insubordinate (gwynriel)

5

Two weeks had passed since Gwyn had even laid eyes on Azriel. On Monday, she found herself alone in her room thinking of how he looked between her thighs. She let her hands wander between her legs in an attempt to satiate her own needs. It just wasn't the same without him there. He made her feel things she didn't even know she could feel and then vanished.

He'd said it was an arrangement between the two of them, had he not? She thought they'd clarified that it would be more than a one-time thing. Had he not thought of her or wanted her? He took up so much space in her mind now that she found it difficult to even think of anything else.

Maybe her inexperience really had turned him off and he'd just been being nice to her and had finished her off before he left but had no intention of talking to her again. Perhaps she had been a challenge of sorts for him or even just something to chase away the boredom and monotony.

Her cheeks burned and tears threatened to well in her eyes as she thought of all the possibilities. She'd allowed herself to be delusional for a moment in hopes that he'd reach out again, but if he hadn't by now, he just wasn't going to. Gwyn knew that this was unlikely to last, but that did nothing to dull the ache in her chest that it caused.

She really had no right to be upset with him. He hadn't promised her anything. The way he'd held her, though... She'd woken up in her own bed with no recollection of him carrying her there and tucking her in. Maybe he thought she'd already been too emotional, too clingy. She shouldn't have fallen asleep in his arms like that. Shouldn't have taken everything to heart or invested in him emotionally. He'd warned her that he didn't have normal relationships. She'd just hoped that meant that she'd somehow still get to have him.

By Wednesday, though, she was going to scream. She had so much pent-up sexual energy that she felt like she was going to explode, and with each day that passed, she was becoming more and more angry. Who was he to barge into her life and order her around and then disappear as though it had never mattered to begin with?

She guzzled from the wine bottle in her hand while she simmered. She crossed her legs in her white silk nightgown and leaned back in her vanity chair as she drank more and more and became bolder and bolder.

Before she could stop herself, she was angrily yanking on a cardigan and slipping her feet into her house shoes, wine bottle still in hand as she drank straight from it, storming through the library, breathing angrily through her nose as she walked.

She had no idea what she was going to say, but she knew that if she thought about it too hard, she'd back out, and she had a lot she wanted to get off her chest. She'd make him listen. And then she'd leave, forgetting about him and feeling satisfied with the way she'd told him to go fuck himself.

She kept pulling from the wine, her body beginning to sway slightly as she walked. Up the stairs and down the hall she went, some string behind her belly button pulling her forward. She didn't know how she knew where to find him, but her body intuitively ended up at his front door. She lifted the bottle to her lips one last time for bravery as she angrily knocked on the door.

Silence followed from the other side, and she began to very quickly lose confidence in her plans. Shit, it had to be well after midnight by now, and she was feeling tipsy. What business did she have marching into the High Lord's home drunk and angrily confronting his spymaster for not wanting to fuck her again? She suddenly felt defeated and pathetic and nearly turned to walk back to her room before his door slowly creaked open.

She spun, seeing him sticking his head through the door frame to look at her with sleepy eyes and messy hair. He squinted into the dim hallway, clearly confused as to why she was at his bedroom door. He was shirtless and in low slung pajama pants.