Page 14

RESIST TEMPTATION (EVEN WHEN IT SLEEPS NAKED)

ARABELLA

I walked in silence alongside Kazimir, the sounds of revelry fading behind us. My pulse thundered. I fought to keep my breathing even, to hide how thoroughly the wine—and the press of his body against mine—had affected me.

As we passed, guards bowed deeply, their eyes averted. We passed them and climbed a narrow spiral staircase. To steady myself, I let my fingertips graze the cool stone wall. Kazimir’s hand settled at the small of my back, light but impossible to ignore.

We emerged onto a small landing that opened to the night sky, and a blast of icy air sobered me more effectively than any potion could have. I drew a sharp breath, looking out over the dizzying drop.

It was the lightning bridge again.

During the day, it had been intimidating—now, in the darkness, the crackling radiance looked even wilder. The surge of light overwhelmed the distant spire, leaving only a stark, pulsing path.

Kazimir’s arm encircled my waist, steady and warm. “Wouldn’t want to lose you over the edge,” he murmured in that smug tone.

Regardless, I clung to his support, furious at myself for needing it as I took the first step onto the bridge.

The cold wind whipped at my face, lashing the last of the wine’s fog from my mind.

Hyperaware of his arm around me, I kept moving.

By the time we reached the far side, the hum of tension in my body had only sharpened.

He was so close. I hated how willingly I let him guide me, how the heat of his hand on my hip seared straight through my gown.

“You may call me Kazimir if you wish,” he said abruptly as we descended another winding staircase.

I glanced at him. “And what makes you think I’d wish to do that?”

He gave me a knowing look. “Most people find ‘Dark Lord’ cumbersome in casual conversation. And ‘my lord’ seems… unlikely to escape your mouth without you spontaneously combusting.”

I shot him a flat look. “I’ve found ‘kidnapper’ rolls off the tongue quite nicely.”

We reached a landing and continued down another corridor. “We’re married now,” he pointed out. “Isn’t it outdated to keep calling me your kidnapper?”

“I didn’t realize abduction came with an expiration date.”

His lips twitched. “Consider it a promotion, then. From victim to wife.”

I studied him warily. “Since we’re on the topic of our ‘hasty nuptials,’ I noticed the vows were abbreviated. No promise to obey?”

He stepped closer, voice low. “That’s rather archaic. And you can’t obey anyone to save your life, can you?” His gaze flicked to my mouth. “Besides, I find your defiance far more stimulating than your obedience would be.”

My stomach twisted at the subtle purr in his tone. “I’m not here to stimulate you.”

“And yet,” he murmured, tracing his fingers over my collarbone, “you do. Most efficiently.”

Refusing to betray how his touch made my heart hammer, I forced myself to stand absolutely still under his caress.

His fingers withdrew, and we walked on until we reached the staircase leading to Kazimir’s tower.

When I halted at my chamber entrance, his hand wrapped around my wrist before I could slip inside.

He moved up the stairs instead, pulling me undeniably upward.

“Where are we going?” Suspicion crept into my voice, and I tried not to panic.

He kept climbing. “My chambers.”

My throat tightened. For all my bravado, I recognized how precarious my power was here. He wanted me compliant—not physically forced, perhaps, but he was certainly capable of coercion. My pulse pounded in my ears.

“Our agreement,” I managed, “specifically mentioned no sex. I sleep in my chambers, you sleep in yours.”

He paused on the steps, so close that I nearly stumbled against him. “We agreed to no sex, ” he said in that infuriatingly patient tone. “You said nothing about sleeping arrangements.”

“That was implied.” I kept my voice even and my tone strong, but in a debate of technicalities I had the losing argument.

He pressed a hand to my hip, thumb digging lightly into the top of my bone, not hard enough to hurt but distracting enough to spike my pulse further. “I don’t operate on implications, Lady Blackrose. You asked for no sexual contact, and I agreed. You didn’t ask for separate quarters.”

Heat gathered under my skin—anger tangled with something far more embarrassing. “Well, I’m stating it now.” I placed a hand on his chest to push him back, only to realize I’d just made the mistake of touching him. He felt disturbingly solid beneath my palm. “I want my own bed, in my own room.”

His expression hardened even as he leaned in. “That won’t be possible.”

A chill ran through me at the quiet menace in his voice. My hand remained where it was on his chest, torn between pushing him away and curling my fingers into the fabric of his coat. “Why not?”

“You’re my wife.” He said it with such finality, such ownership, that my thighs clenched traitorously.

I tried to cling to reason. “Yes, I am,” I said. “And I played the part of the willing bride, as we agreed. But I won’t be your plaything. Our terms are clear. If you want me to keep cooperating, you’ll uphold them.”

He exhaled, more attempt at patience than frustration. “Fine. But the Dark Lady sleeps in the Dark Lord’s chambers. All eyes here are keen. If you refuse my bed outright, the court will sense weakness. They’ll question my control. Whispers become daggers at times like these.”

I narrowed my eyes.”So this is about survival.”

“Yes, mine, and by extension, yours. My position is maintained through a careful balance of fear and respect. Anything that undermines that balance puts us both at risk.”

I wanted to argue further, but his explanation rang true. I’d grown up in a noble household; I understood how quickly whispers could corrode authority.

“Fine,” I said at last, trying to ignore the tightening in my stomach. “No sex, though.”

“As agreed.” He inclined his head. “But perhaps we should clarify what sex entails.”

My breath caught. “I think it’s fairly self-explanatory.”

“Oh? Does it include kissing? Touching?” His gaze dropped to my lips. “We’ve already broken that barrier, wouldn’t you say?”

I swallowed. “That… was for show,” I insisted, wincing at how uncertain I sounded.

“And yet,” he said softly, leaning in, “you didn’t seem to find it entirely unpleasant. Or was I misreading the way your body trembled against mine?”

“You were,” I lied.

He didn’t believe me, but he didn’t push that point. “So, behind closed doors, I keep my distance.” He outlined an imaginary boundary in the air between us. “But in public, I will touch you as needed.”

“For what, exactly?”

“To keep up appearances,” he said. His eyes tracked the line of my throat. “A hand at your waist, a kiss to claim you. All for show.”

“I don’t belong to you,” I retorted. Yet my pulse fluttered dangerously at the idea of that mouth on my skin.

“But in the eyes of my court, you do.” He shrugged. “Unless you’d prefer a far more explicit display? They’d find that highly entertaining.”

The scorn in his eyes told me exactly how far he’d go if pressed.

My traitorous body flushed with unexpected heat at the thought of him possessively claiming me before his entire court.

Gods, what was wrong with me? That I could find something so humiliating somehow.

.. irresistibly arousing? I swallowed hard, blaming the wine for these unwanted fantasies.

“Fine,” I bit out. “In public, brief touches are allowed—for the act. But beyond that?—”

“Let’s be very clear,” he interrupted quietly, stepping so close I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “No touching you between the legs, no mouth on your body, no removal of clothing?”

“All of it is off-limits,” I managed, though part of me screamed in protest.

“And you on me ?” he murmured, leaning in. “Do you likewise forbid yourself from ever putting those clever hands anywhere I might enjoy them?”

The question made my skin burn. “I have no intention of touching you more than necessary.”

He lounged back, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. “We’ll see.”

Gods, his arrogance was maddening. I tried to refocus. “So you agree to these terms?”

“I do,” he said, “but with one condition of my own.” His gaze went dark.

My stomach knotted. “And that is?”

“A kiss.”

I blinked. “A kiss? You just had one at the ceremony.”

“That was for the crowd,” he murmured, eyes roving over me with undisguised hunger. “I want one for me . To seal our new arrangement.”

Heat flooded my face. “That’s hardly necessary.”

“All’s fair in love and war, or whatnot.”

“This is neither.” I tried to ignore how my heart hammered against my ribs.

“How do you know?”

I weighed my options. I could refuse and potentially lose the other concessions I’d negotiated, or I could agree to one kiss—just one—and secure the rest of my demands. It was a simple calculation.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

“Fine,” I said, lifting my chin. “Then we’re done negotiating.”

His pupils dilated, amusement tugging at his mouth. “Agreed.”

For a moment, nothing happened. The tension built until I thought my knees would give out. “Well?” I demanded. “Get it over with.”

He slid a hand along my face with disarming gentleness, and a quick flutter in my chest robbed me of breath.

The touch was so unlike the rough claiming I’d expected that I leaned into it before I could stop myself.

Then he brushed his mouth against mine, once…

twice. Teasing, testing. The tenderness disarmed me more than any aggression could have.

His hand slipped around my waist, pulling me against him.

The kiss deepened, turning from a question into an undeniable demand.

Where our wedding kiss had sparked, this one ignited.

I gasped, letting him part my lips. His tongue teased mine, and I tasted wine and heat, my head swimming.

I found myself responding before common sense could reassert itself, my hands fisting in his coat.

A soft noise rumbled in his chest when I returned his kiss, and his body pressed mine to the curving stairwell wall. I was too aware of my own heartbeat, throbbing everywhere we touched. This kiss felt… devouring , as if he was promising me he’d claim far more than my mouth one day.

An I’m-going-to-fuck-you-one-day kiss that left no room for misinterpretation.

At last, he pulled back. We were both breathing raggedly. His eyes were dark and fierce, and color tinted his sharp cheekbones. “There,” he said, his voice hoarse. “That seals it.”

I struggled to keep my face stoic, hating how my body hummed with unfulfilled desire. “Completely unnecessary,” I managed.

“Maybe.” His thumb brushed my lower lip, but I turned my head to the side, fighting the urge to pull him back to me.

After a beat, he stepped back, though I still felt the hot press of his gaze.

“You asked for distance. I’ll respect it.

” He paused, letting the promise hang. “But if you ever request my touch again… I’ll deliver it with interest.”

My pulse pounded, and I cursed the traitorous wave of heat between my thighs. “I truly hate you,” I whispered, voice still unsteady.

Kazimir actually smiled then—brief, brilliant, transforming his features in a way that stole my next breath. “Good. Hate is a potent form of passion, Lady Blackrose. I look forward to where it might lead.”

We continued our ascent in oppressive silence, my stomach twisting with each step.

I tried not to let even my sleeve brush him, unwilling to concede any more ground.

At the top, we reached a heavy wooden door pressed into the stone.

Kazimir laid his palm against it, and I felt a pulse of magic dissolve the wards. The door swung open into his chambers.

I half expected a throne of skulls or a bloodstained altar.

Instead, it was all polished stone, dark drapes, an ornately carved bed, comfortable seating near a large fireplace, and musty books piled everywhere.

One meager flourish of villainy caught my eye: a weight that looked suspiciously like finger bones holding down a scroll on his desk.

So the infamous Dark Lord was also a messy academic. With boundary issues. And flawless bone structure.

Kazimir leaned against the bed’s tall post, arms folded over his chest. A lock of hair tumbled over his eyebrow from our earlier embrace, giving him a slightly disheveled look. “Not enough skulls for you?”

I shrugged. “I expected more. Maybe a throne of rib cages in the corner?”

“That’s in the Chamber of Accords,” he said lightly, crossing to a sideboard. He poured amber liquid from a crystal decanter into two glasses. “Drink?”

I hesitated, eyeing the strong spirits. But my nerves still competed with the lingering thrum of arousal, and I took the glass. The brandy was rich, warming me more thoroughly than I liked to admit.

Kazimir shrugged off his coat, draping it over a chair before starting on the buttons of his waistcoat. My heartbeat jumped. “What are you doing?” I asked, unable to forget that hungry press of his body.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Undressing. These clothes are unbearable.”

My hand clenched around the glass. Another button gave way, flashing the white linen below. “I’ll… freshen up, then.”

Kazimir paused, his fingers resting on the next button. “Before you do, there’s something you should know.” His voice dropped, turning velvet soft. “I sleep naked.”

I nearly choked on my last sip of brandy. “You can’t be serious.”

“I can, and I am. My chambers, my rules.”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” I accused.

“Without a doubt,” he said unapologetically, “but also telling the truth.” He fiddled with another button. “Now you’re warned.”

I stared, infuriated. His eyes glimmered with amusement, and I knew he expected me to run.

So I did.

I turned sharply on my heel and hurried into the bathing chamber, feeling his gaze burn on my back the entire way.