She labored to catch her breath, focusing solely on locking her knees to keep herself upright. Never before had she felt such pleasure, such pure and unadulterated bliss. Her body was no longer her own. She was liquid fire, molten and pliable. "Ramsay." She panted, wanting to face him. She tried to turn around, wanting nothing but his mouth on hers, his skin against her own. She wanted to feel him, to come undone again around that large cock she had been fantasizing about over and over again for the past few nights. She felt as though that inextinguishable urge she had always suffered from was quelled and she only wanted to add kindling to the pyre.

She tried to will her legs to move, but Ramsay held her still against him.

"You meant what you said, my sweet?" He asked, sounding amused.

"Every word." She panted. "I want more, my lord."

"And so you shall have it, my dear." He chuckled. "On your knees."

She dropped to her knees without hesitation, but Ramsay placed his hands on her shoulders, keeping her immobile. She was confused, but did not question Ramsay. He had promised her more. She did not believe he would go back on that promise, not after she had proved her devotion and loyalty.

"You want more, sweet?"

"Yes, my lord."

"So do I." He agreed. "Our guest's attention wanes." Myranda glanced up. The tethered and tortured man was exhausted. His head drooped again, his eyes clamped shut as he waited for blissful death. "Get his attention for me."

"What do you mean?" Myranda knelt naked in between the two men, hands on her thighs, doe eyes wide and thighs slick and damp. She imagined how positively sinful she must look, flushed skin in the pale glow of the fire in the damp, stone dungeon.

Ramsay smirked, eyes wide and glimmering. "I want you to suck his cock."

"My lord…"

"No questions. If you will recall what you said to me but a few moments ago… You pledged your entire life to me. Your body is mine. I want that pretty little mouth of yours wrapped around that soddy cock. Wake up my prisoner so that I may further enjoy myself tonight."

She remembered all the things she had promised Ramsay. Her brain was muddled with endorphins and hormones, but she recalled promising all that and more. This was a game, a challenge. She had to be ready for anything.

She mulled over her experiences with men. It was just a cock, after all. The secret to holding power over a man. She told herself it would last but a few moments. She crawled forward on her knees and sat in front of the cross. The man's cock lay limply in her face. From her vantage point, she could see every weak rise and fall of the man's chest as he suffered each pained breath.

Myranda gripped his limp length at the base and knelt forward, kissing his velvety head with her wicked mouth. She did exactly as she was told.


"Rise and shine, miss!" Maggie ripped the thick curtains open after placing a heavy tray on the table. The sunlight was offensive, blinding Myranda's sensitive, tired eyes. "It's nearly midday. I let you over sleep, I admit. 'Twas a long night for all of us. Though I could not attend myself, I heard the party was really something."

Myranda groaned, her whole body sore and weary from sleeping too long and over exertion. Her eyes stung and her mouth was dry. She sat up and stretched, immediately tugging her sheets up to cover her bare chest. She had slept unashamedly naked, hoping foolishly that Ramsay would come to her chambers after he had finished in the dungeons. He had sent her off to bed rather prematurely. Her body still ached for him as she tried to lull herself to sleep.

She shivered, that familiar ache in her groin rearing its ugly head again. Myranda had only felt pleasure at Ramsay's hand, and she was still hooked. He held a fierce power over her, forcing her to do things she never wanted to do. Horrible, wicked things that made her more vile and impure. He had always had that power over her.

Maggie pretended not to notice that Myranda was naked under her sheets and lush comforter. The woman walked over to the edge of the bed and picked up Myranda's sullied party dress. "Such a fine garment… really miss, you should have summoned me to help you disrobe, my lady."

"It's really alright." Myranda sighed, trying her best to get the matronly woman out of her chambers.

The large maid brushed the dress off and folded it neatly over her arms. She carried it to the dressing table and hung it primly on a hanger, placing it in the armoire. She then pulled the dressing robe from the chaise lounge and carried it over to the bed, handing it to her lady. "Thank you." Myranda blushed.

"Of course, dear." Maggie nodded. "Will you require anything else?"

Myranda mulled the request over. "Would you happen to know where I might find Lord Ramsay?"

Maggie looked to the damp stone floor, shaking her head. "It would not be wise to go searching for Lord Ramsay. He does not like to be hovered over."

Myranda had so many questions about what transpired between them, and her assailant, a few hours ago. She could not bear the thought of living out the rest of the day, maybe even a few days, not knowing. "If it displeases Lord Ramsay, I will happily suffer the consequences. Please."

Maggie clasped her hands and clamped her lips, seeming to think over her decision to blab on her lord and master. "Very well." She finally decided. "Master Ramsay has lunch in his chambers, then often retires to the study for long hours before supper."

The woman's willingness with the information rendered Myranda silent. Even worse, was the news itself. She nodded, fiddling with the hem of her covers, waiting for the woman to leave before she dare move. "Thank you, Maggie."

"Yes, miss." The woman curtsied, then took her leave.

Myranda remembered exactly where she could find the study. It was once her favorite rooms in the old manor. She spent many days of her childhood there, hiding from her father. Roose's legitimate son, Domeric, had been but a few months older than Myranda. He was a sickly child. His only escape from the hell that was the Dreadfort was found in the many books provided to him by his father in the study. Domeric had a fine tutor who taught him to read. If Myranda hung around long enough, she would catch parts of their lessons. When they had finished for the day, Domeric would fill in the rest. He enjoyed reading stories aloud and Myranda loved to listen. They were close companions. That was, until Ramsay showed up crying on the drawbridge.

She did not knock when she entered the large room. Upon entering, seeing the hundreds of leather bound novels sheathed in a thick layer of cobwebs and dust, she felt sorrow. She mourned the loss of her friend and the death of the memories this place held for her. She knew Ramsay was not here for stories of magic and romance. If he came to brush up on his literature, he was most likely reading something with a little more substance. She quietly climbed the stairs to the loft, finding her lord perched in a lush chair, flipping through a thick book. She could not see the cover, but she could see that Ramsay was engrossed in the pages.

"Has anyone ever told you that it is impolite to stare?" Ramsay said, his voice monotonous and bored. He did not even need to look up to sense her presence.

"Pardon me, m'lord." Myranda muttered. "I did not mean to startle you."

"You did not startle me." He scoffed, shutting the book before looking at her. "I heard you come in."

He had to be lying, but she said nothing. "Well then, you must excuse my intrusion."

"On the contrary, sweetling. I was expecting you."

She suspected he was lying again. She stayed silent still.

"Did you have a wonderful time at the party?"

Another game. Myranda was getting good at these. "I had a wonderful time, my lord." She smirked. "But you know that is not why I am here."

"Please, my dear. Enlighten me, then. Why have you deliberately disobeyed my orders to grace me with your presence?"

She glared at him in the most subtle way she could manage. "I needed to speak with you about last night."

"But we just did." He chuckled. He picked up his book again, seeming bemused. She did not see the cover of the book. He flipped a few pages, silently reading over the words on the page. Then, out of nowhere, Ramsay cleared his throat. "You know, it all would have gone a lot more smoothly if I had had a few more days to starve Luton. That was his name, you know? Luton. A sworn man at arms to the Bolton's. One of my most loyal men. If only he could have learned to keep his loathsome cock to himself." He shut the book again. "I had meant to wait a few more days to give him to you. It becomes much easier to pull them apart when they are dehydrated and starved. They would bleed a lot less. He would not have died so suddenly…I hope you can understand. I was just so excited to show him to you. A sort of 'welcome home' gift, I should say." He looked at her, expectantly.

"Thank you, m'lord. It really was too kind." She glanced down at her feet. "I am terribly sorry for your loss."

"Do not grieve my boys." Ramsay rolled his eyes. "They know what they are giving up when they swear an oath to me. They are disposable. Any man in that courtyard would give their right little finger to take their place." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Do you know how serious we Bolton's take our oaths?"

"I am beginning to understand." Myranda sighed. "May I ask you something, my lord?"

"Proceed." Ramsay locked his fingers and pressed his clasped hands on his chest.

"If your oaths are so sacred to you… why did you make me do it?"

"Do what?" He feigned innocence, but his eyes gleamed with ill-intent.

"You know what you made me do last night."

"Yes, of course. Do you think me daft? I want you to say it."

Myranda bit the inner corner of her lip, trying to hold her tongue. She had to plan carefully how she would respond. "Why would you make me suck his cock?"

"Whose?" Ramsay feigned puzzlement.

"Luton's!" Myranda was losing patience.

"Ah! Excellent question! Tell me, sweetling, how much of last night do you remember?"

"All of it, m'lord."

"Ah, so you do recall what you had said to me moments before I forced you to your knees to give a dying man his last good fuck, then?"

"Swear your life to me. Tell me you will obey my every command. Tell me you will belong to me, my willing servant. My greatest creation."

"Yes, my lord. I give myself to you. Whatever you desire. Ramsay, please."

She blushed, ashamedly looking away from Ramsay's sharp, hunter's gaze. "Yes, m'lord."

"Then that is all you need know, my dear." Ramsay slipped from his chair, his feet seemed to glide until he stood in front of Myranda. His hand brushed her cheek and forced her gaze upwards until they stood eye to eye.

There was no real reason for what had happened. Ramsay only found it necessary to test her devotion. He asked her to do what pleased him solely to prove that he could. Disappointment swallowed her from failure to find clarity. She decided to seek the only distraction she could think to. "I meant what I told you, my lord. Every word. I have ached for you all night. I want you to fuck me."

Ramsay chuckled, his thumb rubbing the apple of her cheek. He paid special attention to each delicate beauty mark, looking deep into her eyes. "I have something very important to do tonight, my dear. It requires my full attention, but it should not keep me long. When the moon is full in the sky, when you can see its reflection in the Weeping Water, then you may come to my chambers. If you still ache by then, well, I will expect you to beg for my cock, Myranda. If you plead sincerely enough, I will give you what you desire and more."

Having to wait had not been on Myranda's mind. She thought maybe he would take her here, on this table, surrounding by the towers of book shelves. Instead, she would have to wait all afternoon, well into the night. She sighed, closing her eyes. She memorized Ramsay's touch. "I will please you, m'lord." She hummed. "You will succumb to my pleas and give me exactly what I want."

Ramsay scoffed. "Do your worst, my dear."