Cursed to love you

Daylight Hunger

The palace did not know.

Not yet.

It saw a prince attending court, giving commands, sitting tall beside his father’s throne. It saw a maid in plain clothes, eyes lowered, hands folded, hair neatly bound.

But beneath the calm, between every breath—

They were starving for each other.

Aurelia passed him in the corridor, basket in hand, pretending she didn’t notice the way his eyes dragged down her back. She bowed. He nodded.

And still—heat bloomed between her thighs.

Because just that morning, she’d been pressed against the carved wall of his private bath chamber, her legs wrapped around his waist, her dress shoved up to her ribs while he f****d her in the dark, whispering filth into her ear, biting her shoulder to muffle his growl.

Now he sat in court like it never happened.

But under the desk, his hand gripped the jewel at his throat—the one she once wore over her heart.

And when she slipped past the garden doors to tend the lilies—

He was already there.

“Kael,” she gasped as he dragged her behind the tall ivy wall, her back slamming into warm stone.

“Did you think I wouldn’t take you again?” he whispered, lifting her onto the bench, pushing her knees apart. “You walked past me like you weren’t soaked for me.”

“I’m not,” she whispered, trembling.

He ran his fingers under her skirts and growled. “Liar.”

And just like that, he dropped to his knees—on palace grounds—and devoured her like a starving beast. Like nothing else mattered but her taste. The forest. The crown. The rules. All meaningless.

The next day, she was collecting scrolls from the prince’s study when he shut the doors behind her, locked them, and whispered, “Don’t speak. Just bend over the desk.”

She didn’t hesitate.

He f****d her hard over royal maps, her face pressed to the parchment, his hand tangled in her hair.

And the whispers began.

Servants noticing she disappeared too often.

Advisors catching him smiling when she entered the room.

But no one could prove anything.

Because she was a maid.

And he was a prince.

Except when he pulled her into the deep dungeons under the castle. Cold stone. Empty silence.

And slammed her against the iron gate.

“I want you here,” he breathed. “Where no one can hear you scream.”

And she moaned, already parting her legs.

He was addicted.

To her fire.

Her filth.

Her submission.

And she? She craved being his. In daylight. In darkness. In every stolen breath between their lives.

The door slammed shut.

Aurelia flinched—just once—before straightening, breath already shallow. Her skin still smelled of daylight, of sun on silk and garden air.

But the room behind her held nothing soft.

Just shadows.

Just him.

Prince Kaelen stood by the hearth, shirt loose, jewel glowing on his chest. But his eyes—gods, his eyes—burned like he was already imagining how to destroy her.

“You want to be seen?” he said, quiet. Controlled. “You want to be caught?”

Aurelia swallowed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to?” He was already moving.

His hand fisted in her hair, dragging her to the center of the room. Not rough, not cruel—just commanding. Reminding.

“You looked at me like you wanted everyone to know what this mouth has done to you,” he hissed, voice dark silk. “You want to be known as my little nymph w***e?”

Her breath hitched. She didn’t answer.

“On your knees.”

She dropped.

He circled her slowly, fingers trailing over her shoulder, her jaw.

“You forgot your place.”

Aurelia’s thighs pressed together, breath trembling.

“No begging,” he murmured. “You take this.”

He pulled her up and bent her over the table, flipping her skirts up with one sharp motion, exposing her bare ass to the air.

And then—crack.

His palm struck her skin, sharp and hot, a sound that echoed in the chamber like thunder.

Aurelia gasped, biting her lip.

“Count,” Kaelen growled.

“One,” she whispered.

He struck again.

“Two—”

Again. Harder.

“Three—” her voice trembled now.

He leaned down, lips by her ear. “You disobey in public, you pay in private.”

“Four,” she moaned, arching into the next slap. “Five—”

By the sixth, her thighs were shaking.

By the eighth, she was soaked, dripping down her legs.

By the tenth, she couldn’t speak anymore.

Kaelen paused, hand on the small of her back, admiring his work. Her ass was red, hot, marked by his palm. Her body trembled, but didn’t pull away.

Still bent. Still waiting. Still his.

“Look at you,” he murmured, one finger trailing down to her soaked slit. “Wet while I punish you. You like this. You want to be broken.”

“I want to be yours,” she whispered.

He gripped her hair again, pulled her head back so she had to look into his eyes.

“You already are.”

Then he shoved himself into her—deep, rough, owning her again from behind with no mercy.

Not soft. Not worshipful.

Just pure, filthy domination.

“You’ll behave now,” he growled between thrusts. “You’ll keep your eyes down. You’ll keep your cunt ready. And when I want you—you come. Understand?”

“Yes, my prince—”

He slammed harder.

“Say it.”

“Yes, my master—”

Kaelen snapped.

He f****d her with brutal purpose, holding her down, growling filth into her ear—his punishment, her pleasure—until she came screaming his name, begging him to fill her again.

And he did.

Hard. Deep. Ruthless.

Because she was his.

And the punishment had only just begun.