I suddenly feel outmatched, outwitted, and out of my element.
Cyrus has hundreds of years of experience that I don’t. He’s spent centuries surrounded by impossibly beautiful women who adore him and worship him like a God. He knows exactly what to say to keep me off-balance, and he knows exactly what to do to keep me guessing.
Cyrus is like a cat, playing with a mouse. When he smiles, he flashes teeth as if to devour me.
I can’t let him.
I try to give him a taste of his own flippant arrogance.
"There's no duster,” I complain. “Don't these maid uniforms come with a duster?"
Cyrus shrugs. "Of course. There are cleaning supplies in a hallway somewhere, if you still wish to go on with this façade."
Façade?
My blood runs cold. My heart starts to hammer in my chest. Does he see straight through me? What would happen if he found out my true purpose here? Is that the façade he refers to? A cunning little thief, pretending to be a maid?
I know exactly what would happen if Cyrus did find out my true purpose in coming here. This little fantasy would come to a grinding halt. I’d be arrested, and put on trial here on Deemak, in public, and made an example of in order to show the Aurelian Empire that their kind will always be respected and welcomed on this world… in addition to the wealth they bring.
Despite our independence, this planet has always had a soft spot for the deep, deep pockets of Aurelians. Whenever a triad of Aurelian Warriors visits for a few weeks, or months, they boost the economy. Who knows the wealth Gallus, Cyrus, and Varian have brought to the planet in the decades they’ve lived here?
Compared to street rat like me? I’m worth nothing compared to the value their species brings. The Royal Courts would toss me to the cruel Aurelian justice system like scraps to a guard dog.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Cyrus doesn’t know my true intentions. He can’t.
So, I have to play it cool. I step forward, coyly trying to divert his attention.
"Façade? Whatever do you mean, Cyrus?"
His lips curl with the slightest hint of smile – but his eyes flare with desire. I suddenly know he wasn't talking about thievery… but I’ve got new worries.
“You're here to torture me, of course,” Cyrus purrs. “But the joke’s on you – I've never been one to turn down the exquisite torture of a beautiful woman."
He means the words as a compliment, and he says the line with the well-practiced ease of a man who is used to women falling at his feet.
Instead, though, his words twist a knife in my gut – and the anguish centers me.
I saw how riled up the three men were getting at the sight of me. While I was trying on the maid's uniform, was Cyrus deep inside of one of the thirty willing women waiting for him in the harem? Is that why he’s so cool and coy? Because his balls aren’t aching with frustration?
Jealousy surges as I wonder if, right now – as Cyrus and I speak –Gallus and Varian are lounging back on the sofas in that harem room, while barely-clothed women massage them, kiss them, lick them...
…suck them.
I force the image out of my mind.
I'm not here for this. I hold up my hand, placing it gently, but firmly, against Cyrus’s chest.
Fuck… His skin is so smooth. The muscles so firm.
"I'm not here to torture you, Cyrus,” my voice cracks. “I'm just here to repay my debt to you three. You saved me from a dark fate, and if you wish me to wear this uniform, I’m grateful for the opportunity to do so."
His expression changes like quicksilver.
Suddenly Cyrus has a protective aura to him. It's something that changes in the way he holds himself. He suddenly seems taller, if that were even possible, and more sure of himself.
But while he’s clearly protective, he’s not sorry. If he feels even the slightest guilt about telling a vulnerable woman – who feels she owes him a great debt – to wear a slutty little maid's outfit, he doesn't show it.
"This is what I wish,” he murmurs, and his eyes flash provocatively. “Will I get everything I wish for from you?"
I smile up at him, but exert a tiny bit of additional pressure with the palm of my hand. I’m not quite pushing him back, but I am showing him that I won't mold to his desires quite so passively.
But it's like pressing my palm against a solid marble wall. Cyrus might be seven-feet-tall, which is a height that’s not impossible for a human to reach, but that's where the similarity between his build and that of a human male ends.
Human men simply don’t have the same, solid bulk to them. It's as though Cyrus’s muscles are made from a different fiber, corded like steel, ready to spring to brutal action at any second.
His physique truly resembles that of a statue, hewn from marble, flawless in its musculature. His skin is so, so soft, though; like fresh cream poured over hardened steel.
I feel my body responding to him. I can't help it. It's so natural – so animalistic.
It’s so primal to desire him. What woman wouldn’t? Any of these three Aurelians are the epitome of female desire – as if brought to reality from the deepest, darkest recesses of my fantasies.
I suddenly imagine how good it would feel to just... let go. To just melt under Cyrus’s dominant touch, and to just let him show me what lovemaking truly is. I crave to know how it would feel when he claimed my innocence...
No human man could ever compare after being with an Aurelian. I’d be ruined, forever…
…but perhaps I already am.
I step back. A shiver runs down my body. "If you wish for a dutiful servant,” I gulp
