Page 28 of Greed: The Savage (Seven Deadly Sins #7)

A fter making love to Addien the whole night through, Thornwick found sleep continued to elude him.

She’d been a virgin.

His discovery still rocked him.

He sat at Addien’s small, serviceable vanity, so unlike the grand vanity in his own suites.

Without the benefit of a shaving blade, he put the boot knife he always kept on him to a different work.

In a steady hand, Thornwick scraped the dagger, sharp enough to draw blood, along the day’s growth on his left cheek.

It was a task no nobleman dared do himself and always left to a valet’s skilled hand.

But when he’d become buried in the secrets contained at the Home Office, he’d vowed no man or woman would come near his throat with a blade of any sort.

He’d come to appreciate the quiet routine. It had a calming effect.

Or it had.

Thornwick’s gaze drifted over to where Addien slept.

He’d climbed out of bed twenty or so minutes earlier. The spirited siren lay deeply burrowed into the space made by his body, as if in sleep she searched him out. As if she needed him near.

Male satisfaction brought his lips twisting up.

Just then, Addien shifted restlessly. Her whispery-soft frame didn’t so much as rustle the bed linens.

His mouth compressed into a flat line.

That functional bedding also highlighted another gap. In Thornwick’s role at the Devil’s Den and the title to his name, he enjoyed all manner of luxuries, more than the provincial amenities Addien enjoyed .

A growl eased past his lips.

With a silent curse, he dipped his blade into the cloudy water, rinsed it clean, and set the blade to his other lathered cheek.

Satin sheets.

Addien Killoran, her body, belonged in a four-poster bed with the finest, luxuriant fabrics, not the functional fabric Dynevor’s club supplied to the lower staff.

My bed. Where no other man would dare lay a hand on her.

There came from Addien a murmuring of soft fragmented words he could not catch. Echoes of the way she’d whispered in her sleep all night while he’d watched her in repose.

This other new discovery touched something deep in Thornwick he hadn’t known was there. It was as though the firebrand who guarded her secrets so fiercely by day could only set them free in the dark, her voice baring what she would never share awake.

Thornwick’s name had eased like a sigh once or twice, letting him know he occupied her dream state.

A pure, male smile unfurled on his lips.

How could she not?

After he’d made love to her the first time, he’d carried her to the drawn bath and lowered her into those still steamy waters and played the role of her dutiful servant.

Soaking her hair, washing those silky, untamed strands.

Rinsing them. Upon completion, he’d carefully squeezed out excess water from the sheened fall, draping it over the edge of the tub.

With a husky murmur, he’d urged her to shut her eyes.

When she had, he’d lathered a cloth with a lavender-scented cake of soap and gently washed each and every part of her.

It was a role he’d not played for any woman, nor would again for anyone after her.

Only when he had tended every swath of her olive-hued skin did he bring the cloth tenderly between her thighs—to clean. To soothe.

Except her breath hitched—not with pain. She’d let her legs fall open, and he’d soothed her in another way, coaxing her to a third shattering release in the sudsy water.

The moment he’d joined her in that bath, sending water sloshing over the sides as he did, Addien insisted on bathing him.

She herself washed the remnants of her virgin’s blood from his shaft—with that same cloth he’d used to both cleanse and pleasure her—before giving him an equally powerful climax.

A soft, husky moan drifted from the bed, threading into the morning quiet and mingling with the plink of water into the porcelain bowl. His breathing grew rough. Thornwick stilled his razor before he cut himself.

Even in full slumber, it seemed they were of one accord.

He still wrestled with the truth: until Thornwick, his passionate, insatiable Addien had never before taken a man to her bed—or her body.

And now she never would.

Satisfaction, pure and primal, stirred through Thornwick. His mouth and his mouth alone had explored every inch and hollow of her lithe, supple frame.

Whether it was desire, possession, or something between, it no longer mattered. He would have her for good.

And if marriage was what it took to keep her, so be it.

He stared at his reflection.

Marriage.

Marriage to Addien.

His brows flared.

Finished with his shave, Thornwick cared for his knife and returned it to the sheath inside his boot.

God’s blood, how had it not come to him before this minute?

Addien moaned and flipped onto her belly in a rhythm as natural as the beauty of the lady’s heart, or the breaths she took in and out of her lungs.

Addien’s hips moved. She rocked them into the mattress, seeking surcease even in her dream state.

The same need within him, compelled her even in sleep.

Thornwick’s gaze locked on Addien as, in her full slumber, she writhed and twisted like she was even now, possessed by the same reminders he now carried and sought relief from the fires within.

His chest rose in fast, hard spurts.

And here he’d believed, after he’d finally bedded her, he’d purge himself of this maddening, mindless lust for Addien.

In her restless slumber, Addien twisted her hips from side to side.

His breathing increased.

He’d told her he wasn’t a gentleman. It’d been a cold fact.

It’s why, while she twisted her hips and sought relief from the ache he’d caused her in sleep, he perched himself on the edge of her little vanity and openly watched her.

All the while, he knew it was him, Thornwick, she dreamed beside.

He’d had Addien no fewer than eight times last night—at some point, he’d lost count. By rights, his cock should have been spent, not aching hard from nothing more than memories of her, of what he’d done with her body, of what they’d done together .

He’d seen plenty of naked women. But since waking with her drawn against Thornwick, nestled like a silver spoon, perfectly fitted for him, he’d had a cockstand that wouldn’t quit.

He’d half a mind to spend himself into surrender. More than that, he had a mind to wake her and take her again, the way he’d been longing to since dragging himself from too-heavy sleep.

As if her dreams aligned with his thoughts, Addien moaned.

Thornwick toweled off his face.

Determined to have her again—end this want once and for all—he stepped toward the bed.

Knock.

It came as a faint rap, more like the submissive scratch servants used on noblemen’s doors to say, “I’m not trying to wake you, but your presence is urgently required.”

Giving Addien a regretful glance, he reversed course. Fetching his trousers from the back of her chair, he stepped into them as he crossed to the oak panel. Thornwick cracked it open and revealed his morning visitor.

“Bloody splendid.”

Addien’s defender, Delilah, glared back. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Here.” She shoved the door open just far enough to jam a bundle of fresh garments against his chest.

Thornwick caught them, brows lifting. “Why, thank you—”

“I ain’t your maid.” Her voice was quiet, but it carried the same as his blade.

“I know what you are—a cove with a title and nothing else. You’re going to hurt that girl over there.

” Delilah’s eyes narrowed to flinty slits.

“And when you do, I’ll kill you.” She drew a slow, deliberate slash across her throat, the gesture as precise as any cut.

He held her stare. Most threats rolled off him; this one didn’t. Not because he feared her, but because he believed her. And damn him, he was grateful—Addien had a guard dog of her own.

His nod was slow, measured. She returned it, a silent pact between enemies with the same cause—the woman sleeping behind him.

He pushed the door.

Delilah blocked his attempt with a sharp snap of her knee.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said, “I didn’t bring those for you. You spent the night in her bed. She’s not wanting anyone to know her business.”

No, she wouldn’t. “You’re worrying needlessly,” he felt inclined to say. For Addien’s friend, or him? He couldn’t be sure. “Addien can’t be hurt. Not by me.”

Something in her gaze shifted, softened, but it was gone in a blink.

“If you believe that, my lord, then you already have.” This time, the warning in her voice was colder than the gesture had been. “Remember what I said. I will kill you.”

And with that stark warning, she left.

Turning, Thornwick carried the neatly laundered garments over. He stopped short.

Addien, her eyes heavy from sleep, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders, veiling her breasts, watched him guardedly.

God, she was magnificent. He wanted to push back those lustrous strands and bare her body and ready her for his worship. And…he intended to do just that.

“Awake at last,” he murmured.

Addien nudged her chin at where he stood in the entrance. “What’s that about?” Addien asked.

Bloody hell. She’d heard him.

Before he could answer, she added, “That smug grin of yours, Malric.” Her voice was husky from sleep, smoky with the aftertaste of sex and deep slumber.

His cock stirred on instinct.

And she hadn’t heard his exchange with Delilah.

“Oh, I think you do know,” he purred, prowling closer. One knee sank into the edge of the mattress as he began a slow crawl toward her.

Addien didn’t bother to deny her want. Just as she had all through the night, she let her legs fall open for him.

His breath caught. My God—she was perfect. How had he not thought of it before this morn? Addien was his match in every way. No noble lady could compare to her; no woman alive would.

He’d been toiling over the perfect bride to send the duke into an apoplexy when she’d been here all along. Right under Thornwick’s nose.

He flashed a feral smile.

And she was about to be under him—again.

She’d belong to him in every way.