His Majesty's Devious Sin

"You sure about that?" Lydia countered, suddenly challenged by his demeaning words. There were many men begging for her hand in marriage. She was one of the prettiest heiresses they could choose from, not to mention, swimming in money.

"Of course," Weston said through gritted teeth. He clenched his jaw when he saw the shadows of Lydia tossing her long skirt to the ground. His eyes narrowed onto her legs, long and slender, just the way he liked. Suddenly, a thought popped into his head. Her legs over his shoulders, as he pressed her upon the bed—

"Why don't you take a look then?" Lydia provoked, knowing he was too much of a prude to do anything. When his body stiffened and he didn't move, she smirked.

Lydia knew he was just all bark and no bite. Then, without warning, he spun around, catching her by surprise.

"Do you know how infuriating you are?" Weston hissed at her, his eyes snapping to her gaze. He was trying his hardest to not glance down, but he suddenly wanted to ravish her on the walls. Her words jabbed him in spots he didn't know could even hurt.

"Yes, but I also know how irritating you are," Lydia bit out, glaring at him. She was surprised that his gaze didn't wander. Most men would.

"Then why do you continue pushing my buttons?" Weston growled. "I am not someone you should provoke."

"Oh please, get over yourself," Lydia scoffed, rolling her eyes. His face turned stormy, darkening at her words. A vein popped out on his forehead.

"You need to learn some respect," he hissed at her.

"Boo hoo, cry me a river—" he slammed his lips over hers.

Lydia's eyes widened. Before she could do anything, he grabbed her by the neck and yanked her forward, kissing her even deeper. She was caught off-guard, but wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down. 

Their lips fought for dominance, a feverish kiss, fueled by hatred and haughtiness. It was fire against fire, enough to burn down a forest. Her body hummed with pleasure as she clung onto him. His mouth was cold, but hers were hot, and together, it molded perfectly. 

His fingers wove into her hair, tugging her back by it. She gasped for air, just as his lips found their way to her neck. 

Weston was rough and violent, but she liked that, her stomach fluttering. It wasn't long before he had her against the wall, his leg pressed between her thighs, and his mouth going in for another kiss, but she turned her head, panting for air.

"Are you always this rough?" Lydia panted, but Weston ignored her. His finger found the band of her underwear, instantly beginning to pull it down.

Lydia panicked. "W-wait."

Weston halted. "What?"

"We shouldn't do this," Lydia said, shoving him off of her, but he didn't budge. Instead, he slammed his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. 

"After provoking and seducing me, you're going to torture me as well?" Weston hissed at her, his brows shot up. For a split moment, he was entranced by her eyes, green like the deepest parts of the forest. He always thought it looked like swamp water, but now, it was much more beautiful.

"I don't sleep around," Lydia blurted out. "If you want me, you have to date me."

Weston froze. He was not ready for a relationship. He didn't need a relationship. "I don't need a weakness in my life," he growled, watching as her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Are you fucking serious?" she demanded. "What is this? The medieval era where men murdered their enemy's wife as revenge?"

Weston glared at her. "I have many enemies, Lydia Claymore. Many of which would gladly slice your throat if it pains me."

Lydia scoffed. "Not even the King cares about having weaknesses. Don't tell me you can't even protect your woman?"

Weston's glower became even more fierce. "It is a matter of keeping you safe, and keeping me weakness-free."

"You're—"

"Hurry up and take your shower," he hissed. "Whatever happened between us today must never happen again."

Lydia gawked at him. She could not believe his audacity. "And what exactly happened between us?" she spat out. "All we did was kiss."

"I'm not looking for a relationship, Claymore," Weston growled. 

Weston dropped his arm and turned his back to her. He didn't need a woman in his life, especially one as feisty and stubborn as her. He wanted someone meek and submissive, someone who'd never argue back at him. But that kind of woman was boring, and he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Then don't kiss random women and try to get in their pants, Fitzcharles," Lydia countered.

Weston spun around. "If you hadn't provoked me—"

"Sounds like a personal problem to me," Lydia hissed.

Weston stormed towards her, his body burning with anger. She glared up at him, never once backing down from the staredown. He was surprised by that. Her feistiness stirred something within him—a desire to conquer her. He desired to bend her over his knees and spank her as many times as it took to get her to behave. She was so rude, that he wanted to tame her. 

"What? Are you going to kiss me again—" He did. 

Weston captured her lips in a punishing kiss, but she shoved at him. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them against the wall, his mouth rough and passionate. She struggled in his arms, and he kissed her harder. He only pulled back to let her breathe. Without warning, he pressed his forehead to her.

"Do not test me—"

PAK!

A loud smack echoed in the room. Even the air stilled. A heavy silence followed after it. 

"How dare you?" Lydia hissed at him, pushing at his firm chest. "Get the fuck out."

Weston's head had whipped to the side. He touched his jaw, scoffing in disbelief. His cheek burned, his heart lurched. No one had ever smacked him before. Not even his mother. 

Instead of being furious, he was humored. The audacity of this woman was astronomical! 

"I might like it rough, but I don't like men who force themselves onto me, only to not want a relationship," Lydia said. She had never felt so insulted by his actions before. Even more, she was insulted by his strength. She had never been overpowered to this extent.

Why was he so damn strong? When she shoved at his chest, he didn't even budge. The least he could do was act like she did some damage to him.

"It was a mistake," he tried to reason with her, but she simply glared up at him.

"You kissed me twice by now," Lydia said. "You call that a mistake? It seemed intentional to me."

Weston stared down at her. She was pressed against the wall, half naked in all of her glory. But her body didn't intrigue him. In fact, it was no longer on his mind. Instead, she was. Her voice, her lips, her anger, it was swarming him all at once.

"Whatever happened here didn't happen," Weston said. His voice was firm and determined, refusing to accept any other answer. He was going to have his way, or no way.

"You should be telling yourself that," Lydia said. She thrusted a hand towards the door. "Now leave before you can't control your stupid urges."

"I controlled it—"

"Really now?!" Lydia shouted at him.

Weston paused. "Trust me,I was in control. If I wasn't, I would've shredded that thin little lace you call your underwear, and ravished you on the wall. I would've only stopped if you had cried and begged me for mercy, but not before you were trembling and pleading for me."

Lydia was floored by his words. Yet, a part of her wanted to prove him wrong. She wanted to challenge his authority more than she always did. 

"Just get out," she finally managed to say, despite the heated scenes that flashed in her mind. 

"Gladly," he growled, opening the door and storming out, leaving both of them frustrated and breathless.