The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 340: RISING SCANDAL PT 2

As the servant retreated, Eris turned her glare on him. "You’re making it worse. You know that, right? Every time you call them, you’re just confirming their suspicions."

Soren leaned in, his nose brushing against hers. "Confirming? Eris, they don’t suspect. They know. The guards outside are probably placing bets on whether I’ll let you out before the spring thaw."

"You’re impossible," she hissed, but her hand found the nape of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"And you’re insatiable," he whispered, his mouth hovering just an inch from hers.

"I’m insatiable?! You were the one who... "

"Should I remind you what you said an hour ago?" Soren’s voice dropped into that dangerous, dark register. "The way you begged me not to stop? The way you told me you’d never felt... "

"Shut up," Eris blushed, the heat in her cheeks rivaling her own magic.

"Make me," he challenged.

He didn’t wait for her to try. He claimed her mouth again, and for the next hour, the "emergency" council meetings were pushed even further into the realm of fantasy.

By the morning of the day after that, the Imperial couple had still not emerged.

Eris woke to the feeling of a heavy, warm weight draped across her back. Soren’s arm was a permanent fixture now, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he breathed her in, even in sleep.

I should move, Eris thought, staring at the moonlight dancing on the ceiling. I should leave this bed, find my crown, and remind this empire that I am more than a piece of flesh for the Emperor to play with.

But she didn’t want to. Her body was a traitor, humming with a deep, marrow-deep contentment that terrified her.

She tried to slip away, moving with the stealth of a cat.

"Where are you going?" Soren’s voice was sleep-roughened, his eyes still closed. He didn’t even have the decency to sound tired.

"Nowhere. Just... need space," she lied.

"No," he grumbled, his arm tightening, pulling her back against his chest with a strength that was entirely unfair.

"Soren, I can’t... we can’t do this again," she protested, her voice wavering. "I am barely a person at this point. I am mostly bruises and memories."

Soren’s hand began to slide down her body, his palm hot and cold against her skin. "You seem very alive to me, Empress."

"Soren... " she gasped as his fingers found a particularly sensitive spot on her hip.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Say the word, and I’ll get up, get dressed, and go listen to Konstantin talk about trade taxes."

Eris tried to find the word. She really did. She opened her mouth to say stop, to say enough, but her body had other plans. As his hand moved lower, finding the slick, aching heat between her legs, her back arched involuntarily.

"I... we shouldn’t..." she managed.

"Your body disagrees," he noted, his fingers curling, finding her wet and wanting despite the exhaustion.

"Bastard," she moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder.

"Your bastard," he corrected with a grin she could feel against her skin.

It was a total betrayal. Her own flesh was siding with the enemy. Despite the soreness, despite the fact that she should have been appalled by their lack of decorum, she wanted him. She wanted the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing.

"Are you SURE you want me to stop?" he teased, his voice full of a playful, dark triumph.

"Yes. No. I don’t know... "

Soren turned her to face him, his blue eyes burning with a hunger that had not dimmed in forty-eight hours. "Let me help you decide."

He kissed her deeply, a slow, thorough exploration that tasted of honey and wine and possession. His hand continued its work below, and Eris felt the last of her resolve dissolve into the furs.

"We’ve been... this is... people will talk..." she panted against his lips.

"Let them talk," Soren growled. "Let them write poems about it. I don’t care." 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Soren... "

"Say my name like that again," he pleaded, his fingers moving faster now, coaxing a helpless, high-pitched sound from her throat.

"Soren..."

"Yes Your Majesty," he whispered, satisfied.

She melted. Completely. The Fire Queen was extinguished, replaced by a woman who was nothing but sensation and need. He won. Again.

Later, when the room had settled into a heavy, post-coital silence, a sharp knock sounded at the door.

"Your Majesty," Aldric’s voice rang out, sounding more exasperated than a man should be at midday. "The Council is waiting. The Solmire envoys are asking questions. The King of Solmire is... well, he’s staring at the walls again."

Soren didn’t even look toward the door. He was busy tracing the line of Eris’s collarbone. "Cancel it."

"We’ve canceled it twice already!" Aldric shouted through the wood.

"Then cancel it again," Soren barked back. "I’m the Emperor. They can wait."

Eris, muffled against his chest, tried to find her conscience. "You should go, Soren. Truly. The empire... "

"No," he said, his voice flat and final. "The empire can survive an extra day without me. I’m not leaving you yet."

There was a long, heavy silence from the hallway. One could almost hear Aldric’s teeth grinding.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," the secretary finally sighed, his footsteps fading away in a huff of righteous indignation.

Eris looked up at him, her eyes soft. "You’re impossible."

Soren kissed her forehead, his expression suddenly, startlingly serious. "You love it."

Eris sighed, burying her face in his neck. "...Stop talking."

Between the rounds of heat and hunger, there were moments of a different kind of intensity. Soren hand-fed her grapes and cold fruit, refusing to let her move.

"I can feed myself, Soren," she protested, even as she accepted a slice of pear from his fingers.

"But then I can’t do this," he replied, leaning in to bite the fruit from her lips before kissing her, slow and sweet.

They lay tangled together in the quiet gaps, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin as if he were trying to memorize her by touch alone. Her own fingers were buried in his hair, the silence of the room a shield against the world.

"What are you thinking?" Soren asked, his gaze fixed on her.

"That I’m in trouble," Eris admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

Soren tensed, his hand stopping its movement. "What kind of trouble?"

Eris let out a soft, weary laugh. "The kind where I don’t want to leave this bed. Ever."

Soren’s relief was palpable as he pulled her closer, his face hidden in her hair. "Then don’t. We’ll stay here until the world ends."

"We can’t," she sighed. "You have an empire to run."

"The empire can wait," Soren said, pulling back to look her in the eyes. "You can’t. You’re more important than any empire, Eris. Any throne. Any crown."

Eris didn’t know what to say. The honesty in his voice was more terrifying than any army she’d ever faced. It was dangerous. This was so incredibly dangerous.

She was falling. She was falling into him, into this life, into this strange, frozen warmth, and she realized with a start that she did not want to stop.

But dear reader, as the sun shine brightly on another day of "Imperial seclusion," one had to wonder... how much longer could a fire burn behind closed doors before the whole palace caught flame?