cw // sexual content
at the end

CHAPTER TWELVE. TOUCH ME, LIKE A SINNER

This time he brings her emeralds—not diamonds. Though they serve the same purpose: to block her magic.

         He's chosen emeralds because just as he noticed that she was no longer wearing the diamonds around her neck, she was still wearing the emerald earrings her mother gave her. It's not something he tends to do—notice others.

         The Duke is in her chambers, clipping the emeralds around her neck, like he did her first day here. But it's different this time around, she knows more of what she's giving away now.

         Perhaps, in the beginning, even if she knew what he'd be doing to her with this jewelry, she wouldn't have minded as much. She'd never see herself using magic then; never see herself tapping into that sort of power.

         Now that she has, she can't fathom it being taken away from her.

         She supposes this is something the Duke will continue to do, more so during their marriage. He'll take and take and take.

         That's why she needs her magic, she needs something that won't leave her defenseless with him. Something that if not superior to him would have her in step with him.

         As he clips the necklace around her, she gives that away.

         For him, she's also wearing a blue dress today. For him, she'll also try to be better with Contessa. For him, she'll do all of this—as much as she might not want to. Her service to him is something that has stepped out of her own wanting. It exists outside of her desires as a duty.

         Still, she finds it easy to tell him: "You cannot control everything I do," because they're just words and she wants to remind herself that she still has this one thing.

         Everything. Leonas knows exactly what she means—or rather who. The lord she goes out of her way to see, threatening to throw away this marriage proposal for it.

         "This is about the lord."

         Anastasia doesn't give a response—not instantly at least.

         "Do you think I care you who you're with?" Leonas has never cared—as much as Anastasia wanted him to. "I don't as long as you have the decency for secrecy."

         It is common knowledge that the people of this court sleep around.

         "I don't believe you."

         "You think highly of yourself."

         Her nails dig into her thigh, the thing she does when she gets the urge to hurt another. "I've seen how you react whenever I do something with him. You want me to stay away from him."

         "Well, yes. His family is just too...beastly." The Duke feels proud of his choice of word, there's a faint smirk on his lips.

         Anastasia gets closer to him till she has to lift her head to look at him. "They are better than you."

         The Duke fists his hand, the soft leather of his glove creases. Then, Anastasia is caught off guard as he swings his fist at her stomach. She wheezes, doubling over in pain. Leonas remains with an impassive expression. "Not true, but I'll let it pass."

         "Pass? You just punched me."

         The Duke hums as if they have different definitions for letting things pass. "Are you going to keep him as a lover?"

         Anastasia stares at him, eyes burning and a hand over her womb. She doesn't answer.

         "I asked you a question, answer it."

         "I will."

         "I suppose I'll allow it. Know that our marriage still awaits, so if he tries to take you away, there'll be an issue."

         He has deeper reasons for letting her be with Klaus. His mother has made him seen the need for it.

         Anastasia plays a poker face. "Understood."

         With that, the Duke makes way to leave.

        Knowing she won't succeed, Anastasia tries to burn the back of his head. "Incendia," she mutters.

        Nothing happens.

        She entertains the thought of what would've happened if it worked.

        The Duke turns to say one last thing to her, "Don't meet in the gardens."

        Anastasia wants to rip the emeralds around her neck.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

         She misses the diamonds, the emeralds feel heavier on her neck. Perhaps because she knows what they're meant for now.

         She's at a revel, it helps take some of the edge off. While the last revel hosted in this castle had a violent unprecedented ending, it had been a month since then and so the Duke was allowed to host another one for this special occasion. His sister's thirty-first birthday.

         Corilla looks every bit the life of the party tonight, dancing and jesting all around. She revels in the attention.

         In contrast, Anastasia seems miserable. For one, she's sitting next to the Duke, and second, things aren't going her way.

         Three nights ago, the Duke had rather indirectly told her to try better if she wanted this marriage to happen; that included following his few requests. The morning after he had divulged that he'd known about her lover all along, revealing that he simply didn't care about it. This meant that all of Anastasia's scours for his affection had been in vain, it infuriated her.

         She expected anger, jealousy, disappointment—anything but apathy.

         So, today she tried a different approach: to test if he enjoyed when she actually followed his requests. She put on a blue dress, wore her emeralds and tried to share a goblet of wine with Contessa, putting on her most believable smile and charm. Contessa, much like her son, was impenetrable. Anastasia thinks she heard her scoff when she tried to be nice to her.

         But when Anastasia went back to the Duke, he didn't seem moved at all by her efforts. Hence, the reason for her misery in this current moment.

         God, she is pathetic. What is she even aiming at?

         The Duke is in his fourth goblet of wine by now, which is usually when he starts conversation with Anastasia. He notices her sullen look.

         "Are you still upset?"

         "Why should I be?"

         "It's what I wonder. Everything seems to be working out for you."

         "Is it?"

         "I've allowed your whims. You are not dead. You are still becoming duchess. Your situation is far better than most people here."

         Anastasia thinks of Leonas as her ongoing migraine. She gets up from the table, looking to socialize rather than having to spend another moment next to him.

        On her way around the partying bodies, she runs into a boy. Hugo—Corilla's son—and probably Anastasia's favorite child.

        From the moment they met, they've been up to all sorts of mischief. Just recently, she helped him sneak a horse into the castle—right into the main hall. They weren't caught, of course.

        She recalls that time they were throwing pebbles at people. It had to stop when one got in someone's eye. Although, they agreed it was the person's fault for looking up at them.

        Now, Hugo stands with his chest puffed-up and his brows comically drawn together as if that'll make him look grown up. Worse is the goblet of wine he holds in his hand.

        "Are you drinking that?" Anastasia asks, confused.

        "Father let me have it," Hugo says with the poise of a man.

        Anastasia nods, she didn't try alcohol till she was sixteen and the boy in front of her is barely nine.

        It seems his mother also finds this questionable as she goes up to him and reaches for the goblet that Hugo pulls back from her. "What do you think you're doing with that, my boy?"

        Corilla manages to take it from him and Hugo crosses his arms. "Father gave it to me," he whines.

        "Uh huh. I'll have to talk to your father," Corilla says and sips the wine previously belonging to her son.

        Anastasia laughs, the sound is small. There's something she feels whenever she sees this family, a longing for their richness.

        Then, realizing she hasn't wished Corilla good wishes yet, she places a hand on her arm and congratulates her on her birthday.

        Their interaction is short lived when Corilla is pulled into the crowd for another dance—not without pointing a finger at Hugo as if telling him she'll keep an eye on him.

        As soon as Corilla is out of sight, Hugo pulls on the hem of Anastasia's skirts and motions his hand for her to lean over so he can whisper something in her ear.

        "I have an idea," he murmurs, all excited.

        "What is it?" Anastasia whispers back. It's barely audible over the music.

        "Let's steal the cake."

        Anastasia leans away from him, looks at his toothy grin then at the cake by the other side of the ballroom. It's a four layered cake, too big. She's not sure they can pull this off.

        "Well, what's the plan?"

        Hugo tells her his plan. It includes finding a big, big bird that has to come into the ballroom and scoop up the cake, then right out the window.

        Anastasia shakes her head, laughing. She tells her that they must go and find this big, big bird then. But first, they should go and try the cake to see if it's worth stealing.

        Hugo drags her over to the cake stand. There, as they stand behind it and no one's looking, they start swiping their fingers across the sugary frosting and dipping it into their mouths.

        She thinks Hugo forgets about finding this big, big bird as he gets lost in eating the cake.

        Anastasia is about to dip a frosted finger into her mouth when she gets tapped on the shoulder. She turns and sees Klaus. She looks down at her finger and beams mischievously. "Want to give it a taste?"

         He raises his brows, smiling. It's a yes. She dips the tip of her finger into his mouth and his tongue swaddles over it, tasting the cake. His eyes never waver from hers.

        Hugo bursts out laughing, staring at Klaus. "Why do your eyes look like that?"

        There's nothing unseemly about his eyes. For a moment, the boy makes Klaus think the veins beneath his eyes have popped out.

         While he felt genuine bliss mere seconds ago, Klaus now bears a scowl.

        Anastasia pulls him aside, away from the boy and everyone else. "I thought you wouldn't come."

        "I changed my mind."

        The reason he wasn't coming to this birthday celebration was for an argument he had with Elijah the day before—in which he supplicated he not show his face. All because of what Klaus had done in the last revel: a murder.

        But he's here now, momentarily meets Elijah's eyes across the room who had already been glaring at him. It's thrilling to Klaus. He asks himself how he ever considered listening to Elijah.

        "And I think we should keep being discreet," Anastasia says, thinking it not the wisest of choices to talk to Klaus in the open.

        Rumors about the two had been flying about since their first interaction.

        "Say the word, love, and we'll leave."

        "Fine, then," Anastasia complies. "You leave, I'll follow after."

        An amused sound leaves his lips. If he leaves with her, he won't be breaking any rules. He finds it too easy to work around the rules.

.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

         They sit on her couch. She takes off her shoes, tucks in her legs to the side and has her knees brushing his. He sets a hand on her thigh as if it's just an idle touch. She tries to focus on anything but his hand.

         Against all sensible thinking, she's let him back into her chambers. They wanted some place secret, so she suggested her bedroom—not without passive aggressiveness. You should be the one leading since you seem to find your way there better than myself. He took her offense with amusement. It's worse to know that she can't get to him like this.

         She's made a deal with him, that's clear to her. The only reason she stands on good terms with him is because she convinced him to trust her—after he made her confess all that she'd been hiding from him. She keeps beating herself up for spilling everything like that. Maybe it'd been the smarter choice to not lie to him again but it didn't make it any less defeating.

         Besides, she's been allowed to keep him as a lover and that takes out a certain thrill in being with him. She needs to remind herself that this is not for Klaus or her need for enjoyment.

         She supposes that by letting him back into her chambers—this time with her permission—she'll decide if she wants to keep doing this dance with him. He's proven to be more than she can handle.

         He is a killer and a liar, a dangerous combination. She is not a killer, that sets her apart from him. It might make her better than him. But she is still a liar.

         She sits with him and searches for the man he'd shown her he was a few days ago. The one that had intimidated her and accused her of conspiring with his brother. There's no trace of him. Tonight, he's only coddling and charming.

         It's frightening, she decides, how easily he switches between that man and the one that's now with her.

         She doesn't understand what she feels for him. One moment she's drawn to him and the next she's reconsidering everything about him.

She finds her thoughts grasping at questions, asking herself if he'll want to hurt her. Knowing what he is now and what he's done, she thinks it might be true.

She knows that sometimes she wants to hurt him.

         "I know what I think about," she says. "Do you think about hurting me?"

         "You know I'd never hurt you."

         "Never?"

         "But enlighten me, what kind of thoughts does your mind conjure up?"

         "I can't tell you." She fiddles with her hands and leans her head a little closer. "I'd rather show you."

         There's a glint found in his eyes. He likes this, he likes her. But he doesn't trust her—not exactly. He doesn't think he trusts himself either. She's lied to him and he's still here. She's lied to him and he still doesn't want to hurt her. He's not like this, he doesn't look past the first misstep.

         She keeps him here. She makes him stay. It's all her. He thinks she might be one powerful witch, after all she did confess she is one. He feels proud of everything he's made her come clean about, like he's finally piecing her together. He's beginning to understand her.

         She knows he's a vampire, he knows she's a witch. There's a symmetry to that, both need their secrets kept. It puts them on equal ground. They have no leverage over the other. That makes them realize that the only reason they're here is because they want to be.

         Despite everything, they want to be with each other.

         I'd rather show you, she's said to him—and that's what she'll do. She stares at his lips, then his eyes, than back to his lips. She smiles. For that smile, he thinks, he could forgive anything. It's a weakness he'll take care of later. For now, he'll just enjoy her.

         He kisses her first. It's exactly how she wants it to be. She leans back on the couch and he comes closer, nearly climbing over her. Her hands go to his neck and his to her waist. They kiss, but she still wants more.

         Something tells her he wants more, too. Tonight could be the night they have everything of each other.

        She pulls away and tells him, "Come to my bed."

         He laughs. She insists, "It's what you want, isn't it?"

         He finds no way to deny her. Granted that when he came into her room, he got ideas of everything they could do. He grabs a bit of her hair and tucks it behind her ear. "You're right, I want you."

         She smiles, the smile is more arrogant than anything. She gets up from the couch and takes him by the hand towards her bed. There's excitement blossoming in her.

         She slips out of her dress and goes to sit on her bed, wearing only her shift. She watches him remove his shirt, it makes the eagerness inside of her build.

         He approaches her and before anything else, he reaches for her leg, laying a kiss to her ankle. A second. A third. He lets go. She sucks in a breath, it's this action that's made her confidence falter. She feels her cheeks heat up, brings her hands to her face. She's never flustered—not in these scenarios.

         "You don't have to..." she says, stopping herself as she collects the words for it. "You don't have to pretend you're this attentive."

         "I don't pretend," he says, it's honest.

         He's thoughtful and it conflicts her. She should stop delighting in his qualities. Above all, she should stop seeing him. But she won't do that.

         He goes on to prove how attentive he is by telling her, "I paint you from memory because I've memorized every detail of you."

         "You shouldn't have."

         He smiles, he likes this side of him she brings out.

         "When I remove this," she says, grabbing her shift. "Will you paint the rest of me as well?"

         "As you wish it to be."

         She pulls him in then and he wraps his arms around her as they start to kiss. It's not rushed but it isn't slow either, it's the just the right tempo. Their kiss is deliberate and fueled.

         As his hand clasps the back of her neck and his tongue explores her mouth, her thighs try to clench together but he's in between her and all she does is wrap her legs around him. It brings him closer to her and suddenly there's nothing separating them, only a thin layer of clothing.

         She hears him groan on her mouth and he's hard against her. She wraps her legs more tightly around him and he slides his hand up her thigh till it rests on the curve of her hip.

         She lifts herself a little to pull off her shift. Finally, she's naked to him. She lets him gaze at her. She likes the look on his eyes, it makes her feel all warm inside. He reaches out his hands, but she stops him and sends a look to his breeches, telling him that to continue, he has to be as bare as her.

He complies, removes the rest of his clothing. She gazes at him now, takes him all in. She's not shy with her stare. With her eyes on him, he feels more bare than anything.

Her hands roam down his chest, then stop below his navel. Warm fingers pressing down on his skin, she asks, "Can I touch you?"

If he had a heartbeat, it'd be racing. She stares into his eyes, ready to please him. She sees this as returning a favor.

His hand cradles her chin. "I'd be more than delighted."

Her hand wraps around him. Her skin is so soft and he thinks he might come undone solely from this. She starts moving her hand, searching for the delight he speaks of. Even though her thoughts should stay on Klaus, she thinks of the last man she did this to. She'd been in her Sicily home and her father's friend had come to stay in town for some days. Amidst that visit, he'd gotten alone with Anastasia and he asked her to do this. It was all he asked for. She'd expected to feel used but she detached herself from the situation and everything that followed after. She remembers what he told her to do, and she reuses his guidance—with Klaus.

         It's different with Klaus. She doesn't have to convince herself to enjoy it. She likes seeing him like this for her. The way the muscles in his jaw shift and his breaths change. Still touching him, she leans closer and goes mostly on instinct as she starts kissing his jaw. Barely there kisses. She's never done this; never tried to give more.

         The effect it has on him takes her by surprise. He pulses against her. She thinks that she might make him finish from these added kisses alone.

         "Don't..." he stammers. She's never heard him stammer, she's proud of what she's done.

         She chuckles against his neck, the sensation nearly makes him shudders. She says for him, "Don't stop?"

He groans in agreement. For a moment, words have been cut from him. She kisses him more, kisses that trail down his neck, but her hand starts to loosen—right before he can finish.

         "I'll tire you out," she says before letting go.

         "I have resilience—more than you can imagine."

         She shivers. She wants to find out how long he can go on for. He mistakes the curious look on her eyes for apologetic. "It's quite alright. I think you should get your turn, too."

        He takes a moment to come down from his cut-off high, then lines himself up with her. She braces. "You don't have to be gentle."

         "You don't know what you ask."

         "I don't want you to be," she insists.

He starts and despite her persistence, he's still gentle. He knows his own strength. But as he said, he doesn't want to hurt her. Even as he kisses her and runs his hands over her body, she's not into it. It's not what she wants.

         The more she gets to know him, the gentler he becomes with her. She wants him to kiss her like he did the first time, all greedy and wanting. There's still a trace of that but it's as if he's holding himself back.

         She realizes this is what it means for him to care for her.

Suddenly, she stills and he notices the change in her demeanor. He stops and asks if there's something wrong. She almost finds herself saying you. But she bites her tongue and shakes her head. He doesn't go on—not until she communicates it verbally.

         There's a rising emotion in her, something bad. She doesn't like this realization she's made, she looks down on him for it. He shouldn't care. She becomes cold. "Is this how you've always done this?"

         He's affronted. "Do I bore you too badly?"

She pulls herself back together, reminds herself how good this was minutes ago. She shakes her head again and he pulls away from her.

They each know their tendencies for messing up. They don't want to mess this up.

         He collects himself too. He changes his tone to teasing, "Do you want to take the reins then?" Suddenly, he's sitting on the bed and he's grabbed onto her, pulling her on top of him. It's all too fast for her to register. He smirks, knowing he's surprised her. "Show me what you like."

She places her hands on his shoulders, slowly realizing she's straddling him. Her eyes go wide, bemused by his abilities. "Don't do that."

She'd almost forgotten about his preternatural speed. This has served as a flashing reminder.

But somehow he's finally thrilled her. He can hear the hint of it in her voice. "I see this is not your taste."

"I prefer the way it was," she confesses.

He does it again. Suddenly, she's laying on the bed and he's over her. He's got that boastful smirk as if he just loves to show off. She's winded. "Stop!"

His mouth hovers near her ear. "Don't get loud—not yet, love."

She hits his back, it's a light smack. "I won't be loud."

He hums as if unconvinced. His hand idly goes to her breast, swirls his fingers a bit. She's reminded of how bare she is. He's laying on his side and she's on her back, and they stare at one another. They realize how these little moments are so much more intimate.

It makes them want to have sex again, just to avoid them.

When he's inside her again, he makes sure to use more strength than before—isn't satisfied till he draws a whimper from her. That's how he knows he's giving her what she wants.

         "This." She rakes her hands down his back. "This is what I like."

         He does more of what she likes, and she feels herself finally enjoying this. This is something she could get used to, if this is what it means to keep him as a lover. She can have him and everything else she wants. It can all work out.

         When she comes, he makes her feel like she's earned it.

author's note.
okay. last chapter the pacing was ass. srsly idk what tf happened. so i hope this one is better. yea ana and klaus r a little hot and cold, but they're also hot. i hope i'm getting across how unstable their relationship can potentially become. this is like wrong person for wrong person, that's the whole thing of this book.