BEHIND THE MASK / episode 4 (NSFW)
1742 Words
The morning air in the palace was sharp, but Yuri didn’t shiver.
She stood by the balcony, hands wrapped around a cup of tea, posture perfect, gaze steady — everything a queen should be. Everything a woman who had learned to survive should be.
Except for one thing.
A small, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her fingers when Zayne appeared at the garden below, adjusting his coat, looking nervous in a way she wasn’t used to seeing.
Her lips pressed together. Ignore it, she told herself.
He waved, lightly, cautiously. She didn’t wave back.
---
The day passed slowly. Council meetings blurred into court duties, and Zayne didn’t leave her side, though he tried to keep his distance — giving her space, pretending to be calm.
By evening, he found her in the royal library. She was sitting in her usual spot, spine straight, hands folded neatly over an open book.
“Yuri,” he said softly.
She didn’t turn. “Your Majesty.”
He walked closer, lowering his voice. “You didn’t answer my letter.”
She finally glanced at him. Her expression was neutral, unreadable. Perfectly cold.
“I read it.”
“And?”
Her throat tightened ever so slightly. She looked away, toward the window, her lips parted for a word she wouldn’t say. “And…”
She swallowed.
Something she hadn’t done in weeks — a small, shaky exhale escaped her lips.
“Nothing,” she finished finally, voice clipped, eyes back on the page.
Zayne froze.
There it was.
The c***k. The tiniest flicker of a human inside the ice.
---
That night, he didn’t sleep. He replayed the moment over and over — the almost-breath she’d let slip when reading his letter.
He had no words. No plan. Just determination.
The next morning, he placed breakfast beside her without speaking. A small plate of her favorites. The tray was elegant, but simple — no grand gestures.
Yuri didn’t reach for it.
He waited.
Minutes passed.
Finally, her fingers brushed the edge of the plate. Just barely. Not enough to make him smile. Not enough to make her vulnerable. But enough.
It was a c***k in the cold.
---
Later, when he escorted her through the palace halls, he spoke softly. “I know I can’t make you trust me in a day, or even a week. But I’ll spend a lifetime if I have to.”
She didn’t answer. Not at first.
But when she stepped aside to let a servant pass, their hands brushed for the briefest moment. Neither pulled away.
Another c***k.
---
That night, Yuri stood alone by the window again, watching the moonlight spill across the courtyard.
Her reflection shimmered faintly in the glass.
She didn’t move when Zayne stepped in. Didn’t turn.
“I know I’ve hurt you,” he said, voice low. “And I know you’re cold because of it. But…”
She finally looked at him. Just for a second. Her eyes softened — almost imperceptibly.
“I can’t…” she started, then stopped, biting her lip.
There it was again — a hesitation, a flicker, a c***k in the mask she wore so perfectly.
“I’m not ready,” she said finally, voice steady again. “Don’t mistake it.”
He nodded, heart both breaking and soaring. “I won’t. But I’ll wait. I’ll wait for that c***k to grow.”
And in the silence that followed, she didn’t tell him he was wrong.
Because maybe… just maybe… he was right.
SOME DAYS LATER
Yuri and Zayne were summoned to the sitting room, the Queen Mother seated elegantly in her chair, hands folded neatly. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and expectation.
“My dear Yuri,” she began, voice sweet, almost teasing, “you and Zayne have been married for months now. Surely it’s time to consider… grandchildren?”
Yuri’s eyes met hers calmly. “Grandchildren?” Her voice was smooth, perfectly measured, like ice. “I’m aware of the kingdom’s expectations.”
The Queen Mother smiled knowingly. “Yes, but a queen also has duties to the family… to her husband… and to the kingdom. A little heir would bring joy to us all.”
Yuri tilted her head, expression unreadable. “My priorities do not align with the timeline of the kingdom.”
Zayne’s jaw tightened. He knew exactly what was coming — his mother’s gentle yet relentless pressure.
The Queen Mother leaned closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know you two are… very close now. Surely the night alone together has… been productive?”
Yuri’s lips curved faintly, almost imperceptibly. Her cold gaze didn’t waver, but the tiniest flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.
Zayne cleared his throat, voice slightly flustered. “Mother…”
The Queen Mother waved a delicate hand, smiling. “Oh, don’t worry, my son. I’m only curious. You may do your duty… at your own pace, of course.”
Yuri’s lips twitched in a faint, dangerous smile. “I see.” She leaned back, still regal, still heartless, but for the briefest moment, a c***k appeared — a tiny flicker beneath her ice.
Zayne glanced at her, heart hammering. He knew exactly what she was thinking — and he couldn’t wait to earn that trust, that warmth, that permission, on their own terms.
THE VERY SAME DAY
AT THEIR CHAMBER
Zayne leaned in, lips brushing hers, tentative at first. The kiss was soft, testing, exploring.
Yuri froze. Just slightly — enough to make him want more. She pressed back only a fraction, letting him feel her warmth, but keeping control.
His hands moved upward, resting on the edges of her corset. Fingers brushing the smooth silk over her chest, teasing, reverent, yet hungry.
“May I… take this off?” he whispered, lips near her ear, voice low and rough with need.
Yuri’s chest rose sharply. Her eyes met his — cold, sharp, unreadable — daring him to try without permission.
“Lock the door. Close the blinds,” she said at last, voice low and commanding. “Then… you may.”
The lock clicked. Curtains slid. The palace, the world, vanished.
Zayne’s eyes flicked down for just a heartbeat. He let his gaze roam over her chest, the way the corset hugged her curves, accentuating the swell of her breasts. “You… you’re perfect,” he murmured, breath hitching.
Yuri’s lips parted slightly at his words, just enough to respond with a teasing, fleeting kiss — cold and distant, yet inviting in her own way.
Slowly, deliberately, Zayne began undoing the laces of her corset. His fingers trembled just slightly with anticipation, tracing the delicate lines of silk and lace. The metal clasps gave way one by one.
When the corset was loose enough, he slid it down her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.
He didn’t move his eyes from her chest as he did so. “God… you’re breathtaking,” he breathed, voice low and rough, almost a growl.
Yuri’s back stiffened, posture perfect, but her lips curved in the faintest, dangerous smirk. She pressed herself just slightly into him, letting him kiss her neck. She froze when his lips brushed her skin, marking it gently, yet her fingers teased his neck in return — leaving a mark of her own.
The kiss deepened, slow, careful, heavy with tension. Zayne’s hands lingered, worshipful, sliding along her sides, the heat between them building, fragile and explosive all at once.
Yuri still controlled the pace, letting just enough slip through to make him ache, teasing him, daring him, but keeping her mask firmly in place — almost.
The room was silent except for their breaths, shallow and ragged.
Zayne’s hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, memorizing every line, every curve. His lips trailed from hers down to her neck, leaving soft, heated marks.
Yuri pressed back just a fraction — teasing, testing, letting him feel her warmth but keeping her control.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured again, voice husky. “Every inch of you…”
Her fingers ghosted over his chest, tentative, careful, almost playful — the tiniest c***k in her cold mask.
He shifted, aligning himself with her, and whispered, “May I?”
“You already have,” she replied softly, letting her ice c***k ever so slightly.
---
They moved together slowly at first — awkward, tentative, skin brushing skin. Zayne’s hands traced her curves, memorizing her shape, worshiping her. Yuri stayed mostly still, cold and distant, but letting him explore — a tease, a trap, a flicker of warmth beneath her frost.
Her back arched when he kissed along her collarbone, lips moving with careful reverence. He lingered, gentle, worshipful, until a soft moan slipped past her lips — tiny, controlled, almost shocking to both of them.
Zayne groaned softly, leaning into her. “You’re… unbelievable,” he whispered, breath hot against her ear.
Yuri’s hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly — a small act of permission, teasing him, showing she could stop him anytime.
---
They adjusted, slowly aligning, their bodies finally meeting fully.
The first movements were tentative — unsure, shaky, as if testing the limits of this intimacy. Every shift, every breath, every whispered word carried the tension of months of desire and restraint.
Zayne moved with patience, worshiping her reactions. Yuri’s lips parted, small moans breaking through her usual restraint. Her cold facade didn’t shatter — she didn’t surrender — but the tiniest flickers of pleasure betrayed her.
They moved together in a rhythm that started awkward and halting, then gradually found a natural, intimate flow. Each motion was slow, deliberate, sensual, every touch a conversation, every gasp a wordless confession.
---
When it ended, they lay tangled, sweat and warmth clinging to their skin.
Yuri rested her head on his chest, silent, still regal, still composed. But the tiny tremor in her fingers, the faint flush on her cheeks, betrayed that her ice had cracked — just enough to let him in.
Zayne held her, careful, reverent, whispering her name like a prayer. “I’ll never let you regret this,” he promised.
Her lips curved in the faintest, almost imperceptible smile. “We’ll see,” she murmured, still cold, still teasing, still the queen he worshiped — but now, for the first time, letting the warmth of him touch her frost.
TO BE CONTINUED
- Writer
