Page 80 of Broken Crown

Keeping perfect time with the rising tension of the orchestra, I thrust two fingers inside her tight, eager heat, over and over, letting the music build not just in the theater, but inside her.

Her breathing stuttered.

Her thighs quivered.

She was close.

So close.

I withdrew.

Sabrina whimpered.

Good. I wanted her unsteady.

Shaken.

Hollowed out and aching for me.

I stepped back, letting her feel the chill of my absence, then I placed both palms flat on her lower back, sliding them slowly up her spine with just enough pressure to coax her forward, bending her further over the railing.

She obeyed without thought.

Good girl.

Her ass was a perfect temptation, bared as I flipped the hem of her dress up to gather at her waist.

When she turned her head, wide-eyed, I curled my fist in her hair. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," I chided darkly. "Eyes front, little one. The scene isn't over."

The timing was too perfect to resist.

On stage, Gilda was confessing the Duke's false name, giving him everything, while the orchestra swelled with foreboding dread.

I leaned down, my lips brushing Sabrina's nape. "Say it, Sabrina."

Her fingers clenched on the brass rail.

"Say my name while I own your body."

She moaned, desperate, wrecked. "Sebastian."

Fucking glorious.

Leaning over, I dipped the fingers of my left hand into the dish of olive oil set out among the cheeses and breads. But I'd found a better use.

I slicked my fingers, trailing them between the crease of her ass, teasing the tight ring of muscle there.

Her body went tense.

Stiff.

"Sebastian…what are you⁠—"

I pressed one finger inside her ass.

She gasped.

The noise high and strangled. Perfect.