The inn's back room was tucked away behind a narrow alley in central London, shielded from prying Muggle eyes... perfect for clandestine meetings. Daphne had been there first, pacing barefoot on the worn wooden floor, the hem of her simple yet elegant blue dress brushing softly against her ankles. Her silk robe lay discarded on a chair, a calculated move to prepare herself for the night ahead.
The faint scent of old wood and cedar mingled with something darker in the air, anticipation, or maybe something more dangerous.
Her mind raced, thoughts tangled with stubborn determination. Get it done. No drama. No surprises.
Her fingers paused at the strap, breath stalling. Control was a ritual; breaking it took more courage than she liked to admit.
But deep down, under the layers of logic and discipline, something coiled tight, not quite dread, not quite anticipation. Just... pressure. A heat she couldn't label.
She stopped pacing, smoothing her dress down, then glanced toward the door. Time. It was time.
For one heartbeat, she considered calling it off. Just turning, grabbing her robe, and walking out. But control wasn't won by retreating. It was won by holding still. By facing the fire.
The door creaked open and Oliver stepped inside... all confident swagger and sharp smirk. The air seemed to tighten around them, every heartbeat louder than the creak of the floorboards.
He was dressed simply but well: a dark tailored shirt that hugged his broad chest, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the lean muscles of his forearms, crisp trousers, and polished shoes that clicked softly on the wooden floor. His messy dark curls framed a face alight with amusement and something else she couldn't quite place.
"Well, well," he said, voice rough but amused, "Princess Greengrass decided to show up."
Daphne's eyes narrowed, but she didn't waste time with pleasantries. "Let's get this over with," she said coolly. Her voice was steady, but inside, her pulse had quickened, betraying a flicker of nervousness she couldn't let show.
Oliver's grin widened as he stepped closer, eyes darkening with interest. "Straight to business, huh? I like that."
Without waiting for permission, Daphne turned, deliberately letting the fabric of her dress slip from one shoulder. Her pale skin gleamed softly in the dim light, flawless and cold, a contrast to the warmth creeping up her neck.
"Wood," she said, voice sharp, a slight edge of superiority masked with practiced calm. "I don't have all night."
Oliver blinked, eyes locking onto her exposed collarbone, then tracing the line down to the curve of her waist as the dress slid slowly lower. For the first time in a long while, he was lost for words.
"What the fuck, princess?" he finally muttered, stepping back, jaw dropping just slightly.
Daphne met his gaze, unflinching. She forced her tone even, hiding the jolt of surprise and a sudden rush of heat... that his reaction ignited in her.
"Wood," she repeated, voice clipped and cold, "I don't have the time or patience for you to gape like an idiot."
Oliver ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Alright, alright. Daphne… calm down."
Her lip twitched, barely suppressing a smirk. "Calm? You're the one who looks like you just saw a ghost. Or better, like you're afraid I'll snap in half."
"Snap you in half?" He took a slow step forward, eyes glittering with mischief. "Trust me, princess. If anyone's snapping tonight, it's going to be me."
Daphne stiffened, trying not to let her breath hitch. "Keep talking, Wood. You might make me believe it."
Oliver laughed, a low, rich sound that echoed through the room and loosened some of the tension coiling inside her. Then he moved closer, eyes dark and intent.
"I'm not here to play games. You want control, right? You want this night to be your terms." He circled her slowly, admiring the way the soft light highlighted the curve of her neck, the sharp line of her jaw. "So show me how much control you have. Start by showing me everything."
Daphne swallowed, feeling the familiar burn of heat creep over her skin. But she held her posture like the queen she was... unyielding and fierce.
She let the last of the dress slip from her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet, revealing her naked skin to his hungry gaze.The room felt colder, her skin prickling under his stare; each inch of silence a touch she didn't ask for.
The cool air kissed her exposed body, but inside, the fire was stoked higher by the way Oliver watched her.
His breath hitched, dark eyes scanning every inch of her pale, flawless skin, every delicate freckle she rarely revealed. The challenge in his expression sharpened.
"Beautiful," he said, voice low and thick with something like awe.
For the first time since she'd met him, there was no joke in his eyes. Just reverence. And hunger. And something frighteningly close to vulnerability.
Then, his tone turned teasing and fierce. "You sure you want to do this, princess? Because once I start, I won't stop until I own every inch of you."
Daphne's lips curved into a faint smile, but her eyes stayed icy. "I'm the one who said to get this over with."
Oliver's grin was devilish as he stepped in close again, fingers brushing the sensitive skin at her collarbone, tracing a slow, deliberate path down her body.
His touch was electric, raw and confident. She bit back a sharp inhale but kept her face composed.
It infuriated her, the way her body responded without permission. As if pleasure had bypassed her mind completely. As if control had always been an illusion.
"Let me show you," he whispered, voice thick with promise.
Without warning, he sank to his knees, eyes never leaving hers, and pulled the edge of her silk underwear down with one swift motion.
Daphne's breath hitched, fingers tightening in his hair despite herself.
Oliver's lips pressed to the warm skin between her thighs, tongue flicking out in expert strokes. His mouth was rough, demanding, tracing slow, fiery patterns that left her nerves singed.
She tried to keep her face impassive, but the sharp intake of breath she couldn't hide was like a crack in the ice.
"Don't think I won't hear you," Oliver murmured against her skin, sliding a finger inside her, curling expertly.
Daphne's body betrayed her again, muscles tightening and trembling in ways she hadn't expected. Yet her voice stayed low, controlled.
"Keep going," she said, her tone a challenge wrapped in silk.
Oliver's grin was triumphant as he increased the pace, fingers moving deftly while his tongue drew small gasps and soft moans from her lips.
He pulled back for a moment, looking up at her with those fierce, dark eyes.
"Say my name," he demanded, voice thick with possession.
She bit her lip, eyes wild but face calm, voice barely above a whisper. "Wood."
A growl rumbled in his chest as he bit gently into her thigh, teeth grazing skin. "No, princess. The name I want to hear is mine."
It felt like surrender. Not to him... but to something inside her she'd buried too deep for too long.
"Oliver," she whispered, voice raw and trembling.
"That's it," he said, sliding his fingers deeper, drawing a shudder from her core. "Mine."
When he rose, his eyes burned with hunger and possession.
He pulled her close, pressing her back against the battered wooden table. His hands explored every curve, lifting the dress higher, exposing her skin to the cool air.
Their lips collided hard and hungry, teeth clashing in a kiss that was as much a battle as a surrender. It was their first kiss, raw, chaotic, impossibly intense and it shattered the silence between them with a violence neither expected.
Oliver's hands moved to the buttons of his trousers, deliberate and slow, as he whispered against her lips, "Ready to lose control?"
Daphne's answer was a breathless nod.
He lifted her effortlessly onto the battered wooden table, the edge biting into the back of her thighs. With a sharp intake of breath, he entered her, hands gripping her hips tight enough to bruise. The pace was brutal, relentless, each thrust a promise, a challenge.
Her moans spilled out, raw and untamed, betraying the ice queen's carefully maintained mask.
"Beg for it," he growled, eyes dark and commanding.
She clenched her jaw, but the words escaped, ragged and needy. "Don't stop, Oliver."
"Say it," he demanded, voice rough with desire.
Her voice cracked free, trembling but fierce. "Oliver."
Their bodies collided again and again, each thrust a shockwave that broke whatever cold restraint she had left. He filled her completely, each drag of his hips dragging another moan from her throat. Her legs wrapped tight around him, heels digging into his back. She wanted him to feel it... her, all of her.
"Harder," she gasped, clawing at his shoulders. "Don't hold back."
He didn't. He grabbed her thighs, spreading her wider, slamming into her with wild precision. Skin against skin, breathless curses and praises falling from his lips as she trembled beneath him.
"You think you're in control," he hissed, bending to suck her nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling, teeth grazing until she arched off the table. "But look at you."
"Shut up," she panted, yanking his head back by his hair and kissing him hard, messy, biting his lower lip until he groaned into her mouth.
He thrust deeper in retaliation, and she cried out, not in pain, but something else. Something wild and all-consuming. The noise tore out of her, unrestrained and utterly wrecked.
She was burning, every nerve ending alight, and when his hand slipped between them to circle her clit, she shattered. A blinding climax rushed through her like a tidal wave, body seizing, walls tightening around him.
He came with a growl, hips jerking, burying himself in her one final time as pleasure overtook them both.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, their bodies tangled in the silence.
Then Oliver rested his forehead against hers, breath still ragged. "You don't get to pretend this didn't happen." He gave her a lazy, satisfied grin. "If this is before the wedding… I can't imagine what our wedding night will be like. Maybe I'll tie you up."
She let out a sharp laugh and punched him lightly on the shoulder. "That's what you'd like, isn't it?"
Daphne closed her eyes. She wanted to tell him to leave. To deny every vulnerable part of what just happened. But all she did was nod, barely. Just once.
The sound of their breathing faded, but not the heat beneath her skin. Control had always been her armor, tonight it felt like smoke.