His Sinful Heiress [Mature Read]

Chapter 23: About Charity, Truth, And Orgy (part 2)

London, March 1885

Sabrina struggled and whimpered against the assailant who had seized her, but to no avail—she could not counter the powerful grip. Whoever robbed her of her freedom was as strong as the devil himself, rendering her utterly defenceless and at their mercy.

"Shhh, Sabrina, it is I."

She recognised the voice, and the moment she felt her body released from the grip, Sabrina turned and struck the man's chest with her clenched fists. "How dare you frighten me so terribly?!"

He pressed a forefinger to his lips, signalling her to lower her voice. "We have company in the next room."

Sabrina said nothing, her bosom heaving in her attempt to reclaim the remnants of her composure left within her core, and the effort itself felt like a goddamn ordeal!

When his golden eyes keenly perused her figure and settled upon her face, he couldn't help but inquire, "Why so tearful, my dear? I thought I would find you in a brighter disposition when I noticed you striding away from the ballroom. The second part of the evening's programme has only just begun."

"Being wed to a scoundrel, I find a scarce reason for merriment," she retorted, turning her face away so Damon might not see another set of fresh tears welling in her eyes.

Yet he was not one to be easily discouraged, hence he gently cupped Sabrina's face and turned it back towards him. "I thought yours was a marriage in name only. I'd wager your husband is occupied elsewhere given how in demand he seems to be tonight. Folks flock to him like flies to a dung!"

Sabrina might have chuckled at the comparison under any other circumstance, but his jest fell flat at the time. "There's particularly one blonde, slender and young fly," she muttered bitterly.

Damon's lips parted as if he wished to speak, then closed again as he reconsidered, though the brief hesitation didn't escape her notice.

"What?" she asked, her voice crude.

He sighed, then replied, "I'm sorry, Sabrina, but I indeed saw your husband withdraw into a private room with a young, slender blonde."

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to overcome the pain of a figurative gut blow delivered by Damon's words, her ordeal becoming unbearable. Tears spilled once more from her eyes. "Blasted prick warned me to avoid being intimate with anyone this evening—for the sake of decorum and our station, he said. Two-faced devil he is! Not once did he appreciate me, but rather manipulates and makes me feel inferior, always. This hurt is too much, Damon—could you make it stop? Could you make it all cease, at once?"

Sabrina's eyes remained closed, hence she couldn't see the flames of anticipation and hunger being kindled in his golden gaze, nor the way his tongue moistened his lips. She couldn't possibly know that the satyr was observing her from afar, while Moira and Victoria occupied her attention. This gentleman knew full well that whatever was being imparted to her was also greatly weakening her composure and making her vulnerable to his dark influence.

At the height of her despair, he would show her the height of a pleasure she would never forget. The prey was now in the hunter's claws, and it didn't take much labour besides a few words to ensure her ultimate yield to everything he had in store for her.

Indeed, had Damon possessed a tail, it would have wagged wildly in sheer contentment that the situation had unfolded in his favour, just as he had predicted. By driving a wedge between the Grantchesters, the beautiful American with sensual lips was free to be taken at his will and mercy.

Feeling the touch of hot, demanding lips pressing against hers with unparalleled passion, Sabrina quickly opened herself to his invading tongue as his action took her by great surprise.