HER TOUCHV
etta glared at the maid who was pulling the stocking up her leg. “Is that how a stocking is supposed to be!?” she shouted angrily.
Uyah’s eyes widened in fear. “I-I’m so sorry, Mistress!” She pulled the stockings off and started afresh.
“Useless idiot. You can’t do anything right,” Vetta snapped angrily at her.
Uyah’s hands were shaking as she finished working the stockings up the mistress’s legs. She got up and walked behind the mistress to work on the fastening of her buttons. Uyah did her best to hold the corset together as she tied the lacing. She was almost done when the lacing unfastened, and the corset came loose again.
Vetta groaned angrily. She turned around and stuck Uyah across the face. “You can’t do a thing right!”
The girl’s eyes watered as her cheek stung, and she blinked rapidly. “I’m really sorry, m-Mistress.”
Uyah started working on the lacing again, while Vetta bloomed with anger. The thoughts of Danika infuriated her. It kept her in an awful mood.
That dirty slave spent the night with the king. Not once, but twice! She’d tried to punish her, and the king had intervened—just like he did that day in the dungeon.
The thoughts weren’t sitting well with Vetta. That bitch. She knew the king hated Danika, but she couldn’t help thinking that the bitch was a few steps away from finding favor with him. She’d tried to keep herself from thinking about the things that must have gone on in the nights the kin
g spent in Danika’s arms. Vetta wondered if Danika slept on the bed or on the floor like a slave should. Did he take her on the table? Or in the bed?
Why did the king allow her to spend the night in his bedroom at all?
“All done, m-Mistress,” Uyah whispered finally, her voice trembling.
“Get out of my room,” Vetta said angrily. The girl disgusted her because she was not in her societal class. None of them were. And she wanted more prestige. She might have been born a slave, but she swore that she’d never be a slave again.
She was now a mistress to a king, which was one of the highest ranks any woman could wish for. But there was more. She wanted more. She could be more.
She could be queen.
She just had to gain more attention from the king. She had to get him completely focused on her and not the bitch, Cone’s daughter. It was time she paid a visit to the healer of fertility that lived outside town. She never wanted to have a child, but maybe it was okay to have one—if the child would be a means to having the king to herself.
She stared at herself in the mirror and smiled. If she could carry the king’s child, she could have Lucien completely. She knew this like she knew the back of her hand.
She would carry his child, she vowed.
King Lucien stared down at Danika. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, scowling.
“I-I…” Danika snapped her mouth closed, her eyes wide with panic and desperation. She looked behind her, her eyes landing on King Pesih, who was still watching her.
King Lucien’s eyes followed hers and he discovered what was happening. She stared up at him again, willing him to understand. He leaned back on his huge gold throne and his eyes watched her. The scowl was still on his face.
Danika was sure that he’d punish her for this later; she was very sure of that. But it didn’t matter. Whatever punishment he had for her was better that whatever was going through King Pesih’s head. The same king that cut Sally up like a chicken, thinking he was cutting her.
As she stared at him, she knew that this was her only chance for her to put her hands on him like this. He would never let her do this behind closed doors. He never let her see his body because he felt self-conscious about it. Did he think that she’d be repulsed by him?
Did what she thought even matter to him? She highly doubted that.
But she wanted to see him. To touch him. To pleasure him with her hands and mouth. He’d never allow that in private, and she knew that even though he’d definitely punish her, it’d be worth it.
She pushed his fur coat up and unlaced his golden belt with shaky hands. When he said nothing, she took it as encouragement and pulled them down a bit.
Please don’t push me away. Please, don’t push me away. Please, don’t push me away.
The pleading words rang in her mind as she uncovered his lower belly. It was filled with scars, and she bit her lips to keep from gasping in horror.
One wrong move and she’d lose this moment; Danika knew that much. Pain for him lashed through her. Those wounds must have been excruciating.
She nuzzled the bulge in his underthings. He wasn’t hard, but the size of him had a rush of nervous adrenaline zigging through her. She kept her eyes down, avoiding his face.
The music blared in the background. Cheers across the tables. Shouts of excitement as slaves danced on the table and on the floor. Danika tuned them all out, suddenly in a world of her own. This was important to her. That she made him feel something for her. Not for anybody else.
She wanted his organ in her mouth, wanted to feel it harden inside her mouth—because of her. Not because of the erotic atmosphere. Not because of his mistress. Her.
She reached down and pulled him out from the confinement of his underthings. She stared at him.
Oh heavens!
Tears burned the back of her eyes as she saw the scar that outlined his organ. It ran from base to the tip. The scars from the fried nerve endings were exposed to her.
Her father really did roast his privates. The proof of that knowledge made her chest burn.