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He could visualise it with every second he spent speaking through a door and not parting Emara’s lips with his own.

“You need to let him in.” She chuckled, pulling away from him.

“I don’t need to do anything,” he assured her, his hands finally finding her hips to hold her where she stood. “With the exception of finding myself on that pretty mouth of yours.”

She gulped. “What does it matter? I won anyway. You caved first.”

He loosened his hands from her hips. A game. He had cracked first. He swallowed his own pride. “You’re right. I did lose. And I always will if I am playing with you.”

A moment passed between them, and she turned her body around to face him. Her gaze searched his face, probably looking for mockery, but she wouldn’t find any because he wasn't playing any longer. He wanted her. And he wanted her now.

“Guys, I am freezing my dick off out here,” Artem called. “Let me in.”

Emara let out a giggle. “He is not going to leave.”

Torin took a deep breath, letting his chest puff out as he marched through the remainder of the room and almost ripped the door from its hinges.

“Be nice,” Emara squealed from behind him.

The door opened to reveal a naked Artem Stryker with a tiny towel draped around his hips. He pictured himself flaying off every last tattoo with his hunting knife before he spoke. “What?”

Artem swaggered into the room casually, clearly unaware of what he had just ruined, what he had interrupted.

Torin’s fist twitched.

“Magin used every single drop of hot wat—” Artem paused, his golden eyes moving from Emara to Torin and back to Emara.

“You better keep your fucking eyes on me, brother,” Torin demanded, knowing full well how enticing she looked in that little emerald nightgown. Was it wrong of him to only want his eyes to see that?

Yes, it probably was, but he didn’t care.

“Did I interrupt something?” An obnoxious grin spread across his friend’s face. “Did you two finally give into your sweetest temptations and begin making beautiful, violent babies together?”

“I will knock you clean out, Stryker,” Torin growled.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Emara cut in, placing her arms around her waistline.

Her body language told Torin that she didn’t want Artem to see her like he just had—confidently seductive. It was just for him. He liked that.

He loved that.

Somewhere deep and dark, a possessive flame ignited, only intensifying his want of her. Fuck.

“We were just talking…playing a game.” She finally smirked back at Torin.

“Which is it?” Artem’s eyebrow arched, and amusement lingered on his face. “Talking or playing a game? They are two very different things.”

“You can play a game and talk at the same time.” Emara glanced at Torin again, her eyes glittering.

She was showing signs of empress-like confidence, and the warrior magic in his blood thrummed through his veins to match it.

“Can I join your game?” Artem grinned like a feral wolf from ear to ear.

“Absolutely fucking not!” Torin dragged his eyes from Emara’s unwillingly and looked over Artem. “You have ten minutes to bathe and get out.”

He strode over to a beam in the far corner of the room and stood against it. At least the situation in his pants had cooled off. Only Artem fucking Stryker could ruin this moment for him. Emara sat on a side of the bed, riffling through her bag, and he wondered if she would have said those two words he desperately wanted to hear. She pulled out a book that looked like it had been bound by Mother God herself and began reading.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Artem broadcasted his voice across the room as he lowered himself into the bath. The warm water gushed from the faucet. “Us, spending time together. We don’t really get quality time when we are riding.”