“I need a taste, Haven. Say yes.” Zane stood behind me. I couldn’t see his face, but I heard his smile when he added, “Please.”
Words still escaped me. I nodded, my body still hummingwith pleasure, my legs unsteady. I’d let myself go completely with them—and gods help me, I wanted more.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Not now.” Remy’s voice had all the authority of—well, a crown prince.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness, but our mother wishes to meet your guest.”
Remy’s guest’s legs still draped over his shoulders, and her pleasure still wet his chin. I felt my skin flush, and I struggled to disengage.
Remy caught my thigh, keeping me in place. “An hour.”
What might they do to me in an hour?
“Your mother anticipated your response, Your Highness. She instructed me to tell you that you have fifteen minutes.”
“Fuck.” Remy’s lower lip jutted forward like a toddler denied his dessert.
“That’s what we won’t be doing.” I pulled my legs free, using Zane as a support until I found my balance.
Zane’s teeth grazed my ear, and the sensation made my core spasm. “As soon as we’re done, you’re ours,” he promised. “We’re going to make you come so many times you forget your name.”
Who said things like that? Yes, please. I wanted that. And more. I wanted to collapse onto the bed and let them make good on that promise.
“Haven?”
“I’m fine.” My cheeks were on fire just from thinking of what we might do in an actual bed. Gladys’s visions were coming true, and I didn’t mind a bit.
But a queen waited. On me. A queen who was also Remy’s mother. Showing up late and disheveled, with lips swollen from kissing and hair mussed from … it would make a terrible first impression.
“You don’t look fine.” Amusement laced Remy’s voice.
“I’m meeting your mother in fifteen minutes, and I literally have nothing to wear.”
“Wrong.” Remy rose to his feet, crossed the room, and pressed on a door that blended into the walls. “This is your closet.”
My closet? “How …”
“My visions.” Zane’s cheeks darkened, almost as if he was embarrassed. “I guessed your size.”
Remy stepped into the closet, and gas lanterns flared, revealing racks of clothing. Leathers and silks and satins. Furs and fine wools and lace.
I was overwhelmed. My closet in Grimswood had held four outfits. This was too much. “What do I wear?”
Remy selected a dress and handed it to me. “This.”
The dark-blue silk dress fell to my ankles. Its neckline was high, and the long sleeves touched my wrists. It was elegant and demure.
After what we’d just done, I felt wanton. And wanton was not how I wanted to face Remy’s mother—the queen.
The demure dress was perfect.
Remy opened a drawer and handed me a few scraps of lace.
“What’s this?”
“A bra and panties.”
