Lydia hesitated only a moment before sliding the bolt into place. The sharp click echoed louder than it should have in the narrow corridor, sharp enough that she instinctively glanced back as though expecting someone to knock immediately.
Before she could turn toward me again, I caught her by the waist. My fingers sank into the soft curve of her hips as I hauled her against the heavy wooden door of her small chamber.
A small, stifled cry slipped from her lips. It was the sound of someone who wanted this far more than she was willing to admit.
I did not waste time with words. My hands pushed her skirts up, roaming over the smooth thickness of her thighs.
She was already damp.
A warm, sweet musk rose from her skin, unmistakable, betraying how long she had been holding herself together before this moment.
I leaned down and bit into the tender junction between her neck and shoulder. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to mark.
Her breath caught sharply.
Inside, the room was cramped. A narrow bed, a washbasin, and a thin partition wall that did little to hide the sounds of neighboring chambers. The air smelled faintly of soap and worn linen.
Through the wall came muffled chatter. Two maids were laughing about trivial gossip, their voices careless and unaware.
"Aristarkh, please," Lydia whimpered, though her hands instinctively found my shoulders for balance. Her back arched despite herself, pressing the full softness of her rear against my crotch.
"They'll hear. If they find out I'm… that the Young Master is…"
Her voice faltered. The words were too dangerous to finish.
Her nervousness only fed the heat tightening in my chest.
I reached around her, finding the laces of her bodice and tearing them loose. The fabric slackened instantly and her breasts spilled into my hands. They were heavy, warm, and already sensitive beneath my touch.
I kneaded them slowly at first, then tighter. My thumbs brushed over her dark nipples until her breathing fractured into uneven gasps. Her head tipped back against the door as the last of her resistance melted away.
"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 back into me all the same.
"Then be quiet."
I lifted her skirts higher, exposing her thick pale thighs to the cool air. The sudden chill made her shiver.
The risk of being overheard pressed heavily around us. Her breathing grew shallow, anticipation and dread tangling until neither could be separated.
I turned her around and pressed her palms flat 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.
That was when I pulled her panties down to her ankles and pressed my thumb firmly against her clitoris.
"Nnnngh!" The sound burst out before she could stop it, twisting quickly into a cough.
"Answer them," I whispered against her neck. My breath was warm against her flushed skin. "Tell them everything's fine."
Her thoughts scattered. She could feel the cold wall beneath her palms, the open air against her exposed skin, and the unmistakable danger pressing in from every side.
"I-I'm fine!" she managed, her voice trembling. "Just… dropped a basin!"
A brief pause followed.
Then the footsteps retreated.
Her shoulders sagged with relief.
I chuckled softly as I unfastened my trousers. My cock sprang free, heavy and aching, throbbing with restrained tension.
"Good," I murmured, sliding two fingers slowly into her slick heat.
She gasped at the stretch, tightening instinctively around them.
"But you're lying, Lydia."
I pushed deeper and curled my fingers deliberately, feeling the way her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up.
"You didn't drop anything," I continued quietly. "You're standing here waiting."
Her breath caught.
She wanted to deny it.
She could not.
The wet sounds filled the cramped room, obscene in the silence. Each slow thrust chipped away at the last pieces of her composure until her hips began moving on their own, grinding helplessly back against my hand.
"Please…" she whispered faintly. "Just… before someone comes…"
"Not yet."
Instead, I slowed and circled my thumb with deliberate 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 need to," I murmured softly. "They'll only wonder."
The tension snapped.
Her orgasm struck all at once, violent and uncontrollable. Her body seized as a cry tore free from her throat despite every attempt to suppress it.
"Aristarkh! Oh!"
Her voice carried straight through the thin walls.
"Lydia? Are you hurt?" the concerned voice called again, closer this time.
Humiliation crashed into pleasure and magnified it. Her muscles clenched desperately around my fingers as the peak rolled through her again and again until she sagged forward, trembling and barely able to stand.
I withdrew my fingers slowly, letting her feel the sudden emptiness before replacing it with something far larger.
I stepped behind her and pressed the head of my cock against her entrance.
For a moment, I did not move.
The room felt smaller. Louder. Every distant sound sharpened. The creak of beds, faint footsteps in the corridor, her uneven breathing.
Lydia realized what was coming and tensed.
She remembered the ache from before.
Part of her wanted to pull away.
Another part pressed back against me instead.
"I…" she began weakly, unsure what she meant to say.
I leaned closer, my forehead brushing her shoulder, giving her a moment to steady herself.
Then I pushed forward.
Slowly.
Her breath shattered as her body stretched around me, resistance giving way inch by inch. Her fingers curled against the stone wall and her nails scraped lightly as sensation overwhelmed thought.
When I finally buried myself fully inside her, she cried out. The sound was raw and helpless.
The fullness pinned her against the wall.
I held still for a moment, feeling the way her body trembled and tightened around me.
Then I began to move.
Slow at first. Deep, deliberate thrusts that forced soft, helpless sounds from her throat with every motion.
Soon the rhythm built. Faster and heavier until the sharp slap of skin echoed through the small chamber, impossible to hide.
Each impact sent vibrations through the wall, through her body, and through the fragile quiet of the servant quarters as the sounds of us filled the room.