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“Good girl.”

“Did I hit something?” she asks, twisting to look up at me.

“Not the target,” I murmur. “But definitely something.”

We’re nose to nose now. I should pull away. Tell her this is over. That she’s spoken for, and every time we’re together it’s one step closer to me breaking the King’s trust. I won’t be the one to break the rules, even if way out here in the woods, no one would know.

He’d know,I remind myself. And he’d have me fucking castrated.

But she leans in first. Her lips hover at my jawline, not quite touching, her breath fanning across the heat of my skin.

“Teach me more,” she whispers.

I don’t answer right away. Just watch her lips part as the words slip out, sticky-sweet and soft, and I feel her pulse flutter under my hand. She’s still holding the bow, but it’s slack in her grip now. My other hand slides down the curve of her thigh, slowly. Testing. Asking without asking. She doesn’t stop me.

"Say it again," I murmur, my lips brushing her temple.

“Teach me,” she breathes, voice trembling now. “Please.”

That is within the rules.Firmlyinside the boundaries the King gave us. The word lights something primal in my chest. I grip her hips and turn her, backing her against a moss-slick tree. Her mouth falls open as I slide a thigh between hers and press. Her skirt hikes up.

Fuck.

“Show me your tits,” I say, and she obeys like a child, pulling her dress up and over her head. Her bra and panties are black lace, a tiny bow at the front of each. That depraved combination, silly little schoolgirl wrapped in lace. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but…

Fuck. Jesus Christ, my cock approves.

Too impatient to take off the bra, I yank down the cups, exposing those pretty brown tits that I think about every time I touch myself, getting my eyes on the piercings.

The bars gleam in the low autumn light, short and snug, little metal knobs catching on the curve of her healing nipples. There’s a faint bruise around one, and the skin is still a little tender. My mark. My doing.

I trace the underside of one breast with my knuckle, then tap the bar lightly. She flinches, just a bit, but doesn’t pull away.

My cock twitches beneath my jeans.

“They’re healing perfectly,” I murmur. “Tight. Clean. Pretty.”

She swallows hard, watching me with wide, wet eyes.

“Hurt?”

She nods and admits, “Hunter gave me some salve to help.”

My tongue darts out, running over the hoop in my lip, thinking about Hunter checking on her. How I feel about it. “Good,” I decide for the both of us, but still ask, “did he touch them?”

She shakes her head, and yeah, that’s even better. I want to be the first to play with them once they’re healed, when I can wrap my teeth around them and pull. I’m going to dress them up in different charms, link them together with chains. Most of all, I want to hear her scream.

But for now, I just press a gentle kiss against each one and listen to her soft gasp as I slide my hand between her legs, over her underwear–the black lace already soaked through. I press my thumb there, hard, watching her writhe against the bark. Her nose wrinkles in pain, like it hurts to be touched but hurts more not to be.

“Please,” she moans, twisting, trying to grind against my hand, but I pin her thigh with my knee.

“No, sister,” I growl. “You don’t get to take. Youearn.”

I want so badly to slip my fingers past the lace, to touch hot slickness. I hold back, circle her clit once over the fabric, twice, then pull away. She nearly cries out.

“Damon–”

“You want it?” I ask. “Say it.”