Suddenly I spun Lydia around and pushed her down onto the narrow bed.
The thin wooden fra creaked loudly beneath her weight.
She barely had ti to gasp before I was already above her.
The mattress dipped under us, the worn wool blankets twisting beneath her body as she tried to steady herself. Her hair spilled across the pillow in dark, tangled strands, her chest rising and falling quickly as she stared up at .
For a mont she simply blinked.
Not frightened.
Just stunned.
As though everything had begun moving faster than her thoughts could follow.
I caught her ankles and pushed them back toward her shoulders, forcing her completely open beneath .
The sudden movent pulled a startled cry from her throat.
"Aristarkh—!"
Her voice shattered the mont I drove forward.
The angle was deeper now.
Far deeper than before.
Her back arched instinctively, a breathless gasp tearing from her lips as the old bedfra groaned beneath us.
Wood struck wood in a slow, relentless rhythm.
Her fingers tightened around the blanket beneath her.
"Look at , Lydia."
The words left my mouth quietly, but the weight behind them was unmistakable.
Her eyes fluttered.
For a mont she tried to keep them closed.
As if refusing to see might sohow preserve the last fragnts of her composure.
I reached down and tilted her chin back toward .
"Look at ."
Slowly, reluctantly, her eyes opened.
They found mine.
The mont they did, color rushed into her cheeks.
Not from the act itself.
From the awareness that I was watching her.
Watching the way her breathing had grown uneven.
Watching the way her body reacted to every movent.
Watching the way she was losing control.
Her lips parted slightly as another quiet sound slipped from them before she could stop it.
Outside the room, faint footsteps echoed sowhere in the corridor.
Lydia heard them.
Her entire body stiffened beneath .
The servant quarters were infamous for their thin walls.
Too thin.
Anyone passing by could hear the bed creaking.
Could hear her voice.
Could hear my na leaving her lips.
"Please..." she whispered.
The word trembled.
Not refusal.
Never refusal.
Just the fragile echo of the dignity she could feel slipping away.
"Soone will hear..."
Even as she said it, her hips moved beneath .
Helpless.
Trying to follow the rhythm she could no longer control.
The realization only made her cheeks burn hotter.
Her body was betraying her.
Completely.
"Aristarkh..."
My na escaped her lips again, softer now.
Almost pleading.
I leaned forward slightly, never breaking eye contact.
"Don’t look away."
The command struck sothing deep inside her.
For a mont her composure simply... collapsed.
She held my gaze.
Even as her breathing fractured.
Even as her body trembled beneath .
Even as the humiliation she feared beca impossible to hide.
I reached down between us.
The mont my thumb pressed against her clitoris and began moving, Lydia’s entire body reacted.
Her back arched violently off the mattress.
A broken sound escaped her throat before she could stop it.
The tension that had been building inside her snapped all at once.
"I— I’m—"
Her words dissolved into a cry as the orgasm tore through her.
Her legs trembled against my shoulders, her body convulsing helplessly as wave after wave of sensation surged through her.
"I’m coming! Aristarkh—!"
Her voice echoed through the room.
Through the thin wooden walls.
Through the silent corridor beyond them.
The realization only made her tremble harder.
I didn’t slow.
If anything, I drove deeper, holding her there as her body shook beneath .
Every tremor.
Every desperate breath.
Every helpless sound she tried and failed to suppress.
My own release surged upward soon after.
A low groan tore from my chest as the tension finally broke.
Heat flooded into her in a powerful surge that left her body shuddering beneath .
For a long mont neither of us moved.
The room was filled only with the sound of her breathing.
Slowly, Lydia’s body relaxed against the mattress.
Her hair clung to her flushed skin.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly as she tried to steady herself.
She looked undone.
Thirty-seven years of carefully maintained composure stripped away in the span of a single night.
Eventually I pulled away.
The cold air brushing her skin made her shiver slightly.
Her legs slowly lowered back onto the mattress.
Neither of us spoke.
The silence felt heavy.
Lydia stared at the ceiling, her breathing still uneven.
Embarrassnt lingered in her expression.
Not simply because of what had happened.
But because of how completely she had lost control.
I adjusted my clothes calmly.
The bed creaked softly as Lydia sat up, pulling the blanket around herself.
Her movents were stiff.
Not from pain.
From awareness.
The awareness that the entire servant wing had probably heard everything.
"You should rest," I said.
She didn’t respond.
Her fingers slowly rose to her throat.
They brushed the bruises already forming against her pale skin.
Dark marks.
Impossible to hide.
Everyone would see them.
I walked to the door and slid the bolt open.
The corridor outside was quiet.
Lantern light flickered against the stone walls.
Without another word I stepped out and closed the door behind .
The next morning the servant quarters felt... different.
Not silent.
Just quieter.
The kind of quiet that carried too much aning.
Lydia noticed it the mont she stepped into the corridor.
Servants passed by slowly.
So nodded politely.
Others avoided looking at her directly.
A few glanced briefly at her neck.
Then quickly looked away.
That was worse.
Because she knew exactly what they had seen.
The bruises were impossible to hide.
She had tried wrapping cloth around her throat earlier.
It only made them more noticeable.
So she removed it.
Now every servant in the corridor saw them.
Every single one.
When she entered the kitchen, several heads lifted.
For a mont the room went still.
Then the usual noise resud.
But sothing had changed.
Subtle.
Unmistakable.
"Lydia, the master’s breakfast is ready," the cook said.
Her tone remained polite.
Yet there was a faint curve at the corner of the older woman’s mouth.
Not quite a smile.
Sothing closer to knowing amusent.
Lydia lifted the tray carefully.
Behind her, whispers began.
She heard them.
Even if they believed she couldn’t.
"Did you hear the bed last night?"
"I thought it would collapse."
"And the sounds she made..."
A quiet laugh followed.
"Gods... I never imagined she had that in her."
Lydia walked out without reacting.
Her posture remained straight.
Dignified.
But the heat rising in her cheeks betrayed her.
Each step through the corridor felt heavier than the last.
Years of reputation had collapsed in a single night.
Yet as she walked, another mory surfaced.
The way Aristarkh had looked at her.
The intensity in his eyes.
The way he had watched her fall apart.
Her heart beat faster.
She paused briefly in an empty corridor, her fingers rising once more to the bruises at her throat.
Her breath slowed.
Despite the whispers.
Despite the humiliation.
A quiet truth had already settled inside her.
If Aristarkh knocked on her door again tonight...
She would lock it.
And give him everything all over again.
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