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Her new master is a stranger behind a mask. He gives her pleasure like she's never known. But his secrets could destroy them both…
Ella Miermont has no idea going to the infamous Dungeon Masquerade will land her in the arms of a masked stranger determined to make her submit to both his firm hand and skilled lovemaking. But pleasure comes with a price…
When she learns of a plot to kill the prince of Syrenne, she knows she can no longer remain silent and hidden among the submissive ladies serving at court. She will risk everything to save the prince she's never met – and the dominant, mysterious master who has stolen her heart.
But desire is a dangerous distraction, and her new master has been keeping deadly secrets. When the truth is revealed, Ella will either surrender completely… or destroy them both.
Welcome to the sensual, dark kingdom of Syrenne, a lost continent where humans coexist with creatures of legend. Where the men are dominant and the women submissive. Where desires run hot, and sometimes the only choice is surrender…
Publisher’s Note: Seduced in the Dungeon was previously released as Kiss The Prince. It is a dark romance which contains explicit scenes. If such material is likely to offend you, please do not read this book.
Augustus Myles Dorian Arryn, Prince of Syrenne
“Have you gone mad? The king will have my head,” Markus Pentoros, my bodyguard, valet and best friend from the age of ten, raged from where he sat opposite me inside the royal carriage. Already the castle lights were visible in the distance when I peeked my head out the small window.
“We need to hurry.” I pulled the pin free from the clasp that held my royal cape to my right shoulder and tossed the length of red silk at his head. “And leave my father to me. Give me your clothes.”
“This is insanity, my friend. This scheme of yours will never work.”
I disagreed. It had to work. I needed one night to myself, one night to be just a man, not a prince. “Stop arguing with me and think of all the beautiful, noble pussy you can have tonight.”
With a grunt, Markus lifted his simple black tunic over his head and tossed it into my lap. “If you say so. I prefer hot, wild, serving wench pussy. Your noble ladies are too much work.”
“Not for the prince. Simply show them your cock and they’ll swoon.” I lifted the fine, white silk shirt from my body and threw it at his chest. “Just be sure you stay away from my father.”
Markus shook his head and guided the silk over his large frame before shifting in the seat. He kicked off his boots and slid his plain black trousers from his legs. “Easier said than done, I’m afraid.”
I was never so grateful we were nearly identical. We had the same dark hair, the same dark hint of a beard on sharp angled chins. Both blue of eye, mine a hint grayer, but few came close enough to learn the exact color. Markus and I were the same size and shape. Hours of swordplay, horsemanship and grueling training for combat had made men of both of us. And once the similarity had been noticed, Markus had been given a guaranteed place as my permanent and ever-present guardian.
“Not tonight, Markus. Tonight, my father will be too busy with his own cock to worry about where you put yours.” I laughed, sliding my white breeches from my body. The recognizable royal red stripe down the outsides of the legs ensured all recognized me, despite the masks. Clothing would become optional as the evening wore on. But the masks must remain. That was my father the king’s strictest rule for the masquerade ball. The thin veil of anonymity gave the noble lords and ladies, and their offspring, free rein to indulge their most carnal desires.
“I hope you’re right, because it won’t be your royal head in the stocks, it will be mine.”
I laughed. “It’s not my father you need worry about. Just hope he didn’t invite the werewolves again.” The creatures, well known for their lusty appetites for human women, lived in the forests on the edge of the castle grounds.
“Better a werewolf than a witch.” Markus shivered.
I had no argument as I finished dressing in the borrowed clothing and lifted two large masks from their box. Both covered the entire upper half of a man’s face and part of the lower jaw. Most of the king’s guests made a half-hearted attempt at covering their faces, revealing their true lack of desire to remain anonymous. I’d ordered black feathers to not only surround the eyes, but to disguise the different shape of our heads; a slight variation in the angle of our jaws below the ear. None would recognize Markus behind the mask and beard. Of greater import, none would recognize me.
I handed one to Markus and placed the other over my face. When the transformation was complete, I lifted my head to study the effect.
“You thought of everything.” Markus studied me with the same critical appraisal with which I studied him.
“Well?” I asked. As usual, Markus took his sweet time making up his mind.
“You don’t act like a servant.”
“Well, you act like royalty, so no one will be surprised if the prince’s valet walks into the masquerade like a stiff prick.”
Markus laughed. “True enough.” He shrugged. “I guess the king’s guard will be our test.”
“Yes,” I agreed. Many in the royal guard had served the palace for years, witnesses to Markus and I as we grew up together, climbed trees, and dueled with blunt swords. They posed the most serious threat to our ruse. The others in attendance, the lords and ladies with their eager daughters, would not see past the red cape or the red stripes that ran the length of Markus’s legs.
The carriage rolled to a halt and the door opened. Accustomed to exiting first, I shifted forward but stopped at a hand on my chest and a stern warning. “Get your ass back in there. The prince is first.”
I fell back into my seat and nearly burst with elated laughter. The bitter old man who’d issued the warning, one of the longest serving members of the guard, didn’t recognize me. If he didn’t, no one would.
I lifted my hand to Markus and waved him to alight before me. “Your Highness.”
He stepped from the carriage, squared his shoulders, and assumed an arrogant slant to his posture I recognized well. Once he disappeared inside the castle, I leaned back and waited with anticipation as the coachman pulled around to the back of the large structure. We had timed the departure from our southern home, and arrival at the summer castle, to coincide with the start of the ball. I hadn’t laid eyes on any of these lords and ladies in over a year and I counted on this to aid in my deception.
I stepped down and waved to the coachman, who headed to the kitchens, no doubt eager for a pint of warm ale and a bowl of stew. My hunger was fixated in a different direction.
The masquerade. Once a month, beginning with the spring equinox and ending in the fall, the king hosted a masquerade in honor of the northern tribe’s fertility goddess. In the south, such debauchery and carnality were frowned upon, those partaking in such an event judged as possessed by the evils of the flesh. Here in the north, the nobles celebrated and welcomed the event.
With an eagerness in my step I’d not felt in a very long time, I hurried to the servants’ entrance and made my way through the dark and winding tunnels that once housed my family’s enemies. The old dungeons, not used in years, no longer housed prisoners.
The sounds of fucking reached me before I rounded the final turn in the underground cavern. The unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh, of a woman’s cries of pleasure. Deep and demanding, the rumble of a man’s firm voice carried through the tunnel like the low hum of a large drum after the initial strike fades. Hundreds of candles, standing like sentinels of ivory, lined both the floor and the grooves in the wall long ago carved into the dark stone.
Old iron rings, once employed to torture and punish our enemies, now served for torture of a different sort. On the far wall, a naked woman had her dress pulled down to reveal her breasts, her hands locked above her head. Her back arched as one man suckled at her nipples. His large hand cupped the soft mound of her pussy through her skirt, nearly lifting her from the floor as another struck her back with a flogger. Her head thrown back, she cried out and wiggled her hips, begging them to take her together. Now. Right now.
All around me, the sensual cries of the naked women being stretched and fucked by their dominant lovers filled the cavern with echoes of sensual surrender.
My cock grew hard as I surveyed the couple nearest me. The dark-haired woman was beautiful, with large breasts that bounced in time with her lover’s thrusting cock. The look in her eyes made me desperate and edgy. Not once had a woman looked upon me like that, their gazes always guarded or calculating. None surrendered to my mastery of their own free will or looked upon me as just a man. To them I symbolized the crown, privilege and prestige, a trophy for their house.
I walked farther into the room and heard another woman’s cries of pleasure. A large soldier inserted a plug into the restrained woman’s tight little hole as she shook with need. Nearby, concentrating on every move the dominant made with rapt attention, stood the most exquisite creature. Her hair, golden as a flame, her small body, adorned in a pale blue gown striped with green, curved to perfection. The quality of her clothing marked her a servant of a noble lord’s house. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, as though viewing the carnal act brought her to the verge of release. She swayed, her hands fisted in her skirt as she gazed upon them, her sensual blue eyes locked to the woman’s wet, open pussy as if her own body was starving for such sweet attention.
She turned her head, her golden mask glittering in the darkness like an enchantress’s, and she swallowed as though attempting to regain her composure. Her struggle to disguise her desire came too late. The woman wanted to be fucked, dominated, and made to scream.
She was exactly what I needed.
She would be mine.
* * *
I couldn’t move, couldn’t look away as the massive man, wearing nothing but black breeches and a soldier’s boots, pulled apart the rounded cheeks of the fair maiden’s bottom and slid an oblong wooden plug into her tight hole. The maid’s soft, smooth skin glistened, her pale golden hair bound by a tight center braid that hung over her shoulder. Her lover’s shoulders, wide and heavily muscled, bulged along with his forearms and biceps, making my knees weak with envy.
My mind raced as I admitted what I truly wanted this night, to have a man like him for myself, to be naked and vulnerable before a dominant’s strength. I needed to be conquered, fucked until I was couldn’t sense anything but the power of his thrusting cock, could no longer think, or even remember my name.
The woman who stood before him bent forward over a padded post that came to her hips. She gasped and squirmed, her heavy breasts bare and hanging toward the floor. Her lover tied her hands to a set of heavy iron rings affixed to the wall, one of many such rings in the tunnels beneath the castle, and not the only set in use. The woman’s yellow mask identified her as a submissive for the evening. She was naked now, but pooled on the floor near her lay the pale green dress worn by maids who served in the castle.
Unable to move, I stood like a statue as the large man stroked her bare bottom with his hand before spanking her, hard.
She jerked against the chains, her cry of pain transforming into a moan of pleasure as his hand struck again. And again.
The plug in her bottom would move with each firm strike and I wondered what the woman felt as he fired her blood, as the object plunged in and out of her body.
My eyes grew dry as I refused to blink, unwilling to look away as the guard dropped to his knees behind her and pushed the cheeks of her bottom open to expose her wet core. I forgot to breathe as he leaned forward and thrust his long tongue into her wet heat.
She bucked and moaned, begged him to touch her, to fuck her.
Shuddering now, my nipples heavy and sensitive, my pussy achy and wet, I blinked slowly, transfixed by the sight of his hand as he explored the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, moving higher, to the juncture between her thighs. He played her with mouth and fingers together, one hand teasing her clit as he worked her wet heat with his tongue. His free hand moved to the small handle of the plug in her bottom, pulling and pushing, fucking her ass as he tongued her pussy.
The woman lost control and screamed, her legs shaking as her orgasm took her over. Her breasts swung wildly as she writhed in his skillful hands, begging him to fill her with his hard cock.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I refused to stand here all night long like a mute. My body demanded more, would give me no rest if I did not find a lover to satisfy the empty ache that consumed me with need. All around me, dominant men circled the room, waiting for a connection with a submissive, waiting for permission to take their pleasure in my body.
And give me mine.
Above us, in the main palace ballrooms, another masquerade raged; the wine and women both finer and more noble than those gathered here in the underbelly of the stone fortress. In the grand ballroom, the king, the prince, and his noble lords took their pleasure from eligible woman of the kingdom in search of a rich husband. The women, eager to lift their skirts and accept their pleasure, succumbed as they attempted to catch the eye of a wealthy spouse.
But down here, the dominant men were warriors and blacksmiths, working class men with powerful shoulders and hard faces, not powdered and pampered princes.
This night, I sneaked inside the dungeon through a secret entrance my father showed me before he died.
Now I stood to one side of the couple. He worked her again, gave her no respite from his demands as she tried to regain her composure. Shuddering from her orgasm, the woman whimpered as he once more unleashed a sound spanking on her bare bottom.
“Fuck me. Please, take me. I want your cock inside me. I need it.” Her words were breathy and desperate, but the man standing behind her shook his head and struck her bare bottom again.
My heart raced to the rhythm of the pounding as he turned her cheeks a fiery red while she moaned and squirmed under his firm hand. Her pink, wet pussy glistened in the light of the hundreds of candles lining the ledges of the ancient dungeon. My breath turned ragged as the massive man dominated her, commanded her to say what he wanted to hear.
“You do not make demands of your master.”
“Master. Please.” She gasped as he slid two large fingers into her wet pussy from behind and she tried to wiggle backward onto his hand, to take him deeper.
He smacked her ass and pulled free despite her cry of protest.
“Your master will listen, if you say please. Tell me what you need, naughty girl.” He pushed his fingers back into her core and her legs shook, unable to take her weight, and she collapsed onto the bench, her arms hanging limp from the chains.
Fascinated, I watched her pussy clench around his fingers at his harsh words. Her head dropped in defeat and she begged, “Please, master. Please put your cock inside me, master.”
All around me, the wet sounds of fucking filled the long chamber. The moans and commands of the couples mingled into a symphony of sex and heat that made my pussy clench, wet with need. At least fifty couples sated their appetite while close to a hundred unmatched singles wandered. Black masked dominants and their brightly colored opposites mingled, talked, and searched for a partner for the evening.
Through my golden mask, I stood transfixed as the large man finally pulled his massive cock free of his black breeches and pressed the thick head forward, into the woman’s open pussy. The long wooden plug remained in her ass and she turned her face toward me as he filled her. Her eyes glazed with pleasure as he fucked her slowly from behind.
“Like what you see?” A deep, rumbling voice whispered the question in my ear, startling me. My heart leapt into a frantic and panicked race at his words. He stepped closer when I did not move and pressed his large frame to my back, and the heat of his chest scorched me through my thin blue dress.
When I didn’t answer, strong hands slid along the sides of my ribcage from behind. They dipped low, over my abdomen, and my eyes drifted closed as I swayed on my feet. His hands stung like flames singeing my flesh with lust.
Slowly, oh so slowly, with no hope of resistance, he pulled me back into his arms until the hard length of his cock pressed into my back and the scruff of his chin ran atop my head. Trapped in his arms, pulse pounding, I opened my eyes as the man before me continued to fuck the woman, his thrusts much harder now. With each thrust of his hips, her breasts swung wildly. Her head arched back, her entire body shook.
“I asked you a question.”
The man at my back lifted one hand to my breasts and pinched my raised nipples. My knees buckled but he held me still, strong fingers kneading my breasts in time to the fucking we now watched together. “Do you like what you see?”
I nodded this time, and the man behind me chuckled. His other large hand slid up my body, over my breasts to my neck, stopping when he held my throat and chin. He held me in place, forcing me to observe as the man pulled back on the woman’s hips and placed a clit stimulator beneath her.
I gasped, imagining her sensation as every powerful thrust of the man’s muscular legs and hips forced her small mound to press against the device. Built of leather, like a horse’s saddle, the small, dome-shaped sex toy rubbed her clit each time her body surged forward. Tonight was not my first experience with a device such as this as my stepmother, Lady Naomi, used one when the Duke came calling.
The Duke was a lecherous and vile old man, and our maids loathed and feared him in equal measure. But I understood this device well. On many occasions, I had listened to my stepmother’s throaty cries through the too thin walls of our manor house, cries like the woman riding the device was making now. Shocked. Overwhelmed. Desperate.
I shuddered with desire and my captor’s free hand drifted down, lower and lower, across my belly to cup my wet pussy through my dress. A needy moan escaped my throat and my face blushed with shame. I was not frightened, like I had been on my first trip to the masquerade, just shocked at my response. My previous visit to the masquerade had not ended well. That night I had trembled, too embarrassed to participate, to bare my flesh and fuck in front of a room of witnesses. And so I’d watched, like a fly on the wall, and gone home to take care of my own needs.
“Do you want to see her come?” The deep rumble behind me hinted that the one who held me was not unaffected, his breathy whisper held a hint of shuddering arousal. The knowledge pushed my desire higher as the man we were watching repositioned his cock, glistening and wet with the woman’s pussy juices, at her entrance once more.
He thrust forward until his cock disappeared completely from my view and the woman’s eyes drifted closed with erotic pleasure. His hand landed on her ass with a sharp smack and he pulled out, then thrust forward faster, pushing her body onto the leather mound, forcing a whimper from her.
“Please, Master. Please,” she begged. “Please, I need to come.”
Did I want to watch them finish this? Oh, yes, I did. I tried to nod as the man before me sped up his movements until her bottom quivered with his thrusts and her keening cries filled the dungeon with her frantic pleas for release. The muscles in the man’s back bunched and moved in the candlelight, the sight making me hungry to explore his flesh with lips and tongue. His firm ass flexed beneath the tight black leather breeches and I ached to reach forward and touch all that muscled power. I hungered to experience that command, to have a man take my body, fill my pussy, order me to come, make me feel. I didn’t want to think about my wicked stepmother or her vain daughters, or the stack of dishes and cleaning that awaited me at home. I did not want to remember the lonely hours I spent locked up in my tiny bedchamber when I angered one of them. The long, dark hours spent grieving my beloved father.
No. I didn’t want to think, I wanted to feel. I wanted to shatter into a million pieces of pleasure knowing that someone powerful, someone strong and unrelenting, would keep me safe as I lost control, lost myself.
Unable to move my head from the large hand holding my chin stationary, I licked my lips, afraid I wouldn’t find my voice, afraid the man at my back would vanish without giving me what I needed. “Yes.”
“Honesty will be rewarded, my beauty.” His voice, rough with need, radiated through me as he rubbed his hand over my clit, through the rough fabric of my dress. A jolt of fire shot from my aching clit to my core and I moaned, my soft cry lost to all but the man who held me as a small crowd gathered around us, all eager to witness the final thrusts of the master with his submissive. Her moans of pleasure and desperate pleading for orgasm drew the attention of more than one amorous couple.
The stranger behind me held me in arms as strong as steel. I wanted to see his face almost as much as I wanted to watch them finish this, see the woman’s eyes glaze over as she surrendered to her lover.
“Please, Master,” she begged.
He smacked her bottom once. Twice. She bit her lower lip, her eyes closed as she held back her release to please him.
I moaned as the man in black stroked his woman with gentleness, his touch tracing the curve of her spine as he held himself perfectly still, buried balls deep in her core. The change from such command to gentleness held me mesmerized as the man in black spoke to his lover. “Come for me. Now.”
He bent over her and found her braid, wrapping the long length around his fist to tug her head back as he resumed fucking her with wild, jerking motions to find his own release.
She screamed, her legs shaking and out of control as her orgasm rolled through her. Her lover lifted his head, the muscles in his neck and temples bulging as he emptied his seed into her.
I held my breath as she screamed, my body twisted and I gasped, eager to experience her desire, such complete surrender.
Before the screaming stopped, the man who held me spun me in his arms, both hands lifted to cup my face. He angled my head and looked down into my eyes. “Is that what you want?”
I could no more lie than I could stop my aching pussy from dripping in wet welcome. “Yes.”
“From me? Or would you seek another?” I studied him then. His shoulders were broad and muscled, his chest every bit as wide and intimidating as the man I’d just lusted after. He wore a plain black tunic, the fabric not coarse but of fine quality; clothing of a castle servant or a member of the royal guard or a squire. A black mask, larger than most, covered the upper half of his face, the top and sides further expanded with the feathers of a shiny, black crow. The fierce countenance made him more mysterious, darker. His dark blue-gray eyes looked down at me with complete focus, as if nothing else in the dungeon existed. His full lips taunted me with their closeness. An aura of exotic spices radiated from him and I leaned forward to sample his skin but the fierce strength of his hands stopped my advance.
“Answer me. Now.”
I blinked and regained some small sense of self-control. Was this what I desired? I’d pleasured myself with my own fingers, enjoyed the stretch of a large dildo in my wet pussy, stroked myself to orgasm many times. But I’d never given myself to a man. I’d come to the dungeon, to the masquerade, to find a powerful man to take me. Fuck me. Make me forget.
And I ran home the first night like a scared child, too frightened to take off my clothing and bare my body for all to see, too timid to offer myself to a man. I’d regretted that decision every night since.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
He blinked, as if confused by the question, but answered. “Call me Dorian.”
I lifted my hands, stiff from the fists I’d held twisted in the long folds of my skirt, placing them on his chest and sighing in pleasure at the heat emanating through his thin black tunic. I raised myself on the tips of my toes and placed my lips over his.
“Do you want me, beautiful, or would you seek another?”
“Yes, Dorian. Please. Make me yours.” I reached for his lips once more and again, he denied my bid.
“Just for tonight,” he said.
I sighed in acceptance. I’d come for a masquerade, not a marriage. The special draught the castle witches brewed for these events ensured there were no children born of these wild unions. All women drank the concoction before entering, without exception. No strings. Nothing unfinished. “Just for tonight,” I repeated.
A shudder passed through his massive frame and I braced for the full fury of his desire. Instead, he teased me with kisses. I wrapped my arms around his neck and allowed him to lift me off my feet. He carried me to the far end of the dungeon, as far away from the others as possible, before placing me on my feet.
With no padded post nearby, the possibility of bending me over, as the other woman had been taken, vanished. And part of me wilted with disappointment.
“What’s wrong?” Dorian’s lips traced the line of my chin, my throat, and I froze, shocked that he’d noticed such a small change in my reaction.
“Tsk, tsk. Lies will earn you a spanking.”
I shook my head, and he turned me to unbutton my dress. He slid the dress down over my body, past my hips to pool on the floor. My hair hung wild and free as I’d intended. I enjoyed the soft glide of the tresses sliding over my bare back and shoulders.
He spun me back around, and I stood naked before him. He took his time looking his fill. I held perfectly still, my shoulders back and my arms at my sides, refusing to hide from him. Though imperfect, my body hummed in anticipation, and tonight, on masquerade night, perfection didn’t matter. Only pleasure mattered. I suffered long enough under my stepmother’s evil rule with nothing for myself. Tonight, I existed for me. Just for me.
Dorian’s gaze traced every curve and dip of my body, his eyes lingering on my breasts and the bare place between my legs where I’d shaved away all the hair. The other giggling servant girls in the house insisted I must be bare, and I had complied. Now I was glad, for his eyes darkened with the same craving I’d seen in the soldier’s eyes. Lust. Need. Want.
Dorian wanted me. My mind raged with feminine power.
His attention returned to my face and our gazes locked. “Tell me what you want,” he said.
As if that one word released an animal within him, he pressed forward. Lips locked to mine, he backed me up to the wall and lifted my hands over my head.
The cold, stone wall at my back was a sharp contrast to the welcome heat of his chest as he pressed against my breasts. I lifted my legs to wrap them around his hips and arched into him, eager to rub my throbbing clit against his hard length. Naked and vulnerable, my core ached in desperation for anything he would give me. I was completely at his mercy, I could do nothing but submit, and I’d never been so completely out of my mind with need.
“Dorian.” His name was a plea.
“Tell me what you need.”
What did I need? His big cock filling me. His hands on my back, petting me with the tenderness I’d just witnessed. I needed to feel important, loved, safe. I needed to feel protected, desired, secure. I needed him to fill me with his cock, touch me until I couldn’t remember my own name, until I shattered in bliss.
I shook my head, beyond the point of wanting to make sense of my weakness. “I can’t. I don’t know.”
Seconds later, without warning, I fell, and Dorian’s strong arms caught me. He flipped me onto my stomach and sat on the stone ground with me sprawled across his lap. My bare bottom remained in the air and I rested on my elbows, my bound wrists on the ground in front of my face.
“I warned you about lying to me.”
His firm hand landed on my bottom and I cried out as fire raced over my skin, straight to my aching core. He spanked me again, over and over, and I imagined my backside turning bright red. I squirmed at the thought as Dorian slid two big fingers into my wet core from behind.
I would have collapsed at the added sensation but he held me firm, one hand in my pussy, the other large palm spread beneath me, supporting my abdomen, holding my bottom up in the air, keeping my wet sex in place for his exploration. “So, you like that, do you? Like the sharp sting of my hand on your ass?”
A shudder raced up and down my spine as his fingers pumped in and out of me in a slow, steady rhythm, driving me mad.
“Yes.” The wet juices covering his fingers would betray any attempt to lie.
“Tell me what you need,” he again insisted.
I didn’t know him, had no idea of his station, but I needed one thing I trusted him to give me. “I need your cock inside me. I need to be yours, Dorian. Please.” The last word sounded desperate, but I didn’t care. I’d never belonged to anyone, not since my father died, and right now, I needed to belong to him.
With an animalistic growl, he lifted me from his lap and placed me before him on my hands and knees. I sensed movement as he freed his cock from his trousers and I shifted backward, urging him to hurry.
Smack! The sharp sting of his palm on my bottom made me ache.
“Stay still. Hold still and take what I give you.”
His words radiated like fire in my bloodstream and I stiffened, still as a statue, completely under his command.
The blunt tip of his cock nudged my wet pussy, made me moan, and I bit my lip. My thighs shook as he worked his way inside me. Finally! He stretched me open, and I panted as his huge cock filled me to the brink of pain. He was larger than the toys I’d played with—and hot, so hot.
“You’re so fucking tight.” He sounded strained. Uncomfortable.
I had no answer, afraid I’d displeased him somehow. “I’m sorry.”