She didn’t need to look behind her when she heard the movement. The subtle shift of air. The hush of a shadow stepping through darker shadow.
“This one feels lonely.” Her fingers brushed the mark. “It needs a companion.”
With slow, practiced grace, she opened her robe wide and spread her thighs even wider. The fire in his eyes licked over her skin, gilding her like a statue left for worship.
“You know how symmetry is important to me.”
Graham said nothing. But she felt him. Felt the weight of his stare from across the room, from the shadowed corner where he stood—stone-still, silent, radiating heat like a blade held too long over a flame.
His breath was the only giveaway. Just slightly faster than it had been. His body was taut, coiled, waiting.
Raveena dragged her fingers along her inner thigh. Outside, the wind whistled, the chill banging against the window to get in. The heat in the room kept the cold at bay.
Graham's assessing gaze continued to devour her. His stoic silence caused her core to pulse. When his index finger twitched at his side, blood pooled in her clit in anticipation.
“I said,” she whispered, voice curling like steam, “I want a matching pair. Would you deny your queen?”
The only movement was a flick of his wrist. Her brain ignored the glint of the blade in his hand. He'd come at her with shackles before and bound her to the bed for his pleasure. He'd tied her limbs in intricate knots that ensured they stayed open for his viewing enjoyment as he made her come so many times that she'd passed out. Breath play was a favorite of hers when he made her gasp while his hand covered her mouth and nose as the other intimate opening gasped around his length.
But knife play? That was new. She was eager to try. She would do anything with Graham. Anything for him. But first he would make her beg. That was her favorite part. Not so much the pleas that burst from her when she finally gave in. The buildup before she gave in. When she tried to hold it in, hold on to her dignity.
Graham never had to snatch the words from her. He never used force. He just had a way of making her want him so much that she would inevitably give in.
Except right now, he wasn't doing anything. He wasn't saying anything. He wasn't making a move. He leaned against the dark oak panels like he was carved from shadow. The firelight danced over him, flickering against the blade he spun idly between his fingers.
Raveena had the patience of a saint. She'd shown that earlier in the throne room as she'd dealt with the queens and ladies. With this man, she had very little chill.
She rose from her vanity in one fluid motion, letting the brush fall to the floor. The hem of her robe whispered along the polished stone as she moved toward him, each step slow and intentional, her bare feet silent against the floor.
Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let that blade catch the glow of the light and watched her like a predator might watchthe flick of a rabbit’s ears—patient, practiced, and entirely in control.
“Are you a woman of your word?”
Her smile curled, dark and eager. Ah. A game, then.
“With you?” Her hips swayed with every step that brought her closer to her true endgame. “I have never broken my word.”
Graham’s scoff was more breath than sound, but it carried enough accusation to cut. “You married another man.”
“I gave the king my body,” she said, stopping just before him, their breath mingling in the narrow space between them. “Not my heart.”
He stared at her—jaw tight, eyes darker than a storm. "Do you even have a heart?"
Raveena's hands went to the straps of her nightgown. She pulled the edges to her shoulders. Along with the robe, the gown slithered off her body, pooling at her bare feet. She inhaled, which pushed her breasts up. The eager nipples throbbed in time to her racing chest.
Instead of looking at her naked body, Graham held her gaze. “Your body belonged to me.”
She let her gaze rake over his face—every scar, every shadow, every hard-earned line etched into the man he’d become. The soldier. The ghost. The flame that had never gone out.
“It still does. It’s been locked up tight. Waiting for the only man who ever knew what to do with it.”
Graham looked then. Looked at the body that had only ever sang for him. The tender flesh of her breasts ached to be close to him. Her knees pressed together, partly to get relief from the pulsing of her core, partly in preparation to launch into him.
The blade stilled in his hand. His chest rose sharply. Heat rolled off him now, barely restrained. Something dark coiled behind his gaze, like a storm behind a dam.
Slowly, deliberately, Raveena sank to her knees before him. Her head lowered, and her hands slid behind her back, fingers lacing together. She tilted her face up to him, her expression not vulnerable but still somehow submissive.
“Take what’s yours,” she whispered.
