I Belong To My Three Forbidden Masters

Chapter 47: Chapter 47

Lysander’s POV

Cold, unforgiving air hit my exposed skin as Drake ruthlessly pulled away, leaving me suspended in a state of excruciating, unfulfilled desperation.

My entire body throbbed violently, every single nerve ending screaming for the sweet relief he had just violently and deliberately snatched away from me.

"D-Drake... please," I whimpered into his broad shoulder, fresh tears brimming in my eyes as my shaking hands clawed weakly at his lapels.

Drake stepped back into the dark shadows of the marble alcove, slowly adjusting his tuxedo jacket with sickening calmness.

His cold eyes bored down into mine, "No," he growled low, his deep voice dark, raspy, and utterly devoid of even a shred of mercy.

"You don’t get to stand in my arms, weeping for another man’s safety, and expect me to grant you peace."

"I wasn’t—I’m not—" I gasped out, my knees threatening to completely buckle beneath the heavy weight of the dress.

"Look at you," Drake sneered softly, reaching out with one large, warm finger to tilt my chin up into the dim, shadowy light of the gallery.

"You’re shaking uncontrollably. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, and your body is practically begging for my touch."

I bit my lower lip so hard I tasted the sharp tang of copper, burning with an unbearable, volatile mix of intense humiliation and lingering heat.

"If you want my mercy, Lysander, you don’t beg for that mortal trash," Drake instructed dark, his voice dropping into a dangerous, suffocating whisper.

"You beg for me. You remember who owns every single breath that leaves your pathetic, fragile lungs."

"Please..." I sobbed softly, closing my eyes in complete defeat as fresh tears tracked through the soft, expensive makeup on my cheeks. "Please, Drake... I’m so sorry. I’m yours. Just... please don’t leave me like this, I can’t take it."

A dark, cruel smirk curved his sharp lips, but he didn’t lean back in to finish what he had started between us.

Instead, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a pristine, folded white silk handkerchief, stepping back into my personal space.

"You have exactly thirty seconds to fix your face," he commanded coldly, gently dabbing the cloth against my smeared red lipstick and ruined cheek. "If you walk out into that bright corridor looking like a complete, broken wreck, your stepbrother will start asking questions neither of us wants to answer so unless you want him to know you are sleeping with your professor..."

My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the silk handkerchief as I took it from him, frantically trying to wipe the remaining smeared makeup off my skin.

I used the dark, glossy reflection in the polished marble statue behind us to smooth down the styled blonde wig and adjust the plunging neckline of the gown.

My chest was still heaving, my lower half aching with a deep, torturous pulse that made every single movement feel like walking on sharp glass.

"Much better," Drake drawled smoothly, watching me struggle against my own body with an expression of absolute, cold satisfaction. "Now pull yourself together, Lysander. You have a little performance to finish out there in the ballroom."

"You’re an absolute monster," I whispered, my voice breaking painfully as I swallowed down the massive, heavy lump of humiliation in my throat.

"I am your master," He corrected quietly, leaning down until his warm lips brushed against the soft shell of my ear. "And don’t you ever dare forget it while you’re standing out there beside him."

He turned on his heel and seamlessly melted back into the deep shadows of the gallery corridor, leaving me entirely alone in the alcove.

I leaned back against the cold stone wall for a long, agonizing moment, taking deep, shaky breaths to force my wildly racing pulse to slow down.

Every small movement sent a fresh wave of aching tension through my legs, a constant, brutal reminder of what he had just done to me.

I gripped the smooth silk edges of my dress, forced a neutral, distant mask onto my face, and slowly pushed myself out of the dark alcove.

My black kitten heels clicked softly against the polished marble floor as I stepped back out into the long, empty, and silent gallery hallway.

The silence of the corridor felt heavy and suffocating, shattered only by the faint, distant sounds of the orchestra playing back in the main ballroom.

I rounded the corner where Vesper had so smoothly intercepted Gideon just moments prior, my heart slamming violently against my ribs with every single step.

Standing right near the grand mahogany double doors was Gideon, pacing back and forth impatiently while checking his gold wristwatch with a deep scowl.

The exact second he heard the soft click of my heels, his head snapped in my direction, his sharp, dark eyes locking onto me instantly.

"There you are," Gideon snarled low, stepping forward with his dark brows pulled tightly together in an angry, suspicious expression.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my body tensing instantly as I braced myself for the inevitable, brutal interrogation.

"What the hell took you so long in there, Vane?" He demanded aggressively, his eyes scanning my face and the red dress with suffocating scrutiny.

"Professor Drake... he had a lot to say about my academic standing," I lied, keeping my voice as steady as my raw, hoarse throat would possibly allow.

Gideon stepped closer, his heavy, towering presence crowding my personal space as he looked down at my pale, visibly trembling form.

I prayed to whatever gods were listening that he couldn’t see the dark flush on my neck or hear the frantic, deafening pounding of my heart.

"You look like absolute shit," he noted bluntly, his sharp gaze lingering on the slight puffiness of my eyes and my scrubbed-clean, unpainted lips.

"I explicitly told you not to embarrass me in front of him," he added, his voice dropping into a harsh, threatening register that sent chills through me.

"I didn’t," I whispered softly, lowering my head so my styled blonde wig hid the pain and shame lingering in my eyes. "I just listened to him."

Gideon smirked, a cruel, familiar flicker of dark satisfaction replacing the deep suspicion on his face as he reached out and grabbed my arm roughly.

"Good. Because we aren’t even close to done here yet," Gideon declared, pulling me along behind him toward the bright lights of the distant ballroom.

"My father just texted me. He is on his way, and you’re going to stand right beside me looking like a perfect little trophy tonight."

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