Orimus continued, his voice growing firmer. "I'm not like that dimwit who used to run around you like a dog. Don't mistake me for someone who'll fall for your games."

Elara's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, the kind that sent a shiver down the spines of those who underestimated her. She stepped closer to Orimus, closing the distance between them until her intoxicating scent of jasmine and something darker, more elusive, enveloped him.

She tilted her head slightly, her golden hair cascading over her shoulder, and her eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and menace.

"Oh, poor little cousin," she purred, her voice dripping with mock pity. "Do you really think I don't know what you're thinking? Or what you want?"

Her slender fingers brushed against his cheek in a gesture that was both tender and taunting.

Orimus stiffened under her touch but didn't pull away, his jaw tightening as he tried to mask his discomfort. Her smirk deepened, satisfied with his reaction, and then, as swiftly as she had approached, she turned away.

Elara returned to Myron, who was reclining in a drunken haze, his glass nearly empty again. She perched on the armrest beside him, her movements languid and sensual, as though the world revolved around her whims. She traced a finger along the rim of his glass before leaning close, her voice soft but brimming with suggestion.

"My darling," she cooed, "how about you give my cousin a little show?"

"Show him how a man should take his woman."

Myron blinked up at her, his intoxicated mind sluggishly processing her words. He grinned, a lazy, lopsided smile that betrayed his lack of comprehension or care. Elara took the glass from his hand and set it on the table beside him, her delicate fingers lingering on his for a moment before she shifted her attention entirely to herself.

With an air of casual dominance, Elara gathered the fabric of her long skirt in her hands, lifting it slightly to reveal her bare legs. The room seemed to grow warmer, the tension palpable.

Myron watched her with a mixture of fascination and drunken stupor, while Orimus's gaze darkened, torn between disgust and reluctant intrigue.

Elara's hands slid higher, the soft rustle of silk punctuating the silence as she reached beneath her skirt. In one fluid motion, she removed her underclothes, the sheer lace slipping down her legs and pooling at her feet.

She stepped out of them with deliberate slowness, every movement designed to command attention.

Then, with an elegant flick of her wrist, she tossed them onto Orimus' lap.

"Keep those for me, won't you, little cousin?" She teased, her tone playful but laced with an edge that left no room for refusal.

Orimus was now burning with redness in his face, unable to turn his gaze away from her. He felt a shiver when she threw her panties at him. He was surprised at how Myron was taking all this and well.

Myron chuckled, clearly amused, though his laughter was slightly slurred. He didn't protest as Elara climbed onto his lap, her skirt hitched up to reveal just enough to leave little to the imagination.

She straddled him with practiced ease, her body pressing against his as she leaned in close. Her lips hovered near his ear as she whispered something too quiet for Orimus to hear, though the smirk on her face suggested it was far from innocent.

Myron, ever the willing participant in her games, grinned and wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands sliding over the smooth fabric of her dress. Elara tilted her head back, her laughter low and melodic, echoing softly in the room.

Orimus clenched his fists at his sides, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. He knew Elara's antics well—her ability to manipulate, to twist situations to her advantage—and yet, there was something about her that kept even the most sceptical under her spell. He hated it, hated the power she wielded over people, but he couldn't entirely tear his eyes away.

The fact that he loved her made it impossible to tear his gaze away, and also he was so much angrier that another man was taking her in front of him and he couldn't do anything about it.

Elara, sensing Orimus's lingering gaze, turned her head just enough to catch his eye. Her smile widened, triumphant and taunting, as though daring him to challenge her.

"Don't look so tense, cousin," she said, her voice smooth and saccharine. "We're just having a little fun."

She leaned back against Myron, her posture relaxed and commanding all at once, as though she were the queen of her own little kingdom.

Myron, still blissfully oblivious to the undercurrents of tension in the room, laughed again, his hands tightening around her waist as though he were holding onto a prize.

She started moving back and forth on Myron's lap, grinding against him. Her thighs were now bare and exposed, her movements becoming more provocative with each passing moment.

Orimus's jaw tightened further, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might say something. But then he simply turned away, his shoulders rigid as he muttered something under his breath and left the room.

Elara watched him go, her expression unreadable for a brief moment before her smirk returned. She ran a hand through Myron's hair, her nails grazing his scalp, and sighed contentedly.

"Some people are so easy to rattle," she mused, her tone light and almost affectionate.

Myron chuckled again, though it was clear he didn't fully understand what she meant. Elara didn't mind. For now, everything was as she wanted it to be—and she intended to keep it that way.

"How about you fuck me to oblivion, darling?" She purred, her eyes glinting mischievously.

Myron's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly recovered with a grin, leaning in to kiss her passionately. Elara's smirk grew wider as she realized she had once again gotten exactly what she wanted.