Knock. Knock. Knock.
The knock echoed through the corridor. Israel waited, counting three breaths like he always did before entering. The guards at the door stepped aside without looking at him. They never did.
He pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped inside.
The room was massive, like always. Silk curtains, paintings with gold frames, a marble fireplace crackling on the far wall. The bed sat in the center, four posts carved from black walnut. He'd been here dozens of times and still couldn't wrap his head around it.
'Every time I come here, I can't believe nobles live like this. One room. Just one. Could house ten families back in the lower district.'
"You called for me, Princess Irish?" Israel said, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.
"Rise your head, Israel."
He looked up.
Princess Irish sat on the edge of her bed, one leg crossed over the other. She wore a short silk nightgown, pale blue that barely reached mid-thigh. The fabric clung to her curves, thin enough that he could see the outline of her body underneath. Her skin was smooth, flawless, the kind that came from never working a day under the sun. Long black hair fell past her shoulders, and her dark eyes watched him with that look she always had. The one that made his stomach tighten.
"Come closer," Irish said, her voice dropping into that tone she used when the prince wasn't around. Soft. Seductive. Dangerous.
Israel stood and walked forward, stopping a few feet from the bed.
"Take your clothes off," she said. "And come here."
"Yes, your highness."
He pulled his shirt over his head and set it on a nearby chair. His boots came next, then his trousers. When he was naked, he turned to face her. His body was lean and muscular, the kind that came from real work rather than training with a sword master. His face was sharp, angular, with dark eyes and a strong jaw that women in the lower district always said made him look dangerous. Black hair fell just past his ears, slightly messy in a way that Irish had once said she found charming.
His cock was already hard, standing out from his body at full attention.
Irish's eyes traveled down his body slowly, lingering. A smile touched her lips.
"Such a marvelous body," she said quietly. "I will always miss this."
Israel moved toward the bed.
"No," Irish said. "Stand."
He stopped, standing beside the bed while she stood up. She walked around him in a slow circle, her fingers trailing across his shoulders, down his spine. Her touch was light, teasing. When she came back to face him, her hand moved lower, brushing over his hip.
"You're so different from him," she murmured. Her hand wrapped around his cock, stroking once. "The prince, I mean. He's done in two minutes. You?" She looked up at him, her smile widening. "You last. And you're so much bigger."
Israel said nothing. He'd heard this before. Every time she called for him, she compared him to her husband. Every time, she reminded him why she kept calling him back. Not for conversation. Not for companionship. Just for this.
Irish continued walking around him, her fingers trailing across his shoulders again, down his spine. She stopped in front of him, reached up, and ran her hand through his black hair. Then she leaned in and sniffed, her nose close to his neck.
"Always so clean," she whispered. "I love that about you."
She moved behind him and slapped his ass. Hard. The sound echoed in the room.
Israel flinched but didn't move.
'She loves doing that,' he thought. 'Every damn time.'
Irish laughed softly, then came back around and pressed her lips to his neck. Her tongue traced a line up to his ear, warm and wet.
She stepped back, and her expression changed. That playful look turned serious, calculating.
"I have a new style for us tonight," she said.
'Of course she does.' Israel kept his face neutral. 'What is it this time? Blindfold? Rope? Maybe she wants me hanging from the damn ceiling.'
"Yes, my princess," he said aloud.
Irish moved to a drawer beside her bed and pulled out a pair of iron handcuffs. She held them up, the metal glinting in the firelight.
"I want you to tie me up," she said. "I want to surrender to you tonight."
Israel blinked. "What?"
"You heard me." Irish climbed onto the bed and laid down on her back, stretching her arms above her head toward the bedposts. "Cuff me. Then do whatever you want."
Israel stared at her. "You want me in control?"
"Completely." She looked up at him, her eyes dark. "You deserve more than this, Israel. You've always been so good to me. Tonight, take what you want."
'Is she serious?' Israel's mind raced. 'Every noble woman I've ever been with has treated me like a toy. Do this. Touch here. Don't speak unless spoken to. I'm good enough to fuck but never good enough to lead. And now she's offering me control?'
A smile broke across his face before he could stop it. "Really?"
"Really."
'Finally. Finally one of them sees me as more than just a cock with legs.' He picked up the handcuffs. 'All those merchant wives, the baroness from the eastern district, that countess who wouldn't even let me look her in the eye. All of them wanted me submissive. Quiet. Obedient. But Irish?' He secured her left wrist to the bedpost, then her right. The metal clicked into place. 'Irish wants me to take charge.'
He pulled against the cuffs to make sure they were secure. Irish wasn't going anywhere.
"So what now?" he asked.
"Whatever you want," Irish said, her voice soft. "Take me."
Israel reached for the hem of her nightgown and lifted it slowly. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. Her pussy was bare, already glistening. He pushed the fabric higher, exposing her stomach, her breasts, until the nightgown was bunched around her neck.
He positioned himself between her legs, his cock pressing against her entrance. She was wet, warm. He pushed in slowly, feeling her body open around him.
Irish gasped, her back arching. "Oh... god..."
Israel started moving, finding a rhythm. Slow thrusts at first, testing. Her hips rose to meet his, her breathing quickening with each movement.
"Ahh... yes..." she moaned, her voice soft.
He leaned down, bracing himself on his forearms, driving deeper. The bed creaked beneath them. Irish's hands pulled against the cuffs, the metal rattling against the bedposts.
"I'm sorry," Israel said between thrusts, his words coming out broken. "Last time... I couldn't... I had a headache and..."
"Shut up," Irish gasped. "Just shut up and fuck me."
Israel grinned and picked up the pace. Harder now. Faster. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, mixing with Irish's moans and his own ragged breathing.
"Oh fuck... oh fuck..." Irish's voice grew louder, her body trembling beneath him.
He pulled out and adjusted, lifting her legs over his shoulders. The angle changed, hitting deeper. Irish cried out, her back arching off the bed.
"Yes! Right there... don't stop..."
Israel gripped her thighs and thrust hard, sweat dripping down his chest, his muscles burning. Irish's moans turned into something desperate, uncontrolled.
"Ahh... ahh... fuck!"
Her voice was different now. Stronger. Louder than he'd ever heard it.
"You like that?" Israel asked, his own voice rough.
"Yes! God, yes!"
He changed positions again, flipping her onto her stomach. The handcuffs twisted but held. Her ass was in the air now, and he entered her from behind, gripping her hips and driving in deep.
"Oh god... oh god..." Irish's voice was muffled against the pillow, but her moans were unmistakable.
Israel's thrusts grew harder, more aggressive. The bed shook. Irish's body trembled with each impact.
"Harder... fuck me harder..." she gasped.
Israel obliged, slamming into her with everything he had. Sweat poured down his back. His breathing was ragged. Irish's moans turned into screams, raw and primal.
"Yes! Yes! Don't stop!"
The door burst open.
Lady Cassandra stood in the doorway, her silk gown flowing around her. She was maybe forty, elegant, with sharp features and piercing gray eyes. Israel recognized her immediately. Irish's closest friend, a woman he'd been with twice before at her request. Private meetings where she'd made it clear he was property, nothing more.
Her eyes went wide, taking in the scene. Israel between Irish's legs. The handcuffs. Both of them naked, covered in sweat.
But there was something in her expression. Not shock. Something else. Something calculated.
Irish's head snapped up. "Cassandra? What the hell are you doing barging into my chambers?"
Israel pulled out quickly, scrambling off the bed. His heart hammered in his chest.
"I..." Cassandra's voice faltered for just a moment. Then her eyes narrowed. "I heard screaming. I thought..."
"You thought what?" Irish snapped, pulling against the handcuffs. "That you could just walk in here without permission?"
Cassandra's gaze moved from Irish to Israel, then back to Irish. Something shifted in her expression. Her mouth opened.
"Guards!" Cassandra screamed. "Guards, come quickly!"
Irish's face went pale. "What are you..."
"He's raping her!" Cassandra's voice was shrill, cutting through the air. "The slave is raping Princess Irish! Someone help!"
"What?" Israel backed away, his hands up. "No! She called me here! She wanted..."
The door slammed open again. Three soldiers burst in, swords drawn. Their eyes took in the scene. Irish chained to the bed, naked, Israel standing there with his cock still hard.
"No!" Irish shouted, her voice desperate. "Cassandra, what are you doing? Stop this!"
"Look at her!" Cassandra pointed at Irish, her voice breaking with false anguish. "Look what he's done to her! She's chained like an animal!"
One of the soldiers stepped forward and swung the pommel of his sword. It connected with the side of Israel's head. Pain exploded through his skull, and he collapsed to the floor. Blood ran hot down his temple, dripping onto the marble.
"Cassandra, stop!" Irish screamed. "This isn't... he didn't..."
"Uncuff her," one of the soldiers ordered. Another rushed to the bed, pulling a key from his belt and unlocking the handcuffs.
The soldiers grabbed Israel by the arms, hauling him to his feet. His vision swam. His legs barely worked.
"You're done," one of them spat. "You're fucking done."
They dragged him toward the door.
"Wait!" Irish shouted, rubbing her wrists where the cuffs had been. "You don't understand! I asked him to..."
"Your Highness, please," Cassandra said, moving to Irish's side and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You're in shock. It's understandable. What he did to you..."
"He didn't do anything!" Irish tried to pull away, but Cassandra held firm.
"Shhh," Cassandra whispered, her voice low enough that only Irish could hear. "Just breathe. We'll talk about this later."
Israel caught Irish's eyes as they dragged him out. She looked terrified. Confused. Like she didn't understand what was happening.
'The fuck is happening,' he thought as the door slammed shut behind him.