Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 63709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Who am I kidding? The urge I still have to fuck.
But the king isn’t here, and the pillows are.
Like there’s some invisible puppet master yanking my strings, I set about rearranging the furnishings, placing the polished footstool in one corner, a couple fluffy rugs on the cold, smooth floor, and making up the bed. The linens are so soft, I can’t stop stroking them. After putting deep mauve pillowcases and sheets on the bed, I add several sumptuous, colorful cushions to accentuate the woven silver comforter. The room is the perfect temperature for me, but I’m still breaking out in a sweat. The huge, heavy, blue velvet armchair is gorgeous, but it can’t stay where it is. It’s wrong. The wrongness of it crawls up my spine, making me want to tear out my hair.
I throw my full body weight behind it, grunting like a wounded animal, trying to get it to shift.
“Fucking move!” I growl and let out a little cry when Rogue lifts the chair and positions it where I want it. “That’s it,” I pant. “Right there. No, a little to the left.”
I heave a sigh when the armchair settles into the perfect place.
There’s a small table with two chairs, and I direct Rogue to set those up against the wall, completing the look with a gleaming candlestick and shimmering silver placemats.
My pussy throbs the entire time, thumping in time with my heart, cheering me on. It’s like I’m being biologically driven to decorate.
My sensible side knows this is ridiculous and a giant waste of time, considering I’m about to, you know, leave, but the inner compulsion is impossible to resist.
This must be what addicts feel like.
I want to fuck. No, I need to fuck.
What’s the matter with me?
When I’ve put everything in its place, I retreat to the corner of the room, breathing heavily, scrutinizing every last tiny detail. It’s still not right. Something’s still fucking missing.
Sudden tears prick my eyes. I cover my face with my hands, fighting back the wave of—what? It’s not sadness. Frustration? Maybe. Longing?
What am I doing? I’m back in that mindless state, driven by instinct rather than logic. I’m putting my all into making this windowless room, this sanctum of sorts, my ideal place for sex. I’m making up this bed and creating this lush, cozy ambience for one reason, and one reason only: to get fucked in it.
What was it the king said? You will sleep and when you wake, your instincts will drive you…
I’m making a freaking nest.
NINE
Bestian
Rose has no idea I’m watching her. With my heart thundering in my chest, my cock straining toward my belly, and my soul aching, I stare, transfixed, at my stunning female. When she emerged from the bathing room, she looked regal. The whisps reported that she rejected the crown, but it does not matter. My Omega is every inch a queen.
She’s busy positioning furniture, straightening sheets, and plumping pillows in one of the many castle bedrooms while one of the whisps—the naughty one who escaped my castle spell to follow her—helps.
She’s doing just what I predicted. What I could not predict is how satisfying it is to watch her obey her Omega urges.
I’m not an Omega, she protested. But here is proof.
She was still fast asleep in my bed when I left her, one of the furs wrapped around her slender hip, her luscious breasts bare to display still swollen nipples. Small wonder—I teased and tormented those beauties until merely brushing them with a fingertip was enough to make her gasp and shudder.
I’ve spent countless hours reading about fucking and the rut, and many of those accounts described how responsive most Omega females are to being dominated—and more. To erotic pain. As much as those tales made my cock hard, my logical mind argued that it couldn’t be true. That they must be fantasies, written to titillate, not teach.
It seems I was wrong about that, at least when it comes to the exquisite Omega who’s currently positioning and repositioning a plethora of cushions across the bed.
I can sense her frustration through the orbs my father had installed to be able to keep an eye on things. Being alone in the castle for the past decade or so, there never was a reason to use them to spy on other rooms, but now I’m grateful for them. As the suns rose this morning and it grew lighter, I had to leave, to work out a solution for my conundrum, but mere minutes without her felt like hours, and I worried about what would happen when she woke up to find me gone.
Now, I can watch over her, make sure she’s all right, while I work on my mask.
Only… she’s not all right. She’s growing ever more frantic and frustrated. Her movements are jerky and tense.