Page 49 of Beds and Blades

The woman nodded. “Yes, High Commander.”

“Every soldier on night duty wears full armor from dusk. No exceptions. Every soldier carries a hunter’s hook, belt-carried and accessible at all times. If the beast somehow gets past ten soldiers and heavy archer fire, no one in this garrison should face it empty-handed.”

“Yes, High Commander.”

She glanced at me once more.

She almost smiled.

Then caught herself.

Before her professional composure returned, something passed across her face—an expression that said, Well. Good for her.

She moved toward the door, report complete, orders received. The door closed behind her. She departed with significantly more material for her imagination than she had arrived with.

Skip looked at me.

“Varia,” he said. “One of my most trusted lieutenants. She has been with this garrison for four years.”

I considered this.

“I think,” I said, “that she has a fairly comprehensive picture of what happened in this room last night.”

“She is observant,” he said. “It is why I trust her.”

I looked at him. He looked back. He appeared aware of what had just been on Varia’s face.

The orders were moving now. Varia would see them done. The garrison was effective.

He turned to me.

“Now,” he said. “Back to you.”

His hand moved beneath the sheet and found my breast. His thumb brushed over my nipple, then began moving in slow circles.

“Look at me,” he said.

I held his gaze.

He kept going with the same unhurried pressure, his eyes on mine, watching with focused attention. The heat started low and spread slowly, pulling my breath out of rhythm.

His other hand moved beneath the sheet. Two fingers slid into me without preamble. I made a sound I had not planned to make.

I reached for him.

He was already hard.

I stroked slowly down the length of him. The full, genuinely unreasonable length of him. He exhaled against my throat.

We found a rhythm—his fingers and mine, moving together with reciprocal focus.

Then his mouth found mine.

His tongue moved against mine, slow until it wasn’t, the restraint giving way to something rawer underneath it.

My hand tightened on him. His fingers pressed deeper. We were both breathing harder.

He pulled back just enough to look at me—dark eyes, jaw tight—and then he came back, and the kiss was deep. Hungry. There was an animal quality to it that bypassed every analytical framework I had.