To Bewitch a Devil

244 If she loved herself

Azriel smiled. “Come with me.”

He gave her no option to decide and kept his hold on her hand while he pulled her along to the closest empty room he could find.

He opened the door to a small chamber and closed it behind them. Inside, he stepped back a reasonable distance from her, his eyes pinned on her face.

Penelope pinched the inside of her palms, her hand itching for the door handle.

“Is...is there a reason you have me here, my Lord?” She asked when he kept staring.

“Would it suffice if I told you I missed you and I could stare at your beauty all night?”

He saw the gradual bloom of red on her face, something she was terrible at hiding.

“I...Thank you, my Lord.”

“So you don’t miss me too?”

.....

“It’s been only two days, my Lord.”

“I know, Pen,’ he walked over to her, and bent so he looked directly into her eyes, two dark pools in white clouds that he could get lost in. “I know.”

He heard the sharp inhale of air from her, and he liked it, liked that he still elicited an effect from her.

“I had the seamstress come over to take your measurements,” he said.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I believe she would have some clothes ready for you by now.”

Penelope kept her eyes down and didn’t respond.

“Pen?”

“Ye...es, she has, my Lord.”

“So why aren’t you wearing them?”

“I don’t have any reason to, my Lord,” she explained. “Perhaps when there are events worth celebrating.”

“They are simple gowns, I didn’t have them made for you to wear for celebrations, Pen. They are for within the castle, your normal day-to-day clothes.”

Penelope squirmed. “I don’t want that, my Lord.”

“Why?”

“They aren’t as practical as the frocks.”

Azriel let out a long, tired sigh.

“Do you want me to dress you up, is that it?” He asked.

A conscious hand crossed over her bosom, and Azriel gave a wicked grin.

“You do know I already know what every inch of that body looks like underneath that frock, Pen. So you don’t have to be shy about it.”

A tomato would envy the ripe redness of Penelope’s face. “My..y...Lor... Lord.”

“So what’s it going to be? You wear them or I do it for you? The second option is a better one.”

Penelope’s eyes met his then, and he saw the firm resolve in them, the red tint dissolving from her face. He knew in that mouth of hers, she was sharpening the best response with her tongue, and it made him smile.

“I would rather I return them,” she said.

“That wasn’t a part of the options I just stated.”

“I didn’t ask for new gowns, and I am quite content with my current ones. Please, my Lord, I want to ask something of you.”

Azriel’s lips quirked up at a corner. “I’m all ears.”

“I have seen different ladies walk in here and not return. One day a purple-haired demon is here, the next day could be a blue-haired one. You have fun with them, and they are forgotten.”

“Are you sure a blue-haired one walked in here?” Azriel diverted.

“I need you to forget me the same way you forgot them, my Lord,” Penelope’s request finally came through.

“Hmm,” Azriel mused. He straightened his posture, folded his arms, and turned his eyes ceiling ward, as one deep in thought. Penelope waited, allowed him to think it through, see what kind of a waste of time he was having on her, and finally, move on.

But why did she feel a bit of uneasiness if he agreed?

“My Lord?” She called him when minutes passed and he still hadn’t said anything.

Azriel turned to look at her. “I thought about it.”

“Yes?”

“And my answer is no,” he said. Penelope sighed, irritated at herself for the earlier thought. “And after you, I don’t have interest in other ladies.”

Penelope was tempted to give a ridiculous groan at that, but she held it in.

“I think you are forgetting the King’s sister, my Lord.” She reminded him.

“And you know the truth to that,” he cupped her cheek, and there was a fierceness to his gaze, almost wolfish. “Wear the clothes.”

“No, my Lord,” Pen said softly.

Completely unexpectedly, Azriel pressed a kiss to her lips, willing her lips open with his. She sank against him, returning it back with a need she didn’t know she longed for.

He broke the kiss. “You’ll wear it, yes?”

And those sinful lips nibbled at the corner of hers, taunting her to the point she almost begged him to kiss her. She turned her face to claim a kiss, but he backed away, and an involuntary whimper came from her.

“You’ll wear it.” He said, his voice husky.

“Yes,” she said in a voice that didn’t feel like it belonged to her. “I will.”

Azriel smiled, and when he was close enough, when Penelope thought he would bring her out of her desperation to kiss him, he pulled back and stepped around her and out the door.

“I’ll see you in it tomorrow then,” Azriel said.

It took Penelope some time for her feet to feel solid ground beneath her. He had made her float, and once she landed back, she admitted, much to her chagrin, that Azriel had a hold over her, and there was only one solution left.

She needed to find a way to leave back for the castle if she loved herself.

....

There were different meanings to waking up.

There was the one of a wake-up call, a realization, the sudden almost transcendent awakening of something within that would spur one into greatness.

There was one that invigorated the mind and the body, making it come alive when still living, activating the body from an awake slumber.

There was the one used on a day-to-day basis, based on the body’s circadian clock, when the day breaks for everyone to go about their daily routine, till the sun goes to sleep, dragging the people to bed with it to repeat the next day.