carefully you scrub the blood from the stone floor, or burn the sheets and the curtains, she will inevitably find out that it was you."
"And I can promise you this much; she will not grant you the mercy of a quick death. She will take her time breaking you."
Adrian leaned in closer, a slow smile curving his lips; the smile of someone who had already decided what was going to happen next.
"So, instead of facing her wrath over a foolish mistake, why don’t you make a deal with the so-called trash of the house."
The murderous aura that had flared up around Beatrice only moments ago instantly collapsed, extinguished by the horrifying reality of his words.
Profound shame flooded in to fill the void, followed by a scrambling terror that stripped away every last ounce of her noble dignity.
"I am sorry," she blurted out, the words tumbling over one another in her haste to placate him, "I did not mean any of it. I was just so angry at Arthur. I have been so angry at him for months, and I unfairly took that frustration out on you at dinner... I am sorry."
"I was completely wrong to do so. I will give you anything you desire to make up for it. Gold, priceless artifacts, weapons, land--- whatever you want, it is yours. I mean it."
"Just please, I beg of you, do not let this secret leave this room."
Adrian looked at the earnest expression on her face but didn’t immediately answer.
Instead, his eyes slowly dragged down her body.
The black silk of her nightgown clung tightly to her skin where she had hastily bunched it up. He deliberately took his sweet time admiring the swell of her breasts, the peaks of her erect nipples pressing against the fabric, and the dark, damp outline of her shaved pussy barely concealed beneath the nightgown.
"Get off the bed," Adrian finally spoke up and ignoring her offers of wealth, much to her bewildered surprise, ordered her.
Beatrice blinked as a wave of confusion washed across her face, "What?" she whispered.
"I said, get off the bed," his voice hardened, taking on the loud, commanding firmness of a lord addressing an unruly servant who was pretending not to hear, "Get on the floor."
"Adrian, wait... please," Beatrice stammered, scrambling forward on the mattress as she tried to make him understand, "Think about what you are doing. We are family... Blood of the same house." Visit novelping dot com for the full chapter.
"How can you look at me like this, with such cold malice in your eyes?" Her voice cracked, "Is there no mercy left in you? No shred of pity towards your aunt toward someone who only made a fleeting, bitter mistake?"
"Even if you don’t respect the relation we have, name your price... I will double the gold, triple it! I can secure your future in the capital for the rest of your days. Just... just say the word."
Adrian however did not even flinch. His expression remained as carved stone, detached from her frantic appeals.
"You speak of family, Aunt Beatrice, and yet your hands showed no hesitation when you tried to burn me," Adrian replied softly, "You talk of human decency, but your memory is remarkably selective. What a pity?!"
"Please!" she sobbed, her voice dropping to a whisper as she clutched at her own chest, "Have you no soul? To humiliate me like this... to strip away whatever dignity I have left. Look into my eyes, Adrian. Surely somewhere beneath, there is a heart that understands mercy. Do not condemn me to this."
"My heart is quite content, Aunt Beatrice," Adrian answered, his eyes unyielding, "And the floor is waiting."
Finally Beatrice gave up. She did not dare to argue, though her limbs felt heavy.
The fight had left her voice, and she moved with agonizing slowness.
She shifted inch by inch, her fingers dragging across the bed as if she could anchor herself to the bed forever.
When she finally reached the edge, she paused as she stared down into the shadows. She lowered one leg trembling, pulling it back once, then letting it slide down with reluctance before the other followed.
As her bare feet at last touched the cold stone floor, she visibly flinched.
"On your knees," Adrian instructed coldly. For a few agonizing breaths, she hesitated.
In that fleeting moment of rebellion, she looked up at him. How did this happen? She, a proud noblewoman, and the esteemed wife of a supreme commander. How did she end up in this situation?
But then, the crushing reality of the night crashed down on her.
She remembered Arthur hunched over his maps.
The echoing slam of the bedroom door.
And the devastating rumor that this boy could so easily spread across the capital.
And yet she cannot touch a hair on his head.
She had absolutely no leverage left.
Defeated, Beatrice slowly sank down and knelt on the floor and her gaze drifted from his mocking face down to the front of his trousers, and there it stayed, unable to look away.
"What are you waiting for, my dear aunt?" Adrian asked eith amusement in his words wrapped in a layer of politeness, "You were practically burning in heat before I walked in."
"Your hands were awfully busy between your own legs, and your mouth was full of my father’s name. Do not try to pretend that the fire has suddenly gone out just because I am the one standing in front of you now."
Hearing his words, a burning flush of pink rose rapidly in Beatrice’s cheeks.
She stared up at that triumphant smile of his and absolutely hated it.
Yet, even as her mind rebelled, her trembling hands reached out for the buckle of his trousers anyway.
She knew that if Arthur’s shameful secret ever left this room, her prestigious titles and comfortable life would vanish right along with it.
"Adrian?" she pleaded one last time, her voice trembling, "Can we... can we perhaps settle this another way? There simply must be some other price I can pay."
Even as she begged, her fingers nervously unbuckled his heavy leather belt and began popping the buttons of his trousers open one by one.
It was a pathetic, desperate last attempt to salvage her dignity, but Adrian did not even entertain the thought.
"No," he replied. The refusal was flat and absolute, "I have decided how we are going to settle this debt between us."
Defeated, Beatrice pulled his trousers down. The cloth fell away, pooling around his boots, and his thick, erect cock sprang free, slapping against her cheek as it did.
Beatrice let out a sharp gasp of surprise before she could stop herself. She stared at him for a long, breathless moment, completely struck still by the sight.
Bathed in the low, flickering amber light of the bedroom’s mana-lamps, his shaft was far larger and thicker than she had ever allowed herself to imagine.
She couldn’t help but vividly imagine that massive, throbbing shaft stretching her tight pussy apart, giving her the relief she had craved through months and years of frustrating nights.
As the thought washed over her, kneeling submissively on the cold floor, her breathing grew noticeably thin and ragged.
"Do not just sit there looking at it, Aunt Beatrice," Adrian murmured, inviting his aunt to make the move, "You can taste it as well."
A wave of starved lust forcefully pushed its way up through her lingering anger, clouding whatever rational thought she had left and she leaned in eagerly, her mouth parting wide.
But the very instant her soft lips brushed against the head of his cock, Adrian’s hand shot out. He grabbed a thick fistful of her hair and yanked her head backward.
"Ah!" a startled cry broke out of her throat as her hands flew up to grip his wrist. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes.
"I told you to taste it," Adrian said, staring down into her teary eyes. His punishing grip in her hair did not ease even a fraction.
"Not to swallow it whole."