The rest of the dinner passed smoothly.
Damien and Helena filled the meal with polite small talk, and to anyone that listened they would have thought they were a lovely couple on a fine dining date.
But of course, that wasn't the case.
Damien had Helena wrapped around his finger, dressed in silk that barely covered her, and he ogled her openly across the table the entire meal. He didn't care that his gaze made her skin crawl. That was half the point.
Before they knew it, the plates were empty and the glasses had run dry. Damien took the last sip of his drink and set the crystal down with a satisfied breath.
"That's the good stuff." He couldn't help but exclaim, savoring the warm finish as it slid down his throat. "My it seems you've taken quite a liking to it as well, haven't you, darling?"
Helena's glass was nearly empty too. Her cheeks were touched with rose from the drink, the flush soft against her pale skin.
"I will say, it does have a unique taste." Helena said it with practiced diplomacy, then finished the rest of her glass. She knew not finishing it would only make things worse later.
But she was already feeling tipsy. She had always been a light drinker.
Damien set his napkin on the table, eyeing the empty plate and glass.
"Well then, darling. I think it's best we be on our way." He stood and walked around to her side of the table, offering his arm. The bill had already been deducted from his account, as was customary for returning patrons of his standing.
Helena rose to meet him and looped her arm through his. Her skirt parted at her hips as she stood, and as they began the walk toward the elevator, she felt the eyes of the room follow her every step.
"Have a good evening, sir and ma'am." The hostess from before bowed as they stepped into the elevator to leave.
This time, the elevator ride passed smoothly.
The carriage was waiting for them when they reached the ground floor. They stepped in, and the driver started the slow trip back toward the dormitories. Helena kept her hands folded in her lap, counting the street lanterns as they passed by to occupy her mind.
It was nearly ten at night by the time they arrived. The dormitory corridors were quiet and empty as they made their way down toward her room.
"Here we are." Damien's voice was soft as they stopped outside her door. "Home."
"Thank you, Damien. Goodnight, I—"
His hand caught her wrist.
"Hold on a moment, darling. I haven't said goodnight properly."
He stepped into her, slow and deliberate, pushing her back flat against the door. His free hand slipped behind her, gliding along the bare line of her spine the long, exposed stretch the dress had left undefended all night.
She shuddered before she could stop herself.
He smiled.
"You've been so good tonight, darling."
His palm traveled lower, finding the heart-shaped curve of her hip beneath the layered silk skirt. He gave it a firm squeeze. Helena's breath caught in her throat, and his smile widened.
"So patient. So beautiful for me."
His hand slid further down until the curve of her ass filled his palm, and he kneaded it like a toy.
Then he drew his hand back.
Smack.
The sound was small and obscene in the empty corridor, echoing once before it died. Helena flinched against the door, her cheeks burning, her eyes locked on a point above his shoulder. She didn't dare look at him. Any flicker of acknowledgment, any meeting of his gaze, and he would take it as permission.
"Damien—"
"Shh, shh." His other hand cupped her jaw, gentle as a lover, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want, darling. I just want you to think about it. Back in the elevator, your body was begging me to take care of it. I felt it. The way you trembled when I touched you. The way your breath caught." His voice dropped, intimate and possessive.
"Your mind says no. But your body knows the truth. I'm only trying to give it what it's been asking for."
Helena's stomach turned.
'That wasn't me. That was you.'
She had felt it back in the elevator that awful, traitorous heat his bloodline pulled through her body whenever he chose. The warmth that pooled low in her belly and the soft ache she could not silence no matter how loudly her mind screamed no. It was never her. It had never been her. It was him, reaching past her thoughts and pulling strings in a body that wasn't supposed to belong to him yet.
And he had the gall to call it begging.
His hand slid back over her ass and he smacked it again, lighter this time, as if in his mind he was simply showing her affection. His other hand traced up the side of her ribs, fingertips finding the underside of the silk panel that strained to cover her breast, drawing a slow, deliberate line along its edge.
"Eight months, Helena." His breath was warm against her ear. "That's not very long."
Helena swallowed. Her voice died in her throat.
She wanted to run. But running would only make things worse. There was no door behind her that would open. No corridor she could escape down. No witnesses she could call.
So what could she do?
"D-Damien, I—" She forced the words out, weak and trembling. "I'm tired. The dinner was wonderful, truly. But I'd like to rest now."
Damien just held her there. His eyes groped her in a way his hands hadn't quite gotten to yet, devouring her through them.
"I understand, darling. But shouldn't we give a surprise to my father?"
Helena's stomach dropped. "...What do you mean?"
"Well. Father always told me how he wanted grandchildren."
Helena's eyes went wide.
Her hand flew behind her, fumbling blindly for the door handle. She had to get inside. She had to get inside now—
"Now, now, darling." Damien's hand pressed against the door beside her head, blocking the motion before she could turn the handle. His smile was indulgent. "What's the rush? Do you want me to join you in your room that badly?"
Every movement from Helena stopped.
"D-Damien... stop."
Helena's eyes snapped up to his, wide and pleading. "I — I don't — I don't want—"
She couldn't finish the sentence. The words tangled and died in her throat.
She didn't know what to do. Her mind raced, throwing options at her one after another and discarding each before it landed. Scream and bring half the dormitory running to find her dressed like this, with Damien's hand on her, and what would they do anyway, who would dare cross House Blackwell? Run and where? Past him? Into the room with him at her back? Beg she had already begged, and begging only made him hungrier. Slap him and watch the bruise on her cheek become two by morning.
There was no third option. No exit. No witness. No one was coming.
'Please. Anyone. Please.'
She cried it out in her head, a desperate prayer flung at no god in particular.
And that was when she heard it.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
Footsteps. Down the empty corridor. Slow, measured, unhurried.
Damien's head snapped over his shoulder, his face twisting in irritation. "Who dares—"
The irritation slid off his face the moment he saw who it was, replaced by something colder.
A figure rounded the corner at the end of the corridor and walked toward them with the easy, unhurried gait of a man who did not believe anything bad could happen to him. Hands in his pockets. Steps unrushed. Eyes calm.
Arthur Webb.
Author Note: Sorry about the lack of uploads I've been busy with Finals so I haven't had a lot of time to write. And thanks to Finals I'm still a bit burnt out so after this weekend I'll get right back started with writing and I'll try to write extra to make up for it but no promise.
Patreon.com/Lord_Cuckles or Search up TabooQuill for advance chapters.