rian Kael
“Good morning, my love.” My voice comes out low, hoarse, and heavy
with possession.
For a moment, I think about staying there, holding him, but I pull
away with hesitation. I act like someone leaving an altar, not a bed. I
sit on the edge of the mattress and run my hand through my sweat-
dampened hair, feeling the tension of the previous night drain from
my fingers.
I stand up slowly, stretching my arms until I hear my bones pop–a
dry crack that seems to echo through the luxurious cubicle. My still-
naked body contrasts with the cold of the floor, but it doesn’t bother
- me. I walk to the improvised shower in my cell as if I were crossing a
temple.
I turn on the tap and let the water run, washing away the traces of the
night, the sweat, and the delicious scent of sex. I take the soap and
scrub every part of my body with slow, circular, meticulous
movements.
I rinse myself carefully, feeling my skin clean, free, and ready. Then, I reach for the toothbrush, apply the paste, and begin to brush. The
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fresh flavor floods my mouth as I catch a glimpse of myself in the
cracked mirror.
Now that I have my Magnus.
Nothing is going to ruin my day.
I spit out the foam, wash my face, and turn off the tap. Water drips
from my shoulders, running down to my waist before falling into the
drain. I take the clean, folded towel from the shelf and dry myself
calmly, without haste.
I put on my fresh uniform. I adjust the buttons, fasten the collar, and
smooth out the creases with the palm of my hand.
I return to the bed. My gaze locks onto him again–lying there, vulnerable, marked by my hands. The marks are maps of our night of
love. The sight fills me with a silent, raw pride, something almost
religious.
I lean over his chest, brushing my lips against his collarbone. His scent is still on me, mixed with the soap, and it draws another smile
from me–this one darker.
I straighten my body, turn on my heels, and walk to the bars. I take the ring of keys attached to my uniform pocket, fit one into the lock,
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and turn it until I hear the dry click. I open it slowly, step out into the
hallway, and before taking the first step, I lock it again.
I don’t want to run the risk of my love escaping.
My god, keep sleeping, cradled in the temple I prepared for him.
He is safe, protected… and trapped. The way it should be.
I walk down the hallway, feeling satisfaction vibrating in my bones.
The day has started well.
At the end of the hallway, David appears, lurking, his face marked by
admiration and fear. His gaze fixes on me for an instant, bringing
back yesterday’s scene: me carrying Magnus, the rumors spreading,
and the shock plastered on their faces.
I smile slowly. I see his expression dissolve into an almost palpable
discomfort.
“Good morning, David.” I greet him without haste.
He swallows hard, hesitates, and searches for the right word.
“Good morning, Adr… boss. “he corrects himself quickly.
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The way he says it draws a low laugh from me.
I say nothing. I just keep walking, measured steps, breathing in the dense rhythm of the prison. Ahead, the cafeteria looms like a silent courtroom. Heads turn; gazes adjust.
I ignore them all.
I sit at my king’s table–now, clearly, my place. I haven’t been there
for even two minutes when an uproar breaks out. Rocco approaches
like an animal, chest out, fury written all over him.
“What did you do to the boss, you bastard?” He bellows, slamming his
hand on the table hard enough to echo.
I raise my eyes slowly, meeting his face–red, eyes flashing.
I smile calmly, like someone returning the question with an answer of
pure serenity.
“It’s none of your business what my love and I did,‘ I say in a sweet
voice. ‘But, to satisfy your curiosity, we made love.”
The provocation cuts through the air. Rocco puffs out his chest, his throat working.
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“Love?‘ He speaks in a loud, incredulous tone. “Love, my ass! Those
are assault marks, you lunatic! You assaulted the boss!”
Docile, I shrug my shoulders.
“I was just educating him. He needs to learn how to behave.” The
sentence comes out as if I were describing the weather–no rush, no
apologies.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
