Onyx's Pov:
*I take a deep breath, the scent of roasted nuts and dried spices filling my lungs. This is going to be a long day. I square my shoulders and fall into step beside Ash, with the meerkat maid, Lucia, trailing a respectful pace behind us. The market is a sensory overload, a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. Ash leads the way with an impatient stride, his gaze sweeping over the stalls with practiced indifference.*
*We stop at the first stall, a cluttered table overflowing with wooden carvings, painted figurines, and stacks of parchment. I immediately spot a chest filled with art supplies—smooth river stones, bundles of colored reeds, pots of vibrant mineral paints, and soft, woven brushes. It's perfect. I also grab a small, intricately woven bag filled with rare, candied fruits and sweet pastries that I know the children would adore.*
*With Ash's silent, bored approval, Lucia carries the heavy chest and the bag of sweets back to the car.*
*I lead the way to a sprawling, opulent stall overflowing with silks, satins, and intricate embroidery. The air here smells of lavender and mothballs. I pull a few dresses from their hangers, their cool, heavy fabric a welcome distraction, and head toward a curt-off dressing area. Before I step inside, I turn back to Lucia, who is hovering nervously near the entrance.*
"Pick any dress you like," *I tell her with a warm smile.* "It's on me."
*Her eyes go wide, a look of pure shock on her face.* "Miss, I couldn't—"
*But I insist, and with a shy, grateful little nod, she scurries off to look at the more simple, affordable garments. A small, genuine smile touches my lips but before I could disappear behind the curtain, Ash's voice cuts through the thin fabric, his tone dripping with disapproval.*
*Was that necessary?*
*I poke my head out from behind the curtain, my smile vanishing, replaced by a glare.* "It's none of your business." *I snap, turning my attention back to the dresses, deliberately avoiding his gaze.*
*A moment later, a cheerful racoon shopkeeper approaches us, her eyes twinkling as she takes in the scene.* "Seen anything you like yet?" *she asks cheerfully.*
*I shake my head, my cheeks still warm from the exchange with Ash.* "Nope, but I'm still searching."
*She hums thoughtfully, then her eyes light up. She pulls a stunning dress from a rack—a deep, regal purple with delicate silver embroidery that seems to shimmer in the stall's light. She holds it out to me.* "Don't you think this one was lovely?" *she says, then winks, pointing a thumb in Ash's direction.* "I'm sure your husband would love it to see you in it."
*Our protests burst out in perfect, horrified unison.* "No, no, it's not like that!"
*The shopkeeper just waves a dismissive hand, her smile widening, completely unfazed by our denial.* "Oh, you two don't have to be shy with me,"
*she says, her voice warm and knowing.* "I see it in the way you look at each other. You're just lovers." *She leans in conspiratorially.* "Love is a beautiful thing, nature it. Being lovers can be sweet, but getting married..."
*She sighs dreamily, shaking her head.* "...that's another level of bliss. You two look perfect together." *Her gaze shifts to Ash, and her tone becomes serious, almost maternal.* "Piece of advice, young man. If you really love her, don't waste time. Put a ring on it, settle down before someone else snatches her away."
*She then turns her attention to me, her expression soft.* "And you, my dear, I can see it in your eyes that you love him deeply. Be patient with him."
*Her voice continues, a gentle but firm command that seems to hang in the air between us.* "And when he does put the ring on it, love him wholly and be a good wife and mother to his children."
*The words land like stones in a still pond. My mind goes completely blank. A wife? Mother? To Ash's children? The sheer absurdity of it is almost comical, but the woman's earnest tone makes it impossible to laugh. I can feel the heat crawling up my neck and flooding my cheeks, a deep, uncomfortable blush that feels like a brand. I stare fixedly at a pattern of embroidered peacocks on a nearby rack, my jaw clenched tight, refusing to even glance in Ash's direction.*
*I can feel his presence beside me radiating a similar, stunned heat. The air between us is thick with an unspoken, horrified denial. We stand there like a pair of terrified statues, two figures carved from pure embarrassment, as the shopkeeper lets out a soft, chuckling sigh.*
"Ahhh, young love," *the shopkeeper sighs again, her voice a soft murmur that breaks the thick silence. She gives a little shake of her head, as if amused by our flustered state.* "Well, don't just stand there blushing! Take the dress, try it on. Your lover won't be able to take his eyes off you." *She winks, then turns to help another customer, leaving us to the suffocating bubble of her assumption.*
*I remain frozen for a moment longer, the purple dress still clutched in my hands like a live snake. Slowly, as if moving through water, I turn and disappear into the small, curtained dressing room. The air inside is stale and smells of perfume. I shut the curtain, the world outside muffled but not gone. I lean against the cool wooden wall, my heart hammering against my ribs.*
*I look down at the dress. It is beautiful, the deep purple rich and the silver thread catching the faint light filtering through the curtain.*
*I replay the woman's words in my head, a bitter, nonsensical litany. Me and Ash. My lover. My husband. His wife. Our children. Love? That's absurd. I try to force a laugh, to mock the very idea, but no sound comes out. What is this feeling? The thought was supposed to be ridiculous, a joke to be laughed off.*
*So why is my heart hammering against my ribs, a frantic, excited rhythm against my ribs? Why does the thought of it, of a life with him, send a strange, unwelcome warmth through me?*
*I notice my hand is trembling as I reach for the zipper. I shake my head, trying to clear it, to focus on the task at hand. I pull the dress up, my fingers fumbling with the small metal tab. It catches, refusing to budge. I tug harder, then harder still, a frustrated growl building in my throat.* "Hmph!" *I let out an annoyed sound of pure exasperation.*
"I need help with this zipper,"
*I mutter to myself, my voice muffled by the thick fabric of the curtain. I'm sure the maid is just outside.* "Thank God you're here, this zipper is annoying," *I call out, my gaze still fixed on the lower part of the dress trying to adjust it , my brow furrowed in concentration.*
*I take a deep breath, ready to try again, but then I look up. And the world vanishes.*
*Standing in the small space behind me, his reflection perfectly superimposed over mine in the mirror, is Ash. He didn't say a word. He just... appeared. His tall frame is so close I can feel the faint heat radiating from him, his head looming over my shoulder. My own reflection is pale and wide-eyed, a stark contrast to his unreadable, shadowed expression in the glass. The frantic beating of my heart is the only sound I can hear, a drum solo in the sudden, suffocating silence of the dressing room.*
*Without a single word, his gaze in the mirror softens, the earlier hardness replaced by something unreadable. He steps closer, his presence filling the small space, stealing the air from my lungs. Gently, almost reverently, he reaches out and sweeps my hair to the side, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of my shoulder. A shiver, entirely unwelcome and entirely undeniable, traces its path down my spine.*
*His hands move lower, his fingers cool against the warm skin of my back. I feel the pull of the zipper as he begins to guide it upwards. He doesn't rush. Each millimeter of movement is agonizingly slow, deliberate. His knuckles, the pads of his fingers, they leave a trail of heat in their wake, branding me through the thin silk of the dress. I am utterly still, every muscle locked in place. I hold my breath, afraid that even the slightest exhalation might break the fragile, terrifying spell he's weaving around us.*
*When the final click of the zipper echoes in the small room, he doesn't move away. He pauses, his hands still resting lightly on my hips for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then, he steps back, the space between us suddenly feeling vast and cold. His eyes are fixed on our reflection in the mirror—the woman in the regal purple dress, and the man behind her, his expression a carefully constructed mask.*
"It suits you," *he says, his voice flat, neutral. Then, the mask slips. The words that follow are laced with a pain so raw it cuts through the air.* "Liam will indeed love it."
*The name is like a splash of ice water. Liam. The thought of me with another, especially his friend, is the catalyst I don't understand. I don't know what came over me. Was it the raw hurt in his voice? The suffocating tension of the room?*
*Without a single word, his gaze in the mirror softens, the earlier hardness replaced by something unreadable. He steps closer, his presence filling the small space, stealing the air from my lungs. Gently, almost reverently, he reaches out and sweeps my hair to the side, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of my shoulder. A shiver, entirely unwelcome and entirely undeniable, traces its path down my spine.*
*His hands move lower, his fingers cool against the warm skin of my back. I feel the pull of the zipper as he begins to guide it upwards. He doesn't rush. Each millimeter of movement is agonizingly slow, deliberate. His knuckles, the pads of his fingers, they leave a trail of heat in their wake, branding me through the thin silk of the dress. I am utterly still, every muscle locked in place. I hold my breath, afraid that even the slightest exhalation might break the fragile, terrifying spell he's weaving around us.*
*The world outside the curtain, the bustling market, the cheerful shopkeeper—it all dissolves into a distant, muffled hum. The only reality is the space between us, charged and electric. The moment his painful words leave his mouth, something inside me snaps. I don't think. I don't reason. I just act.*
*On instinct, I turn. My movements are sudden, a blur of motion. I close the small distance between us, my body pressing against his. Before he can register what's happening, I rise onto my toes and press my lips to his.*
*It's a clumsy, desperate collision. At first, he is utterly still, a statue of shock. I feel his breath hitch, his eyes flutter open in the mirror, wide with disbelief. He hesitates for a single, heart-stopping second. But then, the dam breaks. A low growl rumbles in his chest, and the kiss transforms. He stops holding back.*
*The moment his lips part, the hesitation evaporates. He doesn't just kiss me back; he devours me.
*There's a raw, desperate edge to it now, a silent admission in the press of his mouth and the sweep of his tongue. He pulls me against him, one hand tangling in my hair, the other sliding down to the small of my back, arching me into him. The kiss is deep, wet, and all-consuming, a frantic battle for air and dominance that leaves me breathless and dizzy.*
*With a low growl that vibrates through his chest, he lifts me off my feet. My legs dangle, the delicate fabric of the dress straining against his grip.
*He carries me effortlessly, my back pressing against the cool, unforgiving surface of the full-length mirror. I can feel the chill of the glass seep through the thin silk, a stark contrast to the inferno of his body against mine.*
*He presses me harder against the mirror, the cool glass a shocking contrast to the heat radiating from his body. My back arches into the contact, a shiver of pleasure and vulnerability racing through me.
*His hands, strong and slender, slide down to cup my ass firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh through the silk of the dress. He lifts me slightly, adjusting my position so that I am perfectly flush against him, my core aligned with the hard evidence of his desire.*
*He breaks the kiss, but only to trail his mouth down my jaw, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin below my ear. His breath is hot against my neck, and the world narrows to the feeling of him, the scent of him, the sheer, overwhelming presence of him. *
*He's not just kissing me anymore; he's claiming me, right there in the cramped space, with the faint sounds of the market as our only audience. I am utterly, completely lost, drowning in a passion I never knew I craved.*
*He bends lower, his lips tracing a hot, wet path from my jaw down to the delicate skin of my collarbone. In his fervor, one of his sharp antlers accidentally catches the side of my cheek. A sharp sting blossoms into a warm trickle.*
"Ouch," *I hiss, pulling back slightly. I can feel the wetness on my skin. He freezes, his head snapping up. His eyes widen in horror as he looks at the small, shallow cut on my cheek, a single bead of crimson welling up and trickling down my pale skin.*
"I am so, so sorry," *he breathes, his voice thick with guilt. The raw panic in his expression is so at odds with the passion of a moment ago that I can't help it. A soft chuckle escapes my lips, and to my surprise, he lets out a small, strained laugh in response, the tension breaking between us.*
*I wrap my hands around his neck, my fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape. We stand there for a moment, our foreheads almost touching, catching our breath and sharing a small, shaky smile. The awkwardness of the situation hangs in the air, thick and warm.*
"Well, this is embarrassing,"
*I giggle, my cheeks burning so hot they must match the dress. I try to look away, to hide my face in the crook of his neck, but he won't let me. He frees one hand from its firm grip on my ass and gently turns my face back toward his. His gaze is intense, his large, bi-polar eyes searching mine, as if looking for something he needs to see.*
*He gives me a small, reassuring smile, then his eyes drop to the small cut on my cheek. Instead of looking horrified again, his expression shifts. He leans in, his eyes never leaving mine. He gently, deliberately, licks the trickle of blood from my skin.*
*His tongue is warm against my cheek, a slow, deliberate swipe that erases the line of blood and sends a jolt straight through me.*
*It's not a gentle, apologetic lick. It's possessive. The act is so intimate, so primal, it bypasses my mind entirely and goes straight to my core. A low, involuntary moan escapes my lips.*
"Ash?"
*I whisper his name, more a question than anything else. My nails, which had been resting lightly on his back, now dig in, my fingers curling into the fabric of his kimono, pulling him closer. He responds instantly, pressing his body more firmly against mine, the solid heat of him a delicious pressure against my front.*
*The raw intensity of the moment softens, shifting from a desperate collision to something more deliberate, more intimate. He lifts his head from my cheek, his eyes dark with a new kind of hunger. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply before his lips find the sensitive skin just below my ear. He begins to suck, a slow, rhythmic pressure that sends fresh waves of heat pooling low in my belly.*
*My body arches into his of its own accord. My hardened nipples press against the silk of the dress and the solid muscle of his chest. He can feel it—the frantic hammering of my heart, the subtle tremor in my limbs, the undeniable evidence of my arousal. A soft, needy sound escapes me, a plea and a sigh all in one.* "Ash,"
*I moan, my voice a breathless whisper. My hands slide up from his back to his shoulders, my fingers gripping him for purchase as the world outside the dressing room ceases to exist.*
*He moans my name against my skin, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat through me. His voice is a low, gravelly rasp, thick with desire.*
"I want you... I need you," *he murmurs, the words a vow against my pulse. He pulls back just enough to tilt my head up, baring the long, slender line of my throat to him completely.*
*His tongue traces a slow, deliberate path from my collarbone up to my jaw, a wet, scorching caress that makes my skin prickle. On instinct, my hands move from his shoulders, my fingers tangling in the base of his magnificent antlers. The gesture is both soft and possessive, a silent claim. The moment my touch connects, he lets out a deep, guttural moan of pure pleasure, the sound vibrating from his chest and into mine.*
*He doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans into my grip, his eyes fluttering shut for a second.* "More,"
*The word is a command, a plea, and a prayer all at once. He doesn't need to ask twice. My fingers tighten their grip on his antlers, my thumbs stroking the smooth, cool bone as I explore their intricate, branching structure. It's an act of worship, a way to ground myself in the reality of this moment, of him.*
*He groans again, a deeper, more desperate sound this time, and the vibration resonates through his entire body and into mine. The sound is a catalyst. His mouth returns to my throat, no longer content with gentle licks. He begins to suck, harder this time, his lips sealing around a patch of skin below my jaw. The pressure is intense, building a delicious ache that I know will leave a mark—a brand of his own.*
*The moment my hands still, a low growl rumbles in his chest, a sound of pure frustration. He lifts his head from my breast, his lips glistening and slick. His eyes, dark and intense, lock onto mine.*
"Don't you dare stop," *he commands, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. The command is a jolt, snapping me out of my stupor. My fingers immediately resume their gentle, stroking motion on his antlers, a silent apology and a promise of submission all at once.*
*Satisfied by my obedience, a slow, predatory smile spreads across his lips. He bends his head back down, this time with renewed fervor.*
*His mouth returns to my breast, his lips closing around my nipple again. He suckles harder this time, the pressure building, pulling a deep, guttural moan from the depths of my throat.*
*Our moans rise, growing louder, more unrestrained, a symphony of pleasure that threatens to shatter the thin walls of the dressing room. We are on the precipice, teetering on the edge of oblivion, when a voice cuts through the haze.*
"Miss Onyx? Is everything OK? I can't find Mr. Ash. But did you need help?" *It's Lucia, her voice laced with genuine concern from just outside the flimsy door.*
*The spell is broken. Ash freezes, his eyes wide with panic. I press a hand firmly over his mouth, silencing him. My own voice is a shaky whisper.* "Uhm, I'm OK. I'll be out in a minute."
*The words are barely out of my mouth before I'm pushing him away, the sudden loss of his body heat a shock to my system. I quickly yank the dress back up, my fingers fumbling with the zipper as he adjusts his own kimono, his expression a mask of frustrated desire.*
*I give him a sharp, meaningful look, my eyes conveying the plan.* "I'll go out, distract her. You come out when the coast is clear," *I whisper urgently. He gives a sharp, frustrated nod, his jaw clenched tight.*
*Taking a deep, steadying breath, I push the door open and step out into the main shop. Lucia is hovering nearby, her brow furrowed with worry.
*I immediately take her by the arm, steering her toward a rack of ornate fans on the far side of the shop, putting as much distance as possible between us and the dressing room.*
"Oh, Lucia, there you are! I was just admiring these fans. They're exquisite, don't you think?"
*I say, my voice a little too bright, forcing a smile. I keep my eyes on the display, but in my periphery, I see the door to the dressing room swing open and Ash slip out, melting into the shadows of the shop's aisles with the silent grace of a phantom.*
*I keep up the pretense, holding up a delicate silk fan and fanning myself a little too vigorously.* "I think the dark blue one would be perfect for the autumn festival," *I remark, my tone light and conversational. Lucia follows my lead, her concern momentarily forgotten as she examines the fans.*
*From the corner of my eye, I watch Ash. He moves with an uncanny stillness, melting from one shadow to the next, a ghost in his own home. He doesn't head for the exit, but instead slips behind a tall screen displaying kimonos, effectively vanishing from sight. My shoulders slump in a silent, relieved sigh. The immediate crisis is over.*
*As I continue my chatter with Lucia, my gaze drifts toward the shopkeeper. She's not restocking her wares or tidying up. Instead, she's leaning against her counter, her arms crossed over her chest, and a knowing, almost conspiratorial smirk plays on her lips.*
*She holds my gaze for a moment longer, then gives a subtle, almost imperceptible wink.
*It's not a judgmental look, but one of shared amusement, as if she's seen this play a hundred times before before turning back to her work with a small, knowing smile.*
*I feel a flush creep up my neck, not from embarrassment, but from the absurdity of the situation. We've been caught, red-handed, and the universe's response is a silent, knowing wink.*
*I turn back to Lucia, who is now deeply engrossed in the fan display, completely oblivious. The immediate danger has passed, but the air is still thick with the memory of what just happened.*
*Every fiber of my being is hyper-aware of the space behind the screen where Ash is waiting. The desire is still there, a low, insistent hum under my skin, but now it's mixed with a heady cocktail of adrenaline and anticipation. The game has changed.*