He murmurs, “I’ll worship you anywhere.”
I look toward the ceiling, roll back my shoulders, and fight the urge to kick his damn lips off her. My own skin is hot, pulling tight as my muscles tense. I’m not sure how much of this I can take.
Of course Rian is getting off on this. I’ve known him a long time—nothing could surprise me less. Hell, Rian would get off on the power play between a damn cat and mouse.
But it’s not just him.
I’m acutely aware of Sabine in every moment—so attuned to her own needs that I know the thrum of her pulse better than my own. And something about having Rian grovel at her feet, the man who shamed her now kissing prayers along her skin…it’s affecting her, too.
Her breath hitches. Her pupils dilate. Her pulse throbs.
I growl, territorial, but Sabine turns to me and rests a hand on my chest. There’s something in her eyes. An openness that begs me to trust her. To stand by her side. To be with her—even through this.
Gods help me, I always will.
As the silence stretches, Rian’s practically panting like a dog, trailing his fingers along her bare thigh, ready and willing for everything.
Abruptly, she steps back, pulling her leg away from his touch. Her skirt falls to cover her skin.
Rian gives a small whimper of longing, but she clicks her other heel on the floor. Sharp. Commanding.
She’s all business again as she jerks her chin toward me.
“Now show your loyalty to your king,” she says.
I bristle, blinking fast. Glance at Sabine. Wait…I’ma part of this?
It’s one thing for Sabine to assert her domination over the man who tormented her. She deserves to make him beg. I like to see his lips on her about as much as I’d like to be dipped in molten lead, but thereissomething, well, satisfying about seeing him on his knees before her.
The great High Lord of Duren, the former King of Astagnon, reduced to begging like a dog for a scrap of her mercy.
Rian sits back on his heels, his eyes wide and the smirk gone from his face. If he has a losing hand, he isn’t trying to bluff now.
He looks between the two of us, as incredulous as a school boy, as if, at any moment, we’ll all burst into laughter and call it all a jest.
Stab a knife into his heart.
But Sabine’s face remains serious as fucking stone.
I swallow, shift my weight to the other foot. I could stop this. Just one word, and it would end.
But…I think I understand now what Sabine is doing.
Me? I prefer to work out my differences with Rian with our fists. But I guess there’s more than one way to work out such bone-deep tension.
Rian looks to me, his brows pulling together, still unsure if I’m about to stab him in the ear. He starts to speak but then stops, wetting his dry lips, and raises an eyebrow. “Toes?”
“Fuck you, you ass,” I growl. “Put your lips onme, and I’ll kick you to the Panopis Sea. You can kiss myboot.”
Rian’s mouth quirks, almost a smile.
Truth be told, this—whateverthisis—isn’t entirely new. We were youths once. Neither of us strangers to the brothelorto the bottom of a tankard. Most nights, we sought our own pleasure, but there were a few times we ended up in some pub’s backroom with a girl shared between us. My cock between her lips while Rian took her from behind. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen his bare ass pumping into some whore. But those times…they were different.
None of those girls meant much to either of us. As long as the girl was willing and we kept her moaning with pleasure, then I didn’t think twice about sharing. Jealous? Hell, I was too drunk to hardly know where she ended and Rian began.
Now?
I haven’t had a sip of ale. I’m not some gawky youth. I’m Sabine’s fucking husband—and I’ve killed men for even looking at her the wrong way.
