Don't make him the villain

Aleksander part 2

The Darkling had discovered that he enjoyed the silence. He soon got used to the small moments of peace when the sun rose and the little palace was still quiet, a girl in his arms who didn't request anything but time.
To be with someone was a luxury, especially since there were no strings attached, no imbalance in power, no need to manipulate or create a face façade for himself. He became soothed by the feeling of her skin under his fingers, the familiar curve of her body, the smell of her hair, the color of her eyes.

They never discussed their feelings, if they were anything to discuss at all. He wanted the distraction, he knew it deep down, he wanted to come back to his palace and have the certitude that he had won in at least one aspect in his life, that he had earned this prize that was this tender affection she provided, that he was worthy of being loved for who he was even with all the horrible things he did.

She was respected here, he made sure of it. No one was allowed to command her except him, it worked out exactly as he had wanted.
She was so eager, coming to meet him when he arrived, dressed as a member of the court, and always wearing his colors. He saw the way men looked at her with a burning desire to have something they knew they could never get their hands on. He saw the way the women looked at her too, majorly the grisha, who snickered at their proximity and imagined themselves in her place.

"I want to show you something," he said sitting down at his desk. She followed close behind, placing herself in his laps as he opened the letters coming from the royal family. She started reading, her eyes scanning the words, holding the paper carefully as if it was a treasure.
He couldn't stop himself from bringing his lips to the back of her neck, placing kisses down to her shoulders. He enjoyed how it made her heart race, the shift in her focus, noticing her concentration wavering as she had to reread a sentence twice.

Somehow, Nikolai Lanstov had found out about her stay at the palace, probably due to the gossiping grisha and the many spies of the royal family, not that he didn't have grisha spies either. The Darkling did not appreciate that fact much. Nikolai had a tendency to play dangerous games and a nasty habit of trying to charm everyone around him at all times, men and women alike.

"Tell me more about Nikolai."
Her request ticked him off. What was there to say about another man? He was certainly not going to praise him. Even if they didn't get to see each other often, they'd gotten quite close over the years, both being their own kind or abnormality in their respective sides. The bastard and the heretic made quite a good pair. He would lie and say that he didn't appreciate the prince's company, frequently relying on him to slip out of parties and receptions to wander off together bickering about everything but agreeing on specific dislikes or sharing the same taste in women and power.

"Did you miss me?" He asks inspecting the girl's hand, the tip of the fingers now entirely black. Those skilled fingers did not appear to be the ones of an assassin, so fragile and human compared to his, he could easily break one if need be. He could not imagine how she could properly pleasure herself before meeting him, her hands so much smaller next to his, and the idea of her being with another man displeased him greatly.
"I've been good while you were gone."
"I find that hard to believe. Show me what you do in the dark."

She guides his hand between her legs, moving the undergarments aside. He always found them to be a nuisance, picking dresses that required fewer layers underneath than the keftas did.
He pushes his fingers inside expertly, now completely aware of the many ways her body responded to different touches, having tried everything he wanted as if experimenting with a new toy.
It's not long before she starts writhing and gasping, arching against him, sending friction down to his dick. He should do that more often, he noted to himself, enjoying seeing the way she squirmed under his touch. He should force her to grind on his thigh until she came by herself, he'd certainly enjoy the view.
"Use your words properly, dear, or you're not getting anything," he whispers softly biting the shell of her ear, his thumb grazing over her clit making her hips buckle and her legs spread wider.
"Please give me more."

He flips her on the desk, her dress billowing around her waist, he does not want to undo the rest of the buttons or wait for it to fall on the ground. Instead, after taking off his own clothes, he grips it firmly and tors it off in the back. It's a shame, it was a gorgeous dress.
Her legs instinctively wrap around his hips in anticipation bringing him closer before he lifts her up from the desk and traps her between him and the wall.
He starts making his way down from her mouth to her chest with his lips, marking her body in various places. He loves the way it looks, the red the purple, a trail of hickies, bites, and finger marks to admire later deep in the night when he can't sleep.

They lie together in a messy bed, pillows and sheets layer the floor, her thighs hooked around his, her arms encircling her frame wrapping around her chest and waist, holding her close. He can see her eyes fluttering open, gazing out the window at the clear sky, wondering what she was thinking of, who she was thinking of, if she had family, friends, a home. He wanted to ask her more about herself, specific details rather than a vague story, but then again, she'd ask about him. He didn't think he was ready to hear what her opinions of him were.