The Not So Good Guy Series

As the moon dipped below the treetops, casting the manor in an eerie twilight, Marcus quickened his pace, his boots scuffing against the cold stone floor. The torches that lined the corridor seemed to sway in rhythm, their golden flames creating ghostly patterns over the elaborate tapestries that hung from the walls.

He moved swiftly through the dim corridors, his plain wool tunic and trousers clinging to his skin, dampened by sweat despite the chill in the air. Each step sent shadows flickering across his weathered face, accentuating the deep lines and the streaks of gray threading through his dark hair.

The sound of his hurried footsteps echoed off the stone, growing louder as he neared the bedroom. His heart raced, matching the tempo of his stride, a sense of urgency pressing him forward. Finally, he reached the heavy wooden door. Marcus paused for just a moment, drawing a shaky breath before lifting his rough, calloused hand to knock.

Just as his knuckles were about to make contact, he stopped, hearing the explicit sounds of passion from within. The soft, velvet sounds of desire—husky moans and panted breaths—mingled with the subtle protest of the aged bed frame, groaning under the weight of fervent passion. The passionate cries grew louder and more insistent, the symphony of their love a stark contrast to the solemn hush that typically enshrouded the manor's hallowed halls.

Marcus' brow furrowed, hesitation gripping him as he strained to catch his breath. He shifted his weight, the stone floor cold and unyielding beneath his worn boots.

Glancing down at the tiny note in his hand, its edges crumpled slightly from his grip, Marcus felt its urgency. The marking on it was clear and urgent, leaving no room for delay. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the awkwardness of the situation, and knocked firmly on the door.

The sounds inside slowed, then ceased altogether, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.

Footsteps approached, and the door opened with a slight creak, revealing a young man in his early twenties. His dark hair was tousled, and sweat glistened on his bare chest, but his expression remained calm and collected.

"Marcus," the young man said, his voice gentle and steady.

Marcus bowed his head as he extended the note and whispered. "A message for you, sir. Urgent, from the Ratrian's."

Linus took the note with a serene nod, his eyes briefly scanning Marcus before focusing on the marking. He opened the note, his gaze steady and composed as he absorbed its contents.

"Thank you," Linus murmured, folding the note carefully. Marcus dipped into another quick bow, then turned and retreated down the corridor, his mission complete.

Linus, now alone, closed the door with a soft click. He unfolded the note fully, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over his face as his eyes methodically scanned the urgent message. With a decisive motion, he moved the paper to the flame, watching as it curled and blackened, the message consumed by the fire.

"Should I leave?" came a soft, hesitant voice from the bed.

Linus looked up, his eyes bathing in the sensuality of the young woman's prone form. Her head rested on her arms, her slender fingers curled around the blanket as if protecting a precious secret. Her body arched sinuously, the blanket pooling at her waist to reveal a tantalizing expanse of smooth, unblemished skin. The soft candlelight danced across her back, casting a warm, golden glow that seemed to illuminate every curve and contour of her ravishing form. Her hair, disheveled from their impassioned encounter, cascaded down her back like a tumble of dark silk, framing her flushed face with a sultry halo.

Her lips, still parted in a gentle "o" of pleasure, seemed to beckon him back for another kiss. Her eyes, dark and mysterious, met him with a gaze that was both inviting and challenging, as if daring him to explore every hidden recess of her soul.

Linus's eyes lingered on her, but not with admiration—more like a predator eyeing its prey. A sly smile played on his lips. "No," he whispered, his tone dripping with a mix of lust and dismissal.

"I've just received more reasons to extend our night... to indulge in every moment with you."

She held his gaze, her breath catching slightly as she watched the last of the note turn to ash.

He inched closer, his fingertips brushing against the curve of her spine. Her skin was warm beneath his touch, heat radiating through the delicate path he traced. The sensation sent a shiver through her, a silent plea for more. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her shoulder, planting soft kisses along her bare back. She turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of longing and surrender. Her lips, still swollen and parted from their earlier passion, beckoned him closer. Linus answered her silent call, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was both tender and consuming.

Linus's hands roamed her body with a newfound urgency, each touch igniting a fire that spread between them. His fingers snaked across her skin, exploring her curves and valley with a tenderness that spoke volumes about his desire. She arched into him, her hands finding their way into his hair, tangling in the dark strands, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

The storm outside continued its relentless fury, but inside the room, the atmosphere was charged with a different kind of intensity.

Time seemed to blur as Linus and the young woman surrendered to the moment, their connection deepening with every touch, every whispered word. The two of them remained, locked in a battle of desire—but in this war, she was more than willing to be conquered, welcoming the sweet defeat that came with each lingering caress, every breathless kiss. Time lost all meaning as they were consumed by their shared need, their bodies and souls entwined in a dance of pure intimacy.

As the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, it cast a soft, ethereal glow over the room. The candles had long since burned out, leaving only the natural light to illuminate the aftermath of their passion. The storm had passed, leaving a calm stillness in its wake.

Hours later, Linus lay peacefully sleeping, the remnants of the night's passion evident in the contented expression on his face. The soft creak of the door opening gently stirred him from his slumber. He blinked against the early morning light, his eyes adjusting to the soft glow filtering through the curtains.

"Master, here is your drink," came the familiar, soft voice of the young woman from the night before.

Linus opened his eyes fully to see Mary standing beside the bed, a tray in her hands with a steaming cup of tea. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink, and she averted her gaze shyly as their eyes met, the memories of the previous night still fresh in both their minds.

He sat up slowly, a smile spreading across his face as he took the cup from the tray. "Thank you, Mary, for this and for last night," he said, his voice warm and sincere.

Mary's blush deepened, and she cast her eyes down demurely. "You're welcome, Master Linus," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She lingered for a moment, as if reluctant to leave, before turning to exit the room.

Linus watched her go, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment longer before he returned his gaze to the steaming cup in his hands. He took a sip, savoring not just the drink but the sweetness of the memory they had created together.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Linus straightened, setting the cup down on the bedside table. "Come in," he called out.

The door opened to reveal Marcus, his face composed and impassive. "Master Linus, you have been summoned by the King," he announced, his voice steady despite the gravity of his message.

Linus nodded, unsurprised. He had anticipated this moment, knowing it was only a matter of time. He reached for a small slip of paper on the desk beside him, quickly scribbling a message. Based on what his spies the Ratrian's had found out, he needed to make some moves of his own as well.

Folding the paper, he handed it to Marcus. "Read this, and then eat it," Linus instructed, his tone calm and authoritative.

Marcus took the paper without a change in his stoic expression. He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the brief instructions. Without a word, he popped the paper into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it.

"It will be arranged," Marcus said simply before turning and leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Linus reclined in his seat, already mentally planning his next actions. With deliberate movements, Linus dressed in his finest attire, every piece of clothing chosen with care to project confidence and authority. He fastened his cloak, feeling the familiar weight on his shoulders as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes, sharp and calculating, stared back at him.

As he made his way toward the exit, the soft murmur of servants and the distant clatter of the morning routine faded into the background, his thoughts entirely focused on the King's summons and the intricate game of power that lay ahead.