sinovels Chapter 393 --393
Chapter 393 --393
Before a single maid could drop into a curtsy, Heena raised a slender hand. She didn’t break her sharp stride. The fine silk of her skirt whipped around her legs, the fabric clinging tight enough to outline the firm curve of her calves with every hurried step.
"Get out," she ordered, her voice stripped of all warmth.
"All of you, clear the perimeter. I am not to be disturbed under any circumstances. If anyone knocks on my door before I explicitly call for them, I will have them thrown out of the front gates."
The servants froze. A beat of breathless silence passed before they scattered, stumbling over one another. They moved with the clumsy grace of prey realizing the delicate woman before them possessed fangs.
Heena didn’t spare the staff another glance. She marched up the stone steps. Her bodice strained against her rapid, shallow breaths, the embroidered corset pushing her cleavage up into a sinful display as she shoved open the heavy oak doors to her suite.
Samuel followed close behind. He reached back to pull the doors shut. The broad span of his shoulders shifted tight beneath his dark uniform, leather straps groaning in protest.
The lock clicked into place. A solid, resonant thud sealed them inside their private sanctuary.
Samuel let out a long breath. The rigid formality of his guard posture eased a fraction—a shift reserved only for when they were secured behind closed doors.
He opened his mouth, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Wife, what did you—"
Heena stopped dead in the center of the plush velvet carpet.
She turned to face him. The sweet, gracious facade she had worn all morning vanished. In its place was a look so dangerously sharp it cut through the thick heat pooling in the room.
Her posture was rigid. Shoulders thrown back, the resulting arch of her spine made the hard, aroused peaks of her nipples visibly press against the thin silk of her blouse. She wanted him to see it. To see what he was currently denied.
"Kneel down," Heena commanded. Her tone was pure, unyielding ice.
Samuel stalled. His tall, imposing frame locked up as the sheer, unapologetic dominance in her voice struck him.
He stared down at her, dark eyes wide beneath the rim of his visor.
For a fleeting second, he thought she might be playing a game. Some cruel, elaborate continuation of the thick sexual tension they had been building all morning.
But one look into her darkened pupils confirmed she was serious. There was no teasing banter left in her expression. Only the sharp, calculating stare of a woman fully aware of the leash she held around his neck.
Without a word of protest, Samuel dropped to one knee on the carpet.
The thick leather straps of his harness creaked against his broad chest, pulling tight across his muscular torso. It was a delicious contrast—this massive, dangerous man folding himself at the feet of a much smaller woman.
He lowered his head into a textbook posture of submission. Resting thick forearms on his parted thighs, the fabric of his trousers pulled taut over his dense muscles.
Yet, despite his obedient stance, his gaze tracked upward, fixing intently on the soft, flushed skin of her throat and the rapid pulse beating there.
Heena stared down at him, her chest rising and falling to flaunt her silhouette. "Do you remember what you did wrong?"
Samuel blinked. His sharp mind raced through a rather extensive catalog of recent offenses. He swallowed hard.
His Adam’s apple bobbed against the neat linen bandage she had wrapped around his neck hours ago. It drew her attention to the strong line of his throat—a prime spot to bite.
"Wife..." Samuel started carefully. His deep, resonant voice carried a trace of genuine hesitation as he tested the waters.
"Could you perhaps... narrow the timeline down a little?"
He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Are we talking about me sneaking through your window at two in the morning and almost getting my throat slit? Or are we talking about my slip of the tongue when I called your mother’s favorite groom a piece of shit? Or was it the way I glared at Kavien during breakfast—"
Heena simply watched him. Her face remained a mask of flawless stone, unaffected by his charming, self-deprecating rambling. The only betrayal of her own thrumming arousal was the slight parting of her glossed lips.
"Samuel," she warned. The syllables cut through the thick air like a physical lash. "Do not pass time with me."
The faint, teasing glint in Samuel’s eyes vanished. The playful energy bleeding from him washed away, replaced by a suffocating, almost predatory tension.
He closed his mouth. The easygoing, lovesick persona shed like an old coat. In its place, the sharp, lethal man who had survived the deadly political undercurrents of the provinces snapped into focus.
He straightened his spine. The movement made his uniform pull taut over his chest once more, highlighting the sheer bulk of him.
Still kneeling at her feet, his gaze darkened into something primal. A beast on a tight leash, wholly submissive to her alone.
"I am listening, wife."
"Good," she murmured, the single word dripping with a dark, predatory satisfaction.
She stepped closer. The soft rustle of her silk skirt sounded deafening in the quiet room. Stopping just inches from his kneeling form, she reached out and flicked the visor off his face. It clattered against the floorboards, discarded and ignored.
Without the shadow of the brim, his raw hunger was laid bare.
His dark eyes tracked every minute shift of her hips. He was fixated on the way her rapid breathing made the embroidered corset dig into the soft swells of her breasts, pushing the hardened peaks against the thin silk.
"Strip the armor," she ordered. Her tone offered no room for hesitation. "Slowly. Let me hear every buckle."
Samuel’s jaw tightened. He reached up, thick fingers grasping the first brass fastening across his chest. The stiff leather groaned in protest. Heena watched his broad shoulders roll under the dark fabric as he worked, her pulse picking up a steady, heated rhythm.
"Keep your eyes on me," she reminded him. She took another half-step forward, invading his space until her knees nearly brushed his chest.
He looked up, his breathing ragged as he unclasped the heavy leather harness and let it drop. It hit the carpet with a dull thud. Beneath the uniform shirt, the hard outline of his sculpted chest was stark, the fabric clinging to his sweat-slicked skin.
Heena traced the flat of her nail down the center of his chest, snagging it deliberately on the fabric right over his pounding heart. He shuddered. It was a beautiful, intoxicating sight—this dangerous, lethal man reduced to trembling at a mere brush of her fingertips.
"You don’t get to touch," she whispered, her voice a cruel caress.
She caught his chin, tilting his head back to expose the strong column of his throat, right beside the neat linen bandage. "Not until I decide you’ve earned it."
With calculated grace, she lifted her leg and straddled his kneeling thigh. The friction of her fine silk skirt against the coarse fabric of his uniform trousers sent a sharp, electric jolt of heat straight to her core.