Page 124 of Of Masks and Fury

“I would’ve done it.” The confession tore out of me. “If you hadn’t come. If there had been no other way to keep you safe, I would’ve stood at the altar and said the words because losing you would’ve been worse than losing myself.”

He turned me in his arms, holding my face with both hands. “You will never have to make that choice. Do you understand me? Never.”

Tears prickled in the backs of my eyes. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can and I do.” His kissed my cheek. “Whatever comes next, we’ll face it as one. No sacrificing yourself to keep me safe.”

“Then no sacrificing yourself to keep me safe either.”

His smile was soft. “We’ll protect each other. How’s that?”

“Better.”

He kissed me, gently this time, his lips moving over mine with tenderness that made my chest ache. When he pulled back, he reached for the water, cupping it in his palms. “Let me wash you.”

I nodded, turning around again.

“Keep your hands on the edge,” he said, his voice dropping to something that made my pulse stutter. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

The command sent heat spiraling through me. “What if I want to move?”

His hands stilled on my shoulders. “Then you’ll have to ask permission.”

“And if I don’t?”

His laugh came out rough. “Then I’ll stop touching you entirely and make you watch while I finish bathing myself.”

The threat made me press my thighs together against the sudden ache. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yes, I would.” His mouth brushed my ear. “I’ve waited this long to have you properly, Minx. I can wait longer if you can’t follow simple instructions.”

I gripped the edge and squirmed. Damn, I wanted his cock buried deep inside me now.

His hands moved over my shoulders, smoothing water across my skin, each touch a calculated tease. Water dripped from his fingers as he traced the line of my collarbone, then lower, skimming close enough to my breasts to make me arch toward his touch.

“Remain still,” he warned when I pressed back against him. “I’m not finished.”

“Finished with what?”

“Learning you.” His palms flattened against my ribs, his thumbs gliding across my nipples. “Every sensitive spot. Every place that makes you quiver with need.” When he cupped water and let it trickle between my breasts, I bit my lip to hold back a sound. His teeth grazed my shoulder. “I want to hear you gasp and moan. I want to know exactly what my touch does to you.”

His hands moved slowly, as though I might break beneath his fingers.

“I won’t shatter,” I said, my voice shaking with need.

“You won’t.” His lips brushed my shoulder. “But you’ve been through enough. Let me be gentle with you.”

My chest split open with a laugh that was half-sob, half-delight. “Gentle? From the big, bad warrior who’d faced down my father’s court and hordes of Skathes? Careful, Trew, or I’ll start thinking you’re going soft on me.”

He laughed against my skin, his hands sliding lower, sending sparks racing through me. “Hush and let me spoil you.”

His hands moved lower, washing away the grime and fear from our escape. He traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my lower back, every touch both practical and intimate.

When his fingers found the scars on my back, three raised lines from my father’s whip, he went still. His voice dropped to something dangerous. “I hate that you’ve suffered.”

I looked up at him. “These are my scars. My revenge.”

His jaw clenched, and he nodded. Then he lowered his head to kiss each mark, his lips gentle against the raised skin.