There's a draft in the palace repository. The small, narrow windows let a slow stream of air waft through the dark rows of stored goods. The cool whisper of invisible fingers against her exposed flesh is more than Yona can bear.
She's wet. Her own slickness trailing down her left thigh in anticipation.
All bindings abandoned in her swift transformation to servants clothes. She's completely bare under her stolen frock and heady with herself for such a clever maneuver.
He taught her a little too well, she thinks, as she envisions Hak wandering lecherously through the castle searching for her - unsucessfully. She pictures his arrogant smirk when he catches sight of her pink robes glinting in the hallway followed by his surprise when he finds its not her underneath. She hopes, perhaps a little to late, that Hak doesn't try anything untoward...
A snort escapes her as she imagines his horror, but Yona quickly covers her mouth to silence the loud mistake.
Hak misses nothing.
She can't make a sound if she wants to stay hidden.
She isn't sure that she does.
She's running out of ways to entertain herself while she waits for him. Its taking longer than her patience is prepared for and the more she waits, the more her own need intensifies.
After all the lengths Yona is putting him through this time, she assumes he'll be wound up when he finally finds her.
Good, she thinks, hoping it makes him as maddened as she feels now.
The cool air runs between her exposed legs again like gentle fingers stroking her and she's reminded of just how little composure she has left.
Yona drops her hand to trail against the inside of her thigh just shy of where she needs Hak's touch most. She can't wait much longer; patience has never been a virtue she possessed much of. She's aware of how Hak knows it and makes her suffer pleasurably more often than not. And she has already been holding out long enough that it feels only fair to indulge herself before he delays her need further. Maybe thats wrong or unsporting of her but she just doesn't care anymore.
Bumps prick Yona's skin, and she shivers as she runs her fingertips upwards, imagining his rough, calloused hands touching where she touches. The pressure she applies isn't enough to match his and it leaves her discontent and aching for more.
He has ruined her. Perhaps forever.
Only he can satisfy this need building inside her.
She's at odds with the irony of her unsaitable desire and this sadistic game.
Yona thinks about the many times they've done this and how its become much more than trivial amusement. Its for them only, a manifestation of their attachment and a way to preserve the playful, corporeal nature of their love.
But its also for her. Being charged with all of Kouka is exhausting and, though Yona would never change it, she needs to keep a part of the girl who freely adventured the kingdom so many years ago alive. Hak and this game do that for her.
In truth, he does everything for her. Has never failed her - not even now while they sneak about the castle like children... however intimate their intentions my be.
He will find her.
She knows it - wants it. Her body is practically calling out for his discovery.
Yona briefly considers forgoing this spot just to end her suffering sooner, but she is too proud its taking him so long to give in.
Instead, she distracts herself. Filling her mind with visions of the last time Hak found her, of him lifting her, spreading her legs to wrap around him and then pressing her into the table centering the grand hall. She'd been trapped between the smooth wood and his dominating, hard figure. Her fingers scratching the polished top as he thrust fully into her with the pent up force of his success.
She wonders if he thinks of it when he's there for official buisness like she does.
The memory, combined with the feeling of her own hand finally skimming her desperate and aching center, piques her pleasure. She arches her back against the shelves and tilts her head, an inaudible moan escaping as she slides another finger over her slick opening.
"Playing without me?"
A sharp gasp escapes her, as Hak's low, thundering voice fills her senses.
Yona jerks her hand from between her legs fumbling back into the shelf and knocking several jars of preserved goods to the floor on the other side. Her composure shattered alongside the glass.
Hak catches her naughty fingers in his hand and draws them toward his person. This outcome better than anything he ever, ever envisioned.
He pulls Yona flush with his towering body. Her fingers are captive in his strong grasp. He holds them high enough to leave her reaching and falling against him with a pressure that let's her feel his stiff approval, though his dark expression suggests otherwise.
His hooded gaze drifts between her and the small digits in his hand, before he smirks and says, "I believe this counts as cheating."
Predictably, she flushes.
She's ashamed at him having seen her. Feels like she's been observed by a superfluous presence. Both wanted and unwanted, she isn't sure which is more. But as Hak's body presses to hers, reminding her that - despite her doubt - he's clearly been moved by her little show, the humiliation turns to some odd mixture of arousal and hostility.
She tries - annoyed - to reclaim her hand, still caught in his tight grasp. Hak's smile only widens as her feeble attempts fail.
Yona huffs, "If you hadn't taken so long, I wouldn't have gotten bored."
She isn't usually so flippant but something about his proud grin makes her feel he deserves it.
Hak's eyes darken further, something hot and dangerous emanating from his hard stare. His grip on her hand flexes as he leans in close, growling into the shell of her inner ear, "I was busy with the servants."
A shiver runs down her body from his hot, irritated breath. And to Hak's disbelief, she laughs.
Its short, unintended. She quickly cups her mouth with her free hand as if she can recall it before it resonates, but she can't. He's heard it. That much is evident as his expression blazes with anger, incredulity, desire, applause - no; she isn't sure what it is, other than unfamiliar and paralyzing.
Before she can decide, Hak grabs her. He pulls her from her cage between him and the shelf only to pin her against the small table beside it. It creaks as he bends her chest flush with the flat surface. Her hair falls around her face, muting the gasp that escapes when his punishing hands find her waist.
He's had enough. Despite years of taunting, it seems he doesn't take it as well as well as he gives it, and seeing Yona touch herself wantonly, knowing its him she imagines behind her heavy, beautiful eyelids, is more tease than Hak can suffer.
Long fingers skim down Yona's side, as she lays bent before him. This scene oddly reminecent of their last charade, only with a darker, shaper air about it. The tension in Hak's hold feels like it could cut straight through the still, damp atmosphere around them.
He stills his wandering hands - too lost in his thoughts of all the absurd things he wants to do to her.
"I was feeling forgiving, Princess," he says, "but now I'm not so sure."
His fingers twitch against the curve of her waist ready to follow through on his thoughts.
She isn't a princess anymore. She hasn't been in a long time. It's only in these private moments between them that he uses the title, like it's his love keeping it alive, even if his intentions are to strip her of everything befitting of the name.
Yona says nothing.
Only her fast breaths and the sound of the struggling table can be heard.
Hak leans over, more and more until he is inhailing the scent of her hair. She smells of peonies and sugar. There is a hint of her earlier arousal lingering in the air, too. If provoking had a smell, this was it.
With only the sounds of her stunned pants and sweet aroma, she is pushing him over the edge. Past sanity, past control. Deep down, he is grateful she has such a hold over him. Without it, he'd be at the whim of his own carnal desires.
He pulls the hair back from her face slowly, gently, letting her think maybe she is forgiven.
She already is, but Hak doesn't say it.
Instead, he whispers, "I'm going to teach you the manners you've forgotten."
And this time, he means it. He'll teach her something so profound she won't soon forget.