#nerisweek2022

An ancient and wise voice whispered to keep going. One more mountain. Just one more. Nesta had proved to be stubborn. He wouldn’t have forced this hike on her if she could just face what she ran from, but she was too damn stubborn. Cassian’s instincts had been roaring at him to put a stop to it. He hated to see her hurting. But he knew what she needed. One more mountain.

In the days that they’d spent hiking through the foothills of the mountains that straddled Illyria and Velaris, Rhysand’s fury might have dulled slightly but he wasn’t about to risk Nesta with a high lord who had a pregnant mate. When Cassian returned Nesta to Velaris, she would no longer be in the firing line. Feyre might have forgiven her, but Nesta had gone against an order for no reason except to be malicious. It would take a long time for Rhys – or the others – to forgive Nesta. But she had to forgive herself first. The silence that had trailed them was evidence she was not yet willing to do so.  

She had fainted that day. All bones and hatred towards herself. She’d collapsed in a heap near a boulder, sheltered from the wind. Cassian had fought his desire to wrap her up and tuck her safely into the tent. Nesta needed to draw herself out of this, not him.

As dawn filtered in, Cassian crawled from the tent, ready to light a small fire and cook.

His heart ruptured.

Nesta was gone.

The plate of dinner he had left for her was still there untouched. A quick search confirmed that she had not taken a single item, not even the canteen of water.

Blood roared in Cassian’s ears. There were no signs of a struggle. This area was relatively safe. He would not have slept through something. Unless that something was Nesta herself. He had seen that vacant look in her eyes too many times now, had thought that this hike might coax that spark in her heart back to life. Her scent was faint, but it faded uphill – away from the river at least. He couldn’t think straight.  

‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ He broke a toe kicking one of the bags across the camp.

The more time he wasted here, the worse it could be for Nesta. Cassian swept the area, hoping to find a glimpse of her. If she had ran from him, she couldn’t have gone far despite her iron will. Fuck. She had fainted yesterday. Cassian had been fixated on the route, mulling over his own beginning in life, that he had not spared a single look behind until he had heard the clacking of stones as she fell.

There was no trace of Nesta. Not on the craggy face of the mountain, not in the shallow streams that they’d collected water from. He tracked back and forth, sweeping the area over and over.

With every beat of his wings back towards Velaris, bile rose in his throat. What had he done?

‘Is she here?’ His voice was raw from screaming her name over the mountains.

‘What?’

The group had been tucked together in Rhys’ study. Mor’s head had whipped up first at the sight of him. He knew he looked bedraggled, knew that his siphons were flaring dangerously. His heart was being torn from his chest.

‘Nesta.’

Amren’s face tightened at the mention of the female she had tried to befriend. Cassian didn’t miss the grit of Rhys’ jaw either.

‘I woke. She was gone. If she’s hurt…’

Rhys flickered his eyes using his daemati powers to hunt her.

His entire body was tense while Rhys worked. A silent prayer was said to the Mother that Rhys would have good news. Each second was a drawn-out ache. Mor’s hand linked with his, squeezing once in solidarity. Azriel saw it and turned his face from them.

‘I can’t find her.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It could mean a lot of things,’ Rhys said delicately. ‘That she has mental shields up, she’s too far from range, someone is shielding her.’

‘Or she’s dead,’ supplied Amren.

Cassian snapped. His body barrelled towards the creature that had once been the most terrifying being in Prythian. If he got his hands on her, Cassian would strangle her.

Rhys covered her with his body while Azriel and Mor fought to hold Cassian back from ripping her apart.

‘Stop,’ Rhys called, power seeping through the room, wrapping Cassian in a night-chilled mist. It tangled around his limbs, constricting them to his body. ‘Az, assemble a team of Illyrians to sweep the mountains. Have every cave checked – rivers too. Mor, check any arrivals into the city. Trade wagons, anything, in case Nesta has stowed onto one. Someone might have seen her and given her a ride in. I’ll go to Windhaven. It’s the closest camp. We don’t tell Feyre until we know Nesta is safe.’

‘Isn’t that how we’re in this situation?’

The glare that Rhys turned onto Azriel was lethal. Az turned his head away first, but not after holding the stare for a few heartbeats.

‘Cass, stay here with Amren.’

‘Stay here? I’m finding her.’

***

The warrior carved from stone snapped at her. ‘You should have been drinking water throughout the day.’

There had been no time to stop. No energy to call for it. If she had stopped, she would not have started again. Nesta had been marching for days. Stomach empty. Head ringing with insecurity. She had barely slept each night on the cold ground, stones digging into her thin body.

‘We’ll camp here tonight,’ Cassian barked, voice lacking any warmth.

He coaxed her another twenty foot up a riverbed to a flat expanse of ground, but it felt like climbing another mountain. Nesta was so tired. A tiredness that gnawed at her bones and drove away any motivation she had.

She couldn’t remember falling asleep. Couldn’t remember Cassian cooking or the crackle of the fire that she detested so much.

It was dark. A plate of food had been left near her. Something cold and wet snuffled at the back of her neck.

Her body stilled. Nesta wasn’t sure what creatures lingered in these mountain passes. They were camped close to a river and memories of the kelpie rose to the surface. If it killed her, she wouldn’t care this time. She was past saving.

Nesta shifted on her hip, raising her head slightly.

A dog sat beside her. Its tail thumped once on the ground as if it couldn’t help itself before reigning in its training. It pushed his nose towards her. That was what had buried against her neck while she slept. From the corner of her eye, Nesta caught a glimpse of fire sweeping through the air in an arc.

A male stood atop a stone, another dog at his heel. Eris Vanserra. He pressed a finger to his lips then pointed at Cassian who slumbered peacefully in his tent beside a dying fire.

Eris gestured for her to come forwards.

Nesta knew to tread lightly – as silently as she could manage on shaking legs. The dog followed behind as if escorting her to his master. Once she was close enough, the muffled feeling of a shield came around them, cutting off the wind.

Eris’ fingers flexed as he moved a hand almost to hold onto her arm then thought better of it. His amber eyes weighed every inch of Nesta; the too thin face, the shadows beneath her eyes, the dry, cracked lips. Her body was coated with a layer of grime that splashes of river water couldn’t scrub off, the leathers she’d been forced to wear had been on her body for days through hours and hours of sweaty hiking. Eris swallowed.

‘The belongings at your camp. Do you need any of them?’

His voice was tight. It wasn’t the cold, deep ripple that she’d encountered in Spring Court. This was full of leashed fire that begged to seek purchase.

‘I- No. I just carry it.’

The joyless depths of his eyes flared with golden flame.

‘Nesta, I want to take you to a safe place where you will not be hurt. Can I do that?’

Nesta turned to face the camp Cassian had made. She thought of the fear that had rocked her entire body the moment the words had spilled out to Feyre. She would die. Her son would die. Rhys had made them keep it from her. Rhys would have killed Nesta. She likely would always be a target. Whatever tense link they had shared was now irreparably broken. The carefully built trust that had developed with Cassian had been shattered. Nesta knew this male would not protect her from Rhysand; she would always be second place to him. That was evidenced by days spent hiking until her body failed with fatigue.

‘Yes.’

The world fell away. Nesta tipped forwards until her head curled against Eris’ neck. His arm came around her as they winnowed from the Night Court.

There was vague awareness of Eris removing his cloak and draping it over her as he lifted her into his arms. A sturdy hand curved around the back of her legs, but the one around her shoulders, stroked her gently. It was the first gentle touch Nesta had felt in days.

He gave a low whistle and one of his dogs streaked past them. They waited. Nesta glanced up, cataloguing the tall canopy of oaks above their heads. If she cared, she might have asked where Eris Vanserra was taking her.

‘Stay quiet a moment,’ he murmured against her hair.

Then boots traipsed through the forest, careening after the dog who was far too quick to be caught. Eris seized his chance and made for the gates to a manor that was now without sentries guarding it. He managed a gentle jog with Nesta still near him as he moved to the back of the house. He rapped his knuckles hard on the door.

A female answered. Her dark, curling hair fell untidily past her shoulders. She’d drawn a cloak around herself too, but Nesta peeked the hem of her nightgown.

‘Eris, do you know what time it is? Who is that?’

‘Shh,’ he replied, pushing past her into the kitchen. ‘This is Nesta. I’ll be back in the morning. Keep her safe tonight.’

‘Is she in danger? What trouble are you getting me into now?’

Eris carefully lowered Nesta so she was standing without his support. ‘Sorry,’ he said, removing the cloak and pulling it back around himself. ‘She is not the danger. Orla, please. Just look after her. I will be here in the morning.’

Unusual for him to appear rattled. Nesta had only ever seen the heir to the Autumn throne calculating and calm. He gave Nesta a searching look then, ‘You’re safe here, Nesta.’

***

The trick in not being caught was to never deviate from routine. Never give anyone a reason to be suspicious. It was a mantra that Eris lived by. Take a stroll late in the evening, not returning until it’s dark once, and it rouses attention. Take that walk most nights, follow the same route, same times, become a creature of habit and none bat an eyelid. Ensure people overhear your conversations with guards that the youngest smokehounds needed training in the dark, insist to your mother that they needed to be able to track in the deepest parts of the forest, be resolute that only you can train them. Give them no reason to doubt your motives.

Eris followed his usual pattern, heading for the woods, making a show of calling the dogs to him. He had taken all twelve tonight. His father’s guards had to see him leave the Forest House. He walked on, always mindful of the eyes that might be on him.

The first few times, his father’s soldiers had followed him for the entire duration. They kept out of sight, so Eris made the walk as long and boring as possible. Then he repeated it, night after night, until Beron must have been irritated by the reports of the sentries that stated Eris merely walked and trained his dogs for hours. The soldiers dwindled in number, they followed him less, some remained at the odd outpost to confirm to Beron that his son was – yet again – training his damn dogs, until it was not worth Beron’s efforts to monitor him too closely. With three other sons in the Forest House, his attention was better spent on them. At least, that’s what Eris had convinced him. He was the organised, regimented child. He’d always been a stickler for routine so played into it. A word in the right servant’s ear about who Uther was spending time with or a bribed guard commenting that Phelan had been spotted speaking to a lesser fae female in a nearby village kept Beron’s eyes firmly away from Eris.

The sun scattered the forest in golden warmth as it drooped in the sky. One of his hounds had made for a cave. He called for it with no return. More evidence to any hidden sentries that the young pup needed firmer training.

‘Three hours?’

The trick to not being caught was to always be where you were supposed to be. The male waiting in the cave, Ashur, examined Eris’ clothes, ensuring his matched. They looked similar enough from a distance. Both the same height. Ashur was perhaps slightly more rakish in build, but it was hidden well-enough by the clothing for it not to be detected. They had long played this game. Ashur was his double whenever Eris needed a moment away – but also needed an alibi. Beron would never admit to having his son tailed by sentries, so they never came close enough to notice that it was not Eris walking through the woods. Eris had quirks, minimal enough that they did not cause issue or raised much attention. He liked to have the tailor make two of each garment. He was so fussy with his clothes, he said, and the same elderly fae had served long enough to not question Eris. A set always went to Ashur with strict instructions on when to wear them.

‘They’ll be on the northern crest, prior to the bridge. Just two sentries. Have Artyom thrash about in the shallows to give you pause. Tomorrow, their post is at the glen with the overhanging boulder.’

Ashur nodded, drawing his cloak up around his chin and melding into his role of heir to the Autumn Court throne as he departed the cave, dogs trailing him. Ten smokehounds moved far too quickly; sentries would count twelve of them. They were seamless in their transitions now. In the dim light, none would know the difference, not even Eris’ own father. Ashur would replace Eris for a number of hours, roaming through the forest, pausing at the places where they knew sentries would linger to confirm to Beron he remained in the woods. It gave him time and space to further his agendas.

The Night Court was his current agenda. An alliance was building between them, but Eris did not for one moment trust them. He could count on one hand the people he could trust; his mother, Orla, and Ashur.

The Night Court was tight-lipped on the subject of Ramiel. No books or scripture could give Eris any hint of what might lurk beneath the mountain. The monolith on top was sacred to Illyrians for some long-held, long-forgotten reason. There was a reason why Amarantha had built her court so close to it. There were always reasons, always patterns. That was the order of things.  

Eris had been exploring the land around Ramiel, journeying further south each night to an area that was unmarked on any map. He had even managed to obtain an Illyrian map, but the area that he approached was unmapped entirely. Something was there, heavily warded. The Night Court would not leave such an expanse that wasn’t craggy untouched. It could have been a secret camp for the Illyrians, but Eris doubted that.

On the rare occasion that Eris arrived slightly too early for their meetings at the Hewn City - by accident, of course - Keir or a sentry would let slip they were waiting for the high lord’s arrival. He didn’t reside in the Court of Nightmares, Eris had surmised as much, nor in Illyria. Mor wouldn’t stay in her father’s city either. Eris had not pushed it; that was another secret. Never seem too interested in something because that raised suspicion too.

He’d be punctual for a handful of meetings then arrive early to another to test his theory. None of them were ever there. No shadow singer or high lady. They all arrived together.

Currently, he was more curious about the seemingly empty area of the Night Court with such heavy wards than Ramiel, Eris could taste the magic on his tongue. It hurt his eyes to stare at the blank space for too long. They'd blur and sting.

A night earlier, he had been in the shadows of a cliff, when he had spotted an Illyrian. The hulking form of Cassian could not be missed. His gait was heavy but not labouring as he wended along the curve of the river. Behind him was Nesta Archeron. The brute had shown his cards in the Spring Court when he placed a hand on the small of her back. A pity for her to be aligned with that male. A waste, even. For putting Beron in his place in front of the other high lord’s and not backing down, Nesta Archeron would always hold a special place in Eris’ heart. He hadn’t been able to forget the sheer shock on his father’s face that a female had dared use such a tone on him – and with an audience.

Eris had kept his eyes on them. Cassian stormed ahead, not noticing each time Nesta fell behind and had to scurry her legs to catch up. He caught the slump of her back from the weight of the bag she bore. She looked exhausted. Eris barely knew her, but he hadn’t considered her the type to want a hike in the Illyrian countryside.

That night, he had followed them until the very last minute before he had to return to Autumn. His stomach had roiled at the way Nesta had fallen onto her knees and used the last of her strength to peel the bag from her body. It had taken all of his willpower not to snatch her away there and then after observing Cassian ignore her. The Illyrian had cooked, thrust a plate of food at her unmoving form then crawled into the comfort of his tent.

The entire day, his thoughts had been entwined with Nesta Archeron. He ran through every meeting he had with that female who was forged from iron. Plucked every memory, every story he knew of her. She wasn’t weak-willed, wasn’t cowardly by any means. The female that had trailed Cassian had been utterly broken. Eris had tried to reason it; maybe she was sick, maybe she had wanted to hike. All of it was ashes on his tongue. Sunset could not come quick enough to him. He had prayed to the Mother to bring the sun down earlier to give him that cover to escape the Forest House. He had said another prayer that he would not see Nesta again. That she’d have been returned to somewhere safe. Even as he thought of those words, Eris knew it to be false. He had seen that same look on Nesta’s face as he saw on his mother’s every day. Tread on her enough times and she will eventually stop fighting you. Break her so thoroughly that she believes she deserves it.

With two dogs accompanying him, he kept his vigil on the pair, biding his time until the oaf went to sleep. Eris would have to be fast. Swifter than he’d ever been. He couldn’t get too close or he’d be scented. That was if Nesta said yes. Hearing her say yes mattered to Eris. But he hoped it wasn’t too late. Nesta deserved more than whatever life she had here in the Night Court – and he hoped they hadn’t robbed her of that awareness.

When Nesta had fainted, a white-hot fury seized his limbs. He’d nearly shouted that she was falling, desperate for the brute to save her before she was hurt. He’d screwed his eyes shut before she’d hit the ground, unable to see it. There had been worry, yes, from Cassian, but not enough. He still forced her to walk, still made her carry the pack until they camped for the night.

Artur was sent, once the fire dimmed. The dog did a loop of the camp then another, closer to the tent. He made enough noise that if the Illyrian was awake, he’d have heard. If he was awake, surely he’d have checked on Nesta’s wellbeing with an animal near his tent. Nothing.

In a terse silence, Eris watched Artur nudge Nesta. The dog was gentle, mostly. The safest option not to cause her alarm. He nuzzled against her neck until there was movement.

Do not scream, Eris thought, nails digging into the flesh of his palm.

He sliced a ribbon of fire through the air to catch her attention. Almost held his breath as she approached. Her steps were wobbly – and not due to the rough landscape.

‘The belongings at your camp. Do you need any of them?’

There was a bruise above her eyebrow where she’d hit the ground. The grey pockets beneath her eyes were haunting. He had never seen this female dishevelled. Nesta was always perfectly preened like a high-born female. This was degradation. Grinding her down until she was what the Night Court wanted her to be.

‘I- No. I just carry it.’

He would kill them. All of them. He could not look into those eyes without seeing his mother staring back at him. If he could help Nesta, could take her away from her pain then there was hope for his mother.

‘Nesta, I want to take you to a safe place where you will not be hurt. Can I do that?’

Eris knew she had no reason to trust him. The reputation he had coveted had been built over five hundred years. It was an empire of cruelty. His only hope was that he was the better option than the male asleep yards from them.

‘Yes.’

Swift as a fox, he’d distracted the guards at Orla’s, deposited Nesta as if she was no more than a delivery of goods, and was back in the forest swapping places with Ashur. He had needed to sprint to make it in time. Ashur had given him a warning glare as they traded places; Eris stepping out from behind the boulder where he’d been waiting. Ashur would remain there until the forest fell silent once more.

‘Almost midnight,’ he said to one of the sentries on the main gates, glancing up at the moon. Even if it was past that time, a lowly sentry would still recall the heir of Beron strolling through unhurried prior to midnight. He didn’t need to be a daemati to implant memories.

The memory of Nesta’s face would trail him that night. Not the injuries, not the physical appearance, but the lack of terror, the lack of anything. He remembered that look in his mother when Lucien had been exiled. Remembered it when word came that same night that one of her sons and the high lord of Spring had murdered two of her children. She had wanted to give up so badly then. And Eris had been terrified to ever give her a moment alone in case she seized her chance. Like a phantom, he had stalked his mother for months until he was sure – certain – that she wanted to see another sunrise.

“Sir? Mr. Vanserra, are you still there?” The voice on the line eventually snared Eris’ attention, dragging him away from the woman just outside his office.

“Forward any relevant information to my secretary,” Eris drawled, before dropping the phone back into its cradle. Then he settled in to wait, eyes focused on the frosted glass doors.

Not even five minutes later, a knock sounded. Wiping the smugness from his expression, Eris settled behind his desktop. “Enter.” He pulled up the notes from the latest board meeting, though he had no intention of reading them.

The door swung open so fast, he half expected it to shatter on impact with the wall. Nesta Archeron strutted into his office like a gale-force wind, heels clicking on the polished wood as she swept inside. The door swung shut behind her, just in time for the scathing remark she fired his way, “You had Weston forward me the lunch menu?”

Eris lifted a brow, focusing his attention on her. Blue-gray eyes flashed silver in a showstopping face, full lips pursed in irritation. Her glare alone had Eris hardening in his pants, but the slim fitted skirt did wonders for her flared hips. The real treat was the heaving breasts straining at her blouse. Eris had far too many fantasies about those breasts, not that he let her know it.

His disdainful expression must have worked, because Nesta straightened, chin lifting into the air as she mastered her expression. Wrath softened into begrudging obedience as she added the required address. “Sir.”

Eris fought back a smirk, tapping on his keyboard casually. “He was nattering on about the upcoming fundraiser, and you know how I feel about insignificant details.”

“I hardly think a million-dollar fundraiser is insignificant.”

“Two million, but besides the point. I can’t be bothered with deciding on meal options. You’re my secretary, isn’t that your job? Handling messes I don’t care for?”

He watched her jaw clench, biting back some retort or another. Likely, Nesta thought he would fire her for the offense. It was fortunate that she couldn’t see the length straining at his fly. “Yes, sir,” she finally said.

“So there isn’t a problem, is there?” Eris waited with bated breath, wondering if Nesta would snap at last.

“No, sir.”

He fought a frown. Perhaps he hadn’t pushed her hard enough. Yet. “Is there a reason you’re still in my office, Miss Archeron?”

Nesta straightened impossibly further, turning on one heel with the precision of a ballerina. Which—considering his rigorous background checks of all new employees—he knew she once was. The fact only fueled his fantasies, wondering what flexibility she might retain from her earlier years in dance.

“Close the door behind you,” Eris called after her, tearing his gaze away from her perfectly rounded ass. He did have some work to get done, and his secretary served as wonderful motivation.

“Sir,” Nesta ground out, slamming the door behind her with enough force to make Eris smile.

* * * * *

Nesta forced herself to click on the next email gently. She’d already broken two keyboards and three computer mice in her first year working for the Autumn Corporation. She was lucky that Eris didn’t know, though considering the smug expression on his face every day, she wouldn’t be surprised if he did and was waiting for the right moment to remind her.

Her face twitched as she read the contents of the message. All day, she’d been getting bullshit messages from everyone in the building, from the financial management office to the janitor. No doubt Eris’ doing. He must have decided her snappy comments warranted this…punishment. Fielding calls about the upcoming weekend event, the office supply levels, the building’s cleaning procedure, and so much more. If she got another stupid email, Nesta swore she’d finally print out her resignation letter and nail it to his desk. Or perhaps staple it directly to Eris’ chest.

Ding.

Nesta practically vibrated as she clicked the notification, bringing up an email chain from HR regarding staffing issues that had devolved into slander and gossip long before reaching her inbox. Nesta nearly toppled her chair in her haste to reach the printer, heels boring into the carpet as she waited for her letter to print. Fucking finally. She’d be done with this. Done with him. She didn’t care about a backup plan, she couldn’t stay in this office for another minute.

She didn’t even bother to knock when she barged into Eris’ office. His expression was calm, even as she stormed up to the desk, pinning her letter to its surface. “I quit,” she hissed.

His eyes flashed like amber flames. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.

“No thank you,” Nesta sneered, turning on one heel.

“I insist.”

Nesta stopped, one hand on the door, and looked back at him with no small amount of disbelief. “And I don’t care,” she said. “Everything you need to know is in my resignation letter, which you can either read at your leisure or have a new secretary read to you, whenever you manage to hire someone.”

Eris pushed back from his desk, rising to his considerable height. Those long legs ate up the distance between them before Nesta could do much more than open the door. His hand wrapped around the handle, mere millimeters above her own. “Nesta,” he said lowly, dipping his head to look her in the eye. “I insist.”

She blinked. She couldn’t help it. All the Vanserras were terribly attractive, to Nesta’s dismay. And even though Eris was her boss, and a horrible person to boot, she wasn’t blind. His tailored suits fit him like a glove, the faint whiff of elegant cologne only adding to his expensive allure. But even if he’d been wearing garbage bags, Eris would be gorgeous. His face could make angels weep. High cheekbones, smoldering eyes, and luscious lips, all framed by fiery hair that belonged in a shampoo advertisement. And if Nesta managed to tear her gaze away, she’d only be ensnared by his broad shoulders and firm ass. She’d daydreamed of touching him too many times to count.

While Nesta fought to regain her breath, Eris pulled the door from her lax fingers, letting it fall closed again. “Come,” he murmured, extending an arm to direct her back to the desk. He didn’t touch her, but she swore she could feel the heat of his hand hovering above her lower back. She sucked in air, all but jumping away from him in her haste to sit.

Eris settled into the chair beside hers, rather than going back behind the desk. “Are you unhappy here, Nesta?”

She nearly jumped, still surprised to hear her first name. For the entire year she’d been working, Eris had never referred to her as Nesta. “Yes,” she bit out, wanting the whole ordeal to be over so she could leave. She didn’t want to lust over her boss any longer than necessary, yet here they were, alone in his office after most of the building had left for the night.

“Can you give me any feedback as to what made your experience a negative one?”

Her nostrils flared, rage overtaking her nerves. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I can,” Nesta said. “Your vengeful assignments, harsh criticisms, careless requests for overtime, and so much more. You are, without a doubt, the least hospitable boss I have ever worked for.”

Eris’ mouth twitched up. Was he smiling? “I sincerely apologize for my behavior,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Perhaps I should have set better ground rules at the start of your employment. Do you believe incentives would have improved your experience working here?”

Nesta scoffed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe this. Incentives? Like what, a pat on the head? You’ve never even managed a compliment in the entire time I’ve been here.”

“So praise would have been helpful, then?” Eris hummed, tapping his fingers on the desk. “Very good, Nesta. Thank you for the feedback.”

Despite her fury, the words settled in her gut. Very good. When was the last time she’d heard anything like that? And for it to be happening in Eris’ office, during a resignation discussion? Nesta gritted her teeth. “This isn’t funny,” she snapped.

“I’m not joking,” Eris said, brows raised. “I take feedback very seriously. Would any other incentives have helped you?”

Nesta stared at him, utterly lost for words. Was this some kind of dream? A polite Eris Vanserra asking for constructive criticism?

“Perhaps some extra attention from me would have enhanced your time at the company,” Eris said, tilting his head. “Do you agree? Would it have helped to have one-on-one time to go over your assignments?” His amber stare pinned her in place, burning with an intensity she usually associated with annoyance. But Eris seemed anything but annoyed.

She looked away, unable to hold his stare. “I doubt it.”

“Would punishments have been better?”

Nesta sucked in a breath, eyes flying back to him. “Excuse me?” Her voice was an octave higher than usual.

“I think you would have liked that, Nesta,” Eris said with a smirk. “A little praise, a little punishment. Nothing as vanilla as we’ve done thus far, hmm?”

All of the little innuendos started to add up, and Nesta watched, shocked, as Eris blatantly examined her from head to toe. His gaze lingered on her chest, her hips, her mouth. Nesta scrambled up and out of her chair, legs a bit wobbly. She ignored the pleasant tingle racing over her skin, forcing her expression to turn icy. “I’m leaving,” she stated.

“I’m leaving, sir,” Eris corrected. The harsh tone made her freeze halfway across the office. Nesta loathed the warmth blooming in her belly. “I don’t believe I gave you permission to leave.”

“I don’t need permission,” she gritted out, making her feet move once more. “I quit, remember?”

“Very well, I’ll accept your letter of resignation. But you have to look me in the eyes and tell me the truth,” Eris drawled.

Her fingers brushed the door handle, but that damned heat made her hesitate. What was wrong with her? Nesta couldn’t stand the man, but still she found herself turning to face him. One last retort and she’d be gone, she promised. “What truth?”

Eris lounged in the chair, legs spread wide. His smirk grew when he saw her hesitation. “Tell me you don’t want my cock,” he said.

Nesta’s lungs froze, her lips parting in shock. And Eris began to laugh, as though he could sense the wetness between her thighs, the thoughts that had been circling her brain for months.

“Go on. Tell me.”

She tried. Damn her but she tried. “I don’t want you.”

“You can do better than that, love.”

Nesta bared her teeth. “I don’t want you,” she snarled.

“Better, but I still hear the lie.”

Growling softly, Nesta stalked over to him, stabbing a finger into his chest. “I. Don’t. Want. You,” she ground out, punctuating each word with her nail.

Eris’ smirk only grew. He licked his lips, leaning forward. “Oh, but you do,” he whispered, running a finger up her forearm.

Nesta glared down at him, but her breathing stuttered again when she noticed the bulge in his trousers. “I don’t,” she said, but even to her ears, the words were weak.

“Prove it.” His finger disappeared, and Eris sprawled back in the seat. “Let’s see that pretty pussy. It better be bone dry.”

Her lip curled, seeking a worthy retort but finding none. She could either walk out, saving her dignity but losing the battle. Losing the war, really, since that’s what the last year had been. Or she could do what he said, be proven wrong, and likely receive the dicking down of a lifetime.

The sound of her zipper was almost too loud in the quiet office. Eris’ smirk faded into a look of predatory interest, his gaze unblinking as Nesta dropped her skirt to the floor. She rolled down her hose, drawing it out until Eris was shifting in his seat. Then Nesta was the one smirking, sliding her panties down and stepping out of them. She sat primly on the chair opposite Eris, victory heating her veins. She luxuriated in his stare, spreading her legs wide enough that she knew he could see every inch of her—dripping wet.

Eris actually growled, and Nesta widened even further, fingers playing with the hem of her button-down. “Am I a good liar?”

“Sir,” he corrected, eyes flashing.

She grinned. “Am I a good liar, sir?”

Eris loosed a long breath, running a hand through his hair, mussing the perfect strands. “I’m not sure. Are you a good liar, deserving a reward? Or are you a bad girl for lying to me?”

Nesta hesitated only a moment. But she had nothing left to lose. “I think I’ve been very, very good for a long time. I think I deserve a lot of rewards.”

* * * * *

Eris was kicking himself. Why the fuck had he waited so long? He should have thrown her on his desk ages ago. Nesta’s gleaming cunt practically sang his name, and he fought the animalistic urge to take her without preamble. But he refused to rush, refused to hurry the moment he’d been waiting for.

And as Nesta had pointed out, he did owe her a reward.

So he ignored his painfully stiff length in favor of kneeling on the floor before her. Eris ghosted his fingers up her leg, trailing along her calf. “What kind of reward does my good girl want?”

Nesta was so still, he wondered if she was still breathing. “What will you give me?”

“What you deserve,” he murmured, brushing his lips against the side of her knee. She twitched, sensitive. “I suppose you could come on my fingers,” Eris mused, sliding his hand up to her inner thigh. He watched her muscles tense at the touch, anticipating his next move.

“Yes,” Nesta said, though it sounded like a demand from her haughty lips.

“Yes, what?” To emphasize the point, Eris removed his hand from her, pulling away entirely.

Nesta huffed, rolling her eyes. “Yes, sir,” she said, mocking him. “Please make me come on your fingers, sir.”

She wouldn’t be laughing for long, Eris thought darkly. He skipped right over her thigh, plunging one finger into her without warning or preparation. Her slick channel parted around him easily, though Nesta gasped in surprise. He hummed, curling his finger up into her heat, his cock hardening further at the phantom touch of that glorious pussy. He could almost feel her around him, massaging his length. But not yet.

“Good girls ask nicely,” he growled, biting her thigh lightly. She jolted, tightening around his finger in response. Interesting. He pulled out of her, watching her hips lift a bit to chase his hand.

Nesta swallowed, looking down at him with hooded eyes. “Please,” she repeated, no hint of teasing in her tone. She bit down on her lip, watching as he pressed small kisses up her leg. He ran a teasing finger up her slit, but he avoided her nub. “Eris,” she snapped.

He traced wide circles around her clit, ignoring her mounting frustration. “Nicely,” he reminded her.

Eris nearly chuckled watching Nesta reign in her temper. “Please make me come, sir,” she said again, silver eyes piercing through him. “I’ll be a good girl.”

He smirked. “I bet you will,” he said, passing his thumb over her nub so gently, her hips arched off the chair, demanding more. Eris obliged, leaning in to press a kiss to her apex. Nesta moaned in response, making him grin against her. He gave her a long lick, stopping to taste her honeyed hole. His tongue dipped in briefly, enough to make Nesta arch off the chair, and then he sat back on his heels. “Take off your shirt,” he ordered.

Already needy, Nesta complied immediately, practically ripping the buttons in her haste. She was breathing hard, those bountiful breasts spilling over the cups of her lacy bra, heaving under his stare. Eris rewarded her with both tongue and fingers, delighting in the sounds spilling from her lips. Every twitch and shudder helped him learn, improve his technique. If he crooked his fingers inside her just so, he could make her scream. When he pulled her clit into the heat of his mouth, she writhed, practically sobbing at the attention. And when the stimulation became too much, pushing over the edge, Eris memorized the details of her pleasure. The expression as she came, the violent twitching of her thighs, the rhythmic spasms around his fingers.

But where those aftershocks began to slow, Eris sped up, working her harder, faster. He didn’t want to reward her, Eris wanted to ruin her.

She surfaced from her third orgasm with a choked gasp, legs clamped tight around his head. “Stop,” she said, voice hoarse. Eris heard the tears even before he looked up at her, still lapping at her sensitive folds. “Please, sir,” Nesta begged, her knuckles white where she gripped the chair.

Eris released her with a final kiss to her clit, and Nesta trembled in his grasp. Chuckling, he let her go at last, ignoring the pins and needles in his legs as he stood up. He was far more concerned with the aching length trapped in his slacks. “Good girl,” he praised, running a hand over himself for some small bit of relief. He was already leaking in his pants, anticipating what was to come. Nesta wasn’t leaving his office until he was satisfied, and he had plenty of fantasies to work through before they were done for the night.

Number one on his list was bending her over his desk, a punishment he’d longed for each and every time she’d come storming into his office. Soon he wouldn’t have to wonder how her dripping cunt would look wrapped around him.

“Get your ass on the desk. Now.”

* * * * *

Nesta’s legs wobbled, but she obeyed, practically stumbling out of the chair to lean against the solid wood furniture.

Then Eris was on her, hands at her waist, her hips, her back. Her bra disappeared, flung across the room somewhere while he devoured her. He licked into her mouth, utterly filthy, and she loved it. Loved the taste of him, spicy and hot. Loved the firm press of his lips against hers, the slide of his tongue, the desperate fingers tracing her curves. Her own hands pressed against him, feeling blocks of muscle beneath his tailored clothes.

Eris pulled away from her mouth, but only for a moment. Her pussy clenched when he swept an arm over the desk, sending piles of organized paperwork to the floor. His carelessness, driven by the same fierce need she felt, was the proof she’d been longing for.

Then he was at her breast, licking, sucking, pulling moan after moan from her throat. His fingers worked at her core, building a fast and furious need within her. “Eris,” she chanted his name, over and over, until he was panting against her. Nesta’s skin pebbled, her nipples hardening under his ministrations.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you,” Eris murmured, seemingly unable to pry his lips from her body. “You’ve wanted me to take you for months.”

“God, yes,” she groaned, feeling his fingers biting into her hips, pulling her tight against him. She ground upwards, feeling the long length straining at his fly. “Every time you called me in here, I wanted to end it.”

“End it,” Eris repeated, smiling against her breastbone. He pressed kisses in a line up her chest. His hips rolled against hers, forcing her clit to accept the friction of his slacks. Nesta’s eyes rolled back, knowing she was making a mess of those sleek gray trousers. He wouldn’t be able to walk out of his office without everyone knowing. “End what?”

“Your stupid leering stare, your rude comments,” she panted. “I wanted to sit on your face to shut you up sometimes.”

“Perhaps you will,” Eris said, voice a dark promise. “But right now it’s my turn, my fantasy. And I plan on fucking you utterly stupid.”

The tinny sound of his zipper met her ears over the pounding of her pulse. She could barely think straight as she watched Eris pull himself out, every rigid inch of him. God, he was big. And unfairly pretty. Nesta bit down on her lip, unable to look away as Eris stroked himself, once, twice. Then his other hand pressed her down onto the desk, pinning her to the surface roughly.

“Beg,” Eris growled, running the head of his cock through her slick lips. He nudged her clit, rubbing over it on every pass, until she was clawing at the desk with numb fingertips.

“Fill me up, sir,” Nesta said darkly. Eris’ eyes flashed, and then he slammed into her, the force of his thrust sliding her up the desk. She groaned, luxuriating in the stretch of her walls, the throbbing length taking up every inch of space within her. “More,” she demanded, arching her back to thrust her breasts in the air. His gaze latched onto them, as expected.

“Be careful what you ask for,” was his only warning. Then Eris was pounding into her with long, strong thrusts. She gasped, reaching over her head to grip the edges of the desk. Eris gripped her hips firmly, pulling her back to meet every snap of his hips. He plundered depths she didn’t know existed, thumbing at her clit with each stroke. Nesta reached the precipice before she realized, coming around him so suddenly, she whined in surprise. Then one hand was wrapping around her throat, cutting off her air and abruptly ending the sound. “Again,” Eris ordered, teeth bared in feral pleasure. Nesta could do nothing but comply, shuddering in his hold as her pussy tightened around him.

Eris released her throat when she came, letting her suck down heaving breaths. Then he pulled out of her, leaving her gaping in his absence. “Eris,” she started, but he didn’t let her finish.

His fingers bit into her hips, moving her efficiently until she was bent over the desk, breasts pressed into the smooth surface. She panted, looking over her shoulder at him. The sight of Eris fully clothed while she was wholly naked before him had Nesta flushing all over. Anyone could walk in—she hadn’t locked the door. And all they’d see was Nesta, spread across Eris’ desk like a sultry feast.

Eris’ cock gleamed in the lamplight, coated with her juices. His lap was smeared with it, from where she’d pressed herself against him. But Eris didn’t seem to care, his dark gaze fixed on her. “You look so beautiful, laid out like this for me,” he said. He ran a hand over her ass, fingers skimming over her and up her back. “Ready for me to take, to use however I want. Do you like being my pretty cocksleeve, Nesta?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, shivering with anticipation. Eris held her down, keeping her upper body pinned to the wood. She could barely wiggle in the position, but Nesta found she didn’t mind, because then Eris was bucking his hips to impale her on his length once more.

Bent over the desk with Eris pumping into her from behind, Nesta moaned helplessly, lost in the sensation of her boss repeatedly filling her up. He somehow reached even deeper like this, hips pumping furiously. Each thrust resulted in a wet slap, the sounds speeding up as his thrusts turned sloppy, even rougher as he neared completion. “You take me so well,” Eris growled. “No one’s pussy is as good as yours. You were made for this, Nesta. Made to take my cock.”

With the way he stretched her so perfectly, Nesta couldn’t think of a single argument. “Please, sir,” she begged, moaning at a particularly deep thrust. He was hitting all the right spots to make her see stars.

“Please what? Does my good girl want to come again?”

“Yes, sir,” she practically sobbed, breasts rubbing hard onto the desk.

Eris slowed his thrusts, taking the time to grind against her when he was at his deepest. “Do you want me to fill you up? Should I make a mess of you?”

Nesta nodded, beyond words as he rolled his hips against her ass. “Please,” she managed.

He groaned, long and low, picking up the pace again. His cock dragged along her walls, running over the same spot over and over until she was sobbing on the desk. “My good girl,” Eris grunted. “You’re going to feel me for days.” Then his hips stuttered, and Eris banded an arm around her chest, hauling her up against him. Eris groaned, pressing fevered kisses to her neck, one hand finding her breast as the other found her core with unerring accuracy.

Nesta moaned at the first hot spurt within her, Eris’ fingers sending her over the edge one last time. She clenched around his twitching length, milking him for everything he was worth. The cresting pleasure overwhelmed every thought until she was gasping, hair sticking to her forehead as Eris softened inside her.