A Dance Macabre (Perverse City #1)

49. Wolfgang

49

WOLFGANG

A djusting my gold cufflinks, I give myself one final survey in the full-length mirror.

Perfection. As usual.

I exit the family quarters and head toward the drawing room. I haven’t slept in the same bed as Mercy since Dizzy’s blood seeped into the mattress.

I’m not necessarily trying to punish Mercy—who’s yet to give me a proper apology—but I’m trying to keep the temptation as far away as possible until she finally gives me what I’ve been asking for.

And what is that exactly?

All of her. Cracked open and vulnerable.

But keeping her at arm’s length is not quite far enough. I practically need to chain myself to the bed so I don’t end up crawling to her at night.

However, in public?

We are the carefree rulers of Pravitia.

A celebrated union.

And tonight, as we spend an evening at the opera, our charade is nothing different.

I enter the drawing room first, and not wanting to crease my suit, I stay standing near the fireplace as I wait for Mercy to appear.

I listen to the tick of the clock on the mantel to pass the time until I hear the sound of Mercy’s heels approaching—then I listen to those ticks instead.

When Mercy finally enters the room, I’m dumbstruck. My throat goes dry, my stomach twisting in shock.

Mercy is a vision in red .

I am nearly brought to my knees.

I’ve never seen her wear anything but black. But tonight she chose to match her dress to my herringbone tweed suit.

She looks exquisite. Her long black hair pulled up in an elegant updo, her dress a dark shade of red, like spilled blood running down her body. There are flounces of taffeta gathered around her hips, the material tumbling to the floor, with a long slit up her left thigh, revealing her harnessed dagger.

My palm slowly drags down my face as I take her in, ravaged by her lethal beauty.

She quietly adjusts her red lace gloves near the elbow, keeping her face impassive.

“Something wrong?” she asks all too innocently as if her wearing red is an ordinary affair.

My primal reaction aside, I know Mercy well enough by now to know that this is her way of trying to apologize—again.

It’s been half a week since she stormed out of the library. She didn’t have the words then, and she certainly doesn’t have the words now.

I can’t deny my heart warms at the effort.

But gods be damned, I will have her use her words and apologize if it’s the last thing I do on this cursed earth.

Quickly hiding my surprise, I flash her one of my charismatic smiles. I can tell she knows it’s fake. But I’d rather play the cocksure Wolfgang than admit she has me by the throat.

I ignore her question and say with an upbeat tone, “Shall we?”

Her expression shutters, but she’s fast to right herself, like she expected a much bigger reaction from me.

She’ll wait all night if that’s the case.

I take a few steps closer and offer her my elbow.

Her sparkling eyes darken as she studies me. Finally, she nods and curls her gloved hand around my arm.

“We shall.”

Stepping out from the town car first, I help Mercy climb out after me. The loud shouts of the paparazzi heighten behind us as soon as they realize who we are.

My gaze dips to Mercy’s uncovered leg as she steps out, and my throat tightens, longing to sink my teeth into her skin once again. Luckily, I can indulge some of my lustful yearnings now that we have the cameras in front of us.

But Mercy surprises me. Before even walking up to the sidewalk, she pulls me against her. Her laced fingers caress my cheek as she presses a lingering kiss against my lips, the paparazzi roaring in excitement. My arm immediately wraps around her hips, pulling her up against me as I groan against her mouth.

“My, my,” I drawl when she finally pulls away. “What was that for?”

She daintily lifts a shoulder and purses her lips, giving me a teasing pout. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she wraps her arm around the crook of my elbow and waits for me to lead us inside.

Mercy doesn’t need to tell me. I know why she’s being more than accommodating. And if I were a gambling man, I’d bet my entire fortune that she knows that I know.

She’ll do everything not to use her words.

The opera house is a historic Pravitian landmark in the heart of the Vorovsky neighborhood. It’s one of the oldest buildings in the city alongside Mount Pravitia and has just as many ghosts haunting the halls.

Inside, we’re escorted upstairs to a private balcony. Since we arrived fashionably late, the first act has already begun, and we silently find our seats behind a heavy-drawn curtain.

I love the opera.

The music, the costumes, the drama.

But tonight, nothing is as breathtaking as my own muse sitting beside me. I have trouble concentrating, carefully studying every move Mercy makes instead.

She peers down to the stage from behind small gold binoculars. Her back is straight, puffs of red taffeta surrounding her as she leans her torso toward the railing, her breasts pushed up and spilling out of her corset.

What I would do to take a large bite? I would chew slowly, savoring every flavor of Mercy I could taste.

Eventually, I cave to the impulse of needing her near and pull her closer to me with a forceful tug on the front leg of her chair. Her eyebrow lifts, shooting me a curious glance from the corner of her eye, but keeps the binoculars raised.

Slowly, I trail a finger down her left arm, the texture of the lace soft under my fingertips. I take her hand and bring it to my lap. Interlocking our fingers together, I drag her palm over my trousers, pressing our hands over my hardening cock.

I audibly groan, my head falling backward for half a second before focusing back on the stage below.

I ache for her.

Two weeks feels like a lifetime, and if I didn’t have any more self-control left, I’d drop to my knees and bury my head between her thighs.

Who am I truly punishing at this very moment?

I’m cracking alongside Mercy.

I need her.

I’m desperate for her.

Making her squeeze the length of my cock, I lean closer so that my lips whisper across the sensitive skin of her neck. I run my nose behind her ear. Tug her earlobe with my teeth. I feel her shiver and smile against her skin.

“You look ravishing tonight, my ruin,” I finally rasp, “But if you can’t use your words to apologize.” I press her palm even harder against my cock. “Then I might have just the thing for you.”