“A test, I suppose. To see if I could really trust you, and to determine if you trusted me enough to let me have my secrets.”
“It was unfair, Beresford. Asking that much of me, making me doubt you so deeply, telling me that whatever was inside that room could end our happiness—it was fucking cruel.”
He kisses the center of my palm. “I will never test you in that way again, I swear.”
“No, you won’t, because you will never keep secrets from me again. At least not until we’ve grown a thick, hard, solid tree of trust.”
His blue eyes meet mine, and he grins.
I give him a grudging smile in return. “You’re thinking something dirty, aren’t you?”
“Always.”
“Sex fiend.” I cup his bearded chin. “You and your blue fucking hair. It was so strange seeing the original Beresford with brown hair. I didn’t like it at all.”
“But you like me?” His tone is cautious, his face tense with anxious hope.
“I love you, you fucking idiot. I love who you are at your core, and I love who you try to be. Neither of us will be the same souls in ten years, or twenty, or thirty, but I’m willing to change together, if you are.”
He rises on his knees and lunges forward as though he’s going to kiss me, but I press a hand over his mouth. “Down, boy. I’m not leaving you, but I’m not entirely ready to forgive you. I need time to think, and I’ll probably have more questions… like where you went on your journey.”
“I met with some of Beresford’s associates in the city,” he replies. “Unfortunately some of his business dealings were of a deeply unsavory nature, and I had to end my involvement. I still don’t fully understand the moral code of this world, but I do know that in any realm, capturing and selling people into sexual servitude is wrong. I’m sure you can understand why I didn’t want to explain that to you at the time.”
All I can muster is a nod. I feel, suddenly, dramatically weary, as if my brain has finally reached its comprehension capacity for the night.
“We don’t have to leave right now, do we?” I ask. “The Barrow-Man can’t come out of the woods tonight. He can’t get to us yet. Not here.”
Beresford glances toward the curtained windows, his body tense with apprehension. He’s afraid of his former captor. Of course he is. The wight imprisoned him, tortured him, nearly killed him.
“We’ll be safe tonight.” Judging by his tone, he’s trying to convince himself more than me.
I wave him back imperiously, and he gets to his feet, stepping back to give me plenty of room as I rise from the couch. I don’t miss the way his eyes skate along my body, lingering on my bare legs. He drifts toward me slowly, like he’s being pulled against his will, like he’s caught in the undertow of my beauty.
Despite his earlier vow that he would never hurt me, my breath quickens as he looms over me. He’s twice my size. He could overpower me easily.
“You’re not sleeping with me in our bed,” I burst out breathlessly. “You can sleep in a guest room.”
“That’s completely fair,” he murmurs. His palm cups the underside of my breast, and I tremble at the heated contact.
My tongue traces my lips. “I said we’re not sleeping together.”
His whole hand encompasses my breast, squeezing it lightly through the thin material of my nightdress. “I know.”
All it took was that first brush of his palm, and my pussy grew warm and swollen, pulsing and aching to be touched. I struggle not to lean into the heat of his hand.
“You have to go,” I whisper. “Go find another room to sleep in. It’s too soon. I can’t share a bed with a shape-shifter, a matagot, or whatever you call yourself.”
“Beresford,” he says, cupping my breasts with both hands. “Your husband. That’s what I call myself.”
“And that’s what I’ll call you too, but I need time.”
“Do you?” he purrs. “Then why haven’t you stepped away? Why are your nipples hard under my palms?” He moves one hand beneath the lacy edge of my nightgown and places it overmy bare pussy. I gasp as his two central fingers sweep through my slit.
When he holds up his hand, those fingers are gleaming wet. “Are you sure you want me to sleep apart from you tonight, wife?”
My cunt is quivering for him, dripping for him. I can’t think of a better way to fall asleep than with his cock inside me.
But I drew a line, and he isn’t respecting it. If we’re going to move forward from this—if he’s going to understand how serious his deception was—I have to be firm both with him and with myself.
