The shame of it. Being attracted to the nobleman of another house, knowing your own would hate it. Drow women are proud and precise and you will not bring shame to your family as a man by choosing the wrong suitor. Except none of them are who you want. So many choices on offer, yes, yes. They want you for your family's money, their status, you as the jewel of their house, stolen away from the jewelers by catching your eye. It bores you. None of them care for your mind, as is the case for the women who are selling you off. Men and women alike reach for you, but you care as little for their ambitions as they care for your interests. You know who your betters would prefer you choose. The women bore you. The men less so, but none of them are to your standards, and certainly not to the matron's.
There is one, though. He flits about, a man interested in observing the proceedings. He has been graciously allowed in, as it would not do to upset a magically inclined drow noble household, but he is not to pursue you. He speaks with you, yes. He is cold, distant as any man of a proper house should be, as you are, but you can feel the tension drawing you both in as you converse in the spare time you do have to entertain him. He is clever, studied, rough hands from craftwork and a few alchemical burns, you noticed when you introduced yourself. You're capable. The women trust you to handle yourself. That you do. You see the passion that burns behind his jewel-red eyes as you easily follow him in conversation, the way his hands twitch despite his composure whenever you yourself get particularly excited about something. You speak of your knowledge of the body and see his eyes wander over yours, perhaps curious what that knowledge may be like put in practice.
Of course neither of you are particularly surprised to one day find yourself hidden away in a guest room with the lock firmly latched, mouths pressed together like air is the least of your concerns. It wouldn't do to be found, so the look you gave each other before pushing into the room was calculated. You had both been thinking it. Hips flush together, clothes scattered haphazardly on the floor, desperate and hungry. He finally pulls away and dares to even tease you for your choices. Out of all the options you had, you just had to pull aside the one you couldn't have. What will happen when you have to choose someone lesser? Someone who doesn't understand your mind, who hasn't bothered to learn the way you move and speak, someone who is pathetic compared to him. Even your house is beneath his. You know this. You struggle to bite back a noise about it. You could be lesser than him. He sees what it does to you. He doesn't do you the mercy of leaving it unspoken. Even as his breath wavers and his cock fills you he mutters filth in your long ear about how you could have chosen someone you outranked, someone you stood above, but that wasn't what you wanted. You want to be a lowly man, defiled by your betters, perhaps even discovered for the traitor to your house that you are.
You can't help that you fall apart to just the implication. He still isn't finished with you. You're lucky magic does an excellent job of tidying up. No one but the two of you know what happened, what will happen again.