“I hate that I have to choose,” she says, hands planted on my chest.
“I know, my darling. And I hate it for you, more than you can possibly imagine.”
She nods, a small smile creeping out as she shifts to straddle me. “Stiff drink still sounds like the right remedy, though.”
I huff. “Probably for everyone.”
She hooks a tooth over her bottom lip, her eyes drinking in my hand encompassing her thigh. “I shouldn’t get too drunk, though. I wouldn’t want to pounce when you need to conserve your energy,” she tells me with a straight face that I’m unsure how she’s managing.
“Did you just insult my ability to perform my duties as Hunterandhusband?”
She shrugs, but her eyes darken. “My needs are endless. And this war is important.”
I scoff, getting hard beneath her as the heat between her legs threatens my sanity. “Grace Hull, I’m about to bend you over right here and put that baby in you.”
She winks, rocking herself against my cock, and my hands tighten on her.
“Eat first, and let’s have a drink with our men,thenyou can do that,” she says with a velvet tone.
I growl and stand from the chair, tossing Grace over my shoulder. Her yelp pulls a huge grin across my face, and I snatch open the study door, marching us into the kitchen.
Riot looks up from his stew, spoon stuck in his enormous mouth.
“I knew she’d get you out of that office,” he mutters around the utensil.
I give Grace’s ass a hearty slap. “Conniving wife,” I say with pride bursting from my chest.
I love my people. And I was stewing.
But I like to stew. There’s nothing wrong with ruminating and internalizing. I can’t be certain of my decisions until I roll them over so many times I’ve got emotional rugburn.
I slide Grace down my front, groping every inch of her as she goes, and my eyes devour her lips, and her piercing green gaze locks onto mine. My upper lip curls, my tongue remembering the way she tastes spread out before me like my own personal feast.
“I don’t care how much liquor you have tonight, Grace. Your head will be spinning in bed regardless.”
Her lips part as I stuff a ham sandwich into my grin.
“Drinks and swordplay in the basement!” I announce to the house packed with Hunters through a full mouth. “Follow if you want to lose more of your money to me,” I shout from the foyer, throwing open the door to the basement.
Dishes and chairs rattle in response.
Grace is right—we need the men out of their heads and not stewing in the madness of storming the castle tomorrow night. And if they don’t need it, I sure as fuck do.
I spiral down the stairs.
Striking a torch to life, I secure it in the wall holster and approach the long, leather-stuffed bag hanging from the ceiling and unclasp it to make room for a fighting ring in the center of our training facility. It’s not as spacious or epic as Mortifer, but it does the job in a pinch.
Boot stomps rumble down the stairs as the room fills with Hunters.
“I’m going first,” Grace announces, dragging a sword from the bin against the wall as Hunters position themselves around the room, leaning against the walls and getting comfortable to watch their Captain and their Heir go at each other.
I fell in love with Grace because of her undeniable beauty, her soft, fierce heart, and heruntamed, extraordinary fighting talent. She’s fast and intelligent. Her skill and training always match mine.
Working hard to ignore my need to ravish the woman sauntering toward me, I warm up my shoulders.
I met Grace when we were fifteen and Master Hull finally let her into the training pens. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. We grew up in the caverns of Mortifer, learning and fighting together from that day onward. And over a pint on my seventeenth birthday, I promised Grace that I would save Goreon and make it a place we would flourish in.
She rolled her eyes at me.
