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A smile tugs at my lips. “I know, Reckless, I know. And I love your feistiness when you are angry.” I wrap my hand around her wrist, pulling her closer, my arm slipping around her back.

“It wasn’t my choice to become betrothed. I have no intention of marrying her or anyone else they deem fit for me.” I confess. I want to tell her I’d pick her, choose her—in this lifetime and the next—that it will always be her… but I don’t.

“You’re sleeping in my room tonight,” I murmur, turning toward my door and gently tugging her along. She plants her feet, refusing to move.

“I will not.”

So stubborn. So reckless. I grin. “You will…” I pull her closer, lowering my voice. “We both know you want to, and you will come with me in the end, so let’s just get going.” Her cheeks flush a deeper red, but she lets me guide her to my room.

Inside, I pull a nightgown from the armoire—a sheer, lacy thing Sasha tucked away for emergencies—and toss it onto the bed. “Dress while I stoke the fire.”

She picks up the gown, glancing at me with a small, uncertain smile. As I kneel by the hearth, adding a log to the embers, she calls my name softly.

“Luke?”

I turn, meeting her gaze. “Yes?”

“I can’t get the back of my dress undone. Can…” She looks at the ground shyly. Gods she is adorable. “Can you help me?”

The vulnerability in her voice makes my chest ache. “Oh, Reckless… I’ll never pass up a chance to undress you.” I chuckle as she turns, offering me her back.

The moment I undo the clasps, the dress falls open, revealing the thick, angry markings. I knew she had scars, but I never realized how bad it was. Her beautiful skin is marred, tainted with the history of the abuse she suffered. My hand drifts down her back instinctively, brushing the raised skin. She gasps softly.

“I… I didn’t realize your scars were so bad. Who did this to you? Big Al?” My voice is tight as I try to disguise the burning fury in my question.

Turning around, she grasps the front of her dress to keep it from slipping down and exposing her. “It doesn’t matter how I got them or from whom, Prince,” she says dryly.

“Was it in the Hollows?” I press her further.

She sighs as the fire blazes, casting a seductive glow on her skin. Shadows dance across her and the dim room, shifting with the flame’s frantic flicker.

“Those who have survived have scars, Luke, and those who did not went up in flames. I am not ashamed of them. I wear my scars proudly as a testament of what I have endured, of what I overcame. But the scars you don’t see…” She places a hand over her heart. “Those are the ones that are painful, shameful… Don’t ever look at my back with pity. I am not a victim.”

She leans over and picks up her nightgown again. “I have been cut deeply and bled, but I also wielded the blade and have blood on my hands. I’m neither victim nor villain… or maybe I’m both.”

We lock eyes for a long moment, understanding passing between us with every blink. She lets the gown slip from her hand, pooling at her feet, standing before me in nothing but panties. My gaze drags down her perfect body, lingering on her peaked breasts. She steals my breath, leaving me speechless. Grinning, she slips the sheer nightgown over her head, fully aware of her effect on me.

“I grow tired of this conversation. Let’s go to bed.” she says, climbing onto the blankets and gesturing for me to follow. My cock throbs painfully, straining against my pants, begging to break free.

Well, two can play at her games. I walk to the armoire and pull out a pair of sleeping pants. Stripping naked, I stand exposed, my hardened length fully displayed. Her hungry gaze never leaves me, as she licks her lips. I pull on the pants slowly, drawing out the moment, and her eyes track every movement.

When I finally climb into bed, nervousness creeps into my body, making my movements awkward. I have never been nervous with a woman, yet I find myself rattled with Reign. I want to please her and make her cry out to the gods, but I won’t make a move until I know she wants it.

We lie on our sides, facing each other. No words are spoken, but the exchange of glances and breaths says everything. Her eyes drift to my chest, and a sudden impulse rises within me.

“Give me your hand...” Her brows pinch in curiosity, but she obeys. I guide her hand to the side of my chest, over my heart, not the center where the rose tattoo is covering my scar.

I grunt at the contact, squeezing my eyes shut. She tries to pull her hand away, but I hold it steady, pressing it flat against me. Sucking in a deep breath, I will my rapid heartbeat to calm. After a moment, my breathing evens out, though my heart still gallops beneath her palm.

When I open my eyes, her lavender gaze is soft, glistening with unspoken emotions

“It’s okay. I just wanted to see if I could handle you touching me here.”

Her breath matches mine, fast and shallow. I have this undying desire to kiss her. I feel engulfed in her flames, and yet I want to burn in them. I slide her hand to the back of my neck, pulling her closer until our bodies touch. Then I kiss her.

It’s not a slow lazy kiss, but a greedy one, full of hunger and desire. She meets my passion with the same ferocity. We are teeth and tongues and clashing hunger. I feel like a starving man, and she’s the only meal that will satisfy me. Kissing her with the same intensity as my heart rate, I run my hand up her leg to her plump ass, gripping it firmly to pull her against my throbbing cock.

Trailing kisses down her neck, I tug the front of her gown down with my teeth, revealing her perfect breasts. With heavy-lidded eyes, I meet her hungry gaze before licking the tip of her breast and sucking her nipple into my mouth. She moans, and the sound alone nearly undoes me.