Lydia hesitated only a moment before turning to slide the bolt into place. The sharp click echoed louder than it should have in the narrow hall, sharp enough that she instinctively glanced back toward the corridor as if expecting someone to knock immediately.
Before she could face me again, I caught her by the waist, my fingers sinking into the softness of her hips, and hauled her toward the heavy wooden door of her small chamber.
She let out a small, stifled cry—the sound of a woman who wanted to be caught yet feared the consequences far more than the act itself.
I didn't waste time with words. I hiked her skirts up, my hands roaming over the thick, smooth curves of her thighs.
She was already damp. A sweet, musk-heavy scent rose from her skin, warm and unmistakable, betraying how long she had been holding herself together before this moment.
I leaned down and bit into the sensitive junction of her neck and shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to leave proof. My teeth lingered there, claiming.
The impact drew a startled breath from her lips, soft and uncertain.
Inside, the room was cramped. A single bed, a washbasin, and a thin partition wall that did nothing to dull the sounds of neighboring rooms. The space held the faint scent of soap and worn linen, lived-in and intimate.
Through the wall came muffled chatter—two maids laughing about trivial gossip, their voices careless, unaware.
"Aristarkh, please," Lydia whimpered, even as her hands instinctively found my shoulders for balance. Her back arched despite herself, pressing her rear firmly against my crotch.
"They'll hear. If they find out I'm… that the Young Master is…"
Her voice faltered. The words themselves seemed too dangerous to finish.
Her nervousness only fed the heat coiling in my chest.
I reached around, finding the laces of her bodice and tearing them loose. Fabric slackened instantly, her breasts spilling into my hands, heavy and warm.
I kneaded them slowly at first, then tighter, my thumbs brushing over her dark nipples until her breathing broke apart into uneven gasps. Her head fell back against the door, resistance dissolving faster than she realized.
"You pretend so well outside," I murmured near her ear. "Yet you're already shaking."
"No… please… they'll hear," she whispered, though she leaned into me all the same, seeking the pressure she claimed to fear.
"Then be quiet," I said softly, almost amused.
I lifted her skirts higher, exposing her thick, pale thighs to the cool air. The contrast made her shiver.
The possibility of being overheard settled heavily between us. Her breathing grew shallow, anticipation and dread tangling together until neither could be separated.
I turned her around and pressed her palms against the rough stone wall. The dull thud echoed faintly, and the laughter next door paused.
"Lydia? Is someone in there?" a voice called through the partition.
Her entire body stiffened.
She opened her mouth to answer, but I chose that moment to pull her panties down to her ankles and press my thumb firmly against her clitoris.
"Nnnngh!" The sound burst from her before she could stop it, twisted quickly into a cough.
"Answer them," I whispered against her neck, my breath warm against flushed skin. "Tell them everything's fine."
Her thoughts scattered. She could feel the wall beneath her palms, the open air against her exposed skin, the unmistakable risk pressing in from every direction. Someone might open the door. Someone might recognize his voice.
"I-I'm fine!" she managed, voice trembling as pleasure betrayed her. "Just… dropped a basin!"
A brief silence followed from the other side. Footsteps retreated.
Her shoulders sagged with relief.
I chuckled quietly and unfastened my trousers. My cock sprang free, heavy and aching, pulsing with restrained tension.
"Good," I murmured, sliding two fingers slowly into her slick heat. She gasped at the stretch, tightening instinctively around me. "But you're lying, Lydia."
I moved my fingers deeper, curling them deliberately, feeling the way her body reacted before her mind could catch up.
"You didn't drop anything," I continued, voice low. "You're standing here waiting."
Her breath hitched. She wanted to deny it. She couldn't.
The wet sounds filled the small room, obscene in the quiet space. Each movement chipped away at her composure. Soon her hips began to move on their own, grinding back against my hand, embarrassment dissolving beneath instinct.
"Please…" she whispered, barely audible. "Just… before someone comes…"
"Not yet."
I slowed instead, circling my thumb with measured rhythm. Her knees trembled.
She tried to hide her face in her arms, but I caught her hair gently and pulled her head back, exposing her throat.
"Scream if you have to," I murmured. "They'll only wonder."
The tension broke her.
The orgasm struck suddenly, violently. Her body seized, legs shaking as a cry tore free despite every effort to hold it back.
"Aristarkh! Oh—!"
Her voice echoed through the thin walls.
"Lydia? Are you hurt?" came the concerned call again, closer this time.
Humiliation crashed into pleasure, magnifying it. Her muscles clenched desperately around my fingers as the peak rolled through her again and again, leaving her breathless.
She sagged forward, trembling, barely able to stand.
I withdrew my fingers slowly, giving her just enough time to feel the loss before replacing it with something far greater.
I positioned myself behind her, pressing the head of my cock against her entrance.
For a moment, I didn't move.
The room felt smaller. Louder. Every distant sound sharpened—the creak of beds, faint footsteps in the corridor, her own uneven breathing.
Lydia realized what was coming and tensed, fear flickering through her again. She knew how large he was. Remembered the ache from before. Part of her wanted to pull away.
Another part pushed back against him instead.
"I…" she began, unsure what she meant to say.
I leaned closer, my forehead brushing her shoulder, giving her a heartbeat to steady herself.
Then I pushed forward.
Slowly at first.
Her breath shattered as her body stretched around me, resistance giving way inch by inch. Her fingers curled against the stone wall, nails scraping lightly as sensation overwhelmed thought.
When I finally seated myself fully inside her, she cried out, the sound raw and helpless.
The fullness pinned her against the wall, leaving no space between us.
I held still for a moment, letting her adjust, feeling the way her body trembled and tightened around me.
Then I began to move.
Not brutally, not yet. Deep, deliberate thrusts that forced soft sounds from her throat with every motion.
Soon the rhythm built, faster, heavier, until the slap of skin echoed through the small chamber, impossible to hide.
Each impact sent vibrations through the wall, through her body, through the fragile silence of the servant quarters as the sounds of them filled the room.