-Chapter Seventeen-

It was so very warm but in a pleasant way. I felt Reaver's arm clutched tightly, almost desperately around me. I drew in a deep breath, and I noticed the rapid, choppy cadence of his breathing. His grip on me was too fierce to break, but I was able to turn slightly to see him.

His brow was furrowed, and his face was tense and pale. His jaw was clenched tightly, and I heard a soft groan rumble in his chest. His eyelids twitched rapidly, and the groaning grew louder. His muscles contracted and his hold on me grew painful.

"Reaver," I said softly yet urgently, wishing I could turn to wake him gently, but I could scarcely move.

His lips parted, and the groaning turned into words. "No...Please. I'm sorry." The words were merely murmured, but his face was contorted with such pain, such defeat that it broke my heart. Whatever he was dreaming of, I somehow knew it had to do with The Shadow Court. Their intrusion in my dreams was still a fresh wound, but I snapped my attention back to my husband, twisting fiercely to face him.

I took his face in my hands, and I shook him firmly, "Reaver!"

His eyelids flew open, and his mouth fell slack with shock. A mixture of anger and panic was etched across his features, but his eyes were sad. He abruptly turned to face away from me, breathing in heavy, punctuated gasps. One hand covered his face as he tried to steady his breathing.

My stomach sank, and my heart ached. I never thought I would see him in such a state, but I supposed that I was foolish in that assumption. He wasn't unfeeling, as I knew, but the facade that he favored most times suggested otherwise. I put an arm around him in an attempt to comfort him, my hand laying across his chest, and I could feel the violent thunder of his heartbeat. "Reaver?"

Reaver shrugged my arm away, and he said nothing. His whole body was drawn with tension, and I could hear his shallow panting against his hand. He muttered something I couldn't quite hear. With a movement quicker than I could see, he had thrown the covers off of us, and he was on top of me, his mouth consuming mine with a desperation I had never felt before. His hands pulled at my hips gripping me fiercely as he crushed me beneath the hardness of his body, and the sheer heat that radiated from his core burned away the chill that the lack of blankets created.

My hand flew up to cup his face, and I felt moisture there. I couldn't tell if it was perspiration or tears, but I knew it would be unwise to ask about it or even acknowledge it. I pulled from his mouth to draw in a breath, but he went immediately to work at the side of my neck, his teeth scraping and lips drawing on my flesh. I gasped with exhilarated surprise as he slid his leg between my thighs to part them.

His fingers trailed across my sex, testing my readiness, and without much more hesitation, he buried himself inside of me. A ragged groan of relief sounded in my ear. His hips moved ferociously, and he overtook my mouth again, his tongue sweeping against mine, devouring me relentlessly.

My body reacted with shock at first, but I folded against him, the pleasure crashing over me and numbing my worry. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him tightly to me, and as my hips arched into his, I returned his kiss with a fierceness of my own.

He made a sound of frantic pleasure against my mouth, and his fingers raked down my body. He drew away from my lips to breathe, and he trembled, unraveling much faster than he usually would. His voice was hoarse as he crossed the threshold of pleasure, and he found the release he'd been so desperate for. He dropped breathlessly to the bed, and he rolled onto his back, his eyes fixed on the dark fabric of the canopy above.

I was equally as winded, and I turned my head to observe him closer. His face was now flush with exertion, but his mouth was fixed into a tight line of anxiety. He exhaled shakily, and his eyes closed. His arms slid limply to his sides, and he made a soft noise of frustration.

I slid my hand the short distance between us, and I laced my fingers in his, squeezing his hand gently.

His eyes opened, and he turned his face to look at me. His eyes were wide and haunted, but his mouth softened, and he sighed. It was a rare occasion for Reaver to be silent, and on most other occasions, I might have welcomed it for a few fleeting seconds of escape. This silence was like a black cloud that hung over us.

"I had nightmares, too," I said suddenly, the words leaving me before I could even think. I shook my head gently, wishing I could rephrase that. "Before ended up at The Shadow Court...I had terrible nightmares."

"I don't have nightmares," he said, emphasizing the s. His voice was gruff, almost gravelly. "It is the same nightmare I have always had. One would think that after all the years of existence, that it would have lost its stopping power." It was now clear that he was embarrassed that he had reacted in such a way to a bad dream.

I didn't quite know what to say. I merely looked apologetically into his eyes.

"You woke me before the worst of it," he offered, as if he were trying to comfort me instead of the other way around. "I am thankful for that." He tilted his head, his eyes softening, and his mouth opened, but before he could speak, the door to the bedroom opened.

Anabelle paused as she caught an eyeful of Reaver. Her eyes widened, and her face reddened.

His steely facade slipped into place, and he grinned in her direction. "Well, Anabelle, it seems the tables are turned." His eyebrows rose and fell suggestively as he chuckled softly.

"I...uh...will come back." She blinked softly averting her eyes as she whipped around and left the room.

He sat up, and he pushed off of the bed, releasing my hand carefully as he did so. He was silent, the opportunity for saying what he'd been thinking had obviously passed.

I wished I could gain a little insight to what was going on in his mind. For someone who usually kept perfect composure under the most stressful of situations, this was a completely vulnerable moment. While I wanted to ask the details, I knew that persisting would only drive a distance between us.

I climbed out of bed, and I glanced over to see that he was dressing slowly, his eyes moving up and down my body. I glanced at myself in the mirror, and I saw that the evidence of our brash lovemaking was all over me. I had red marks where he had fiercely grabbed and caressed me, and I pushed my hair back to see a cluster of darkening love-bites up and down my neck. I directed my gaze toward my husband, and I raised my eyebrows.

He merely shrugged, as if to dismiss the marks he'd left, but as he bent to pull on his boots, I saw a fleeting grin of satisfaction creep across his mouth.

I pulled on my robe, pulling the collar tight around my neck to hide the love-bites on my throat, and I arranged my hair into a quick, loose bun that pulled off to one side of the back of my head. The result was more casual-looking, but I was faintly amazed that it had come out passable. I was always terrible at fixing my hair.

Reaver stepped behind me, his fingers stroking gently down my back. He chose not to wear his cravat or vest, but I was sure he would change into a different set of clothes before leaving for Industrial. Taking the pocket watch from his coat, he glanced at the time, and he sighed.

"It seems that we slept in, my dear. I really should be leaving soon," His eyes flicked back up to me, and he looked contemplative for a few moments. He, almost awkwardly, moved in to brush a soft kiss across my lips. "I trust that you will manage to stay out of trouble while I am gone," he said as he cocked a brow.

"Somehow, I'm sure I will," I replied, a hint of sarcasm lining my voice. "Though, I do have a session of court scheduled on the agenda later this morning."

"Then, I am sure you will be as bored here as I will be in Industrial," He assured me, his hand drifting to my shoulder. "If you like, I could return early to sit at your side for court."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I am sure I will be fine."

"I will see you this evening, then."

I nodded, and he turned to leave the room swiftly. As he left, Anabelle entered, now holding a tray. The smell of hot, rich coffee filled the room, and I was immediately thankful. Though I'd slept extremely well the night before, I could never turn down a cup of coffee in the morning. It was also refreshing to have someone to enjoy my coffee with. In the short time Anabelle had been working here, we'd become so closer. It was effortless to be friends with her. At least that was the only effortless thing in my life.

"He stayed with you last night," she said, moving to set the tray down on the coffee table between the two chairs.

"It seems that you weren't alone last night either," I noted, gesturing for her to take a seat as well.

She poured coffee into each of the cups, and she took hers as it was, while I added a small amount of sugar and cream to mine. Her eyes gazed up to me, and she sighed, "I'm sorry that you walked in on that last night. It was silly of us to choose Reaver's room of all places, but-"

"I'm not upset," I told her honestly. "Reaver, I am sure, is having a few choice words with Murphy, but I don't believe that it will go past that."

Anabelle seemed to huff a breath of relief as she took a long sip of her coffee. She smiled silently to herself.

I couldn't help myself. "So?"

Her little bubble of silent reflection burst, and she returned her eyes to me. They were light and full of hope and love. She was obviously smitten.

"It was amazing. He was amazing...I mean..." Her face reddened, and she shook her head, her smile spreading even further across her mouth. She glanced back up to me, and she raised her eyebrows. "So I couldn't help but notice that you and Reaver seemed to have reconciled, or did he simply end up naked in your bed by accident?"

I pressed my lips tightly together. "It was no accident."

"What happened?" She questioned, the curiosity written all over her face. "You seemed so dead-set on banishing him from your life. What changed?

I took a long sip of my coffee, and I exhaled. "I just...couldn't say 'no' anymore."

"I imagine His Grace does not take that word very well," she said, her mouth setting into a soft smirk.

"He doesn't," I affirmed, shaking my head. I blinked softly, and I looked back to Anabelle. "I know you dislike him, but...part of me needs him, and I feel like part of him needs me, too."

"Yes," she said with a nod. "I think I know which part of him needs you."

I couldn't help but laugh at that assessment, but I shook my head. "It's something else, I think."

"You love him," She said steadily.

"I do," I said. It felt strange to admit it out loud to another person. I set my coffee cup down, and I sighed. "You think I'm a fool, don't you?"

"If you can love him, there must be some part of him that is worth loving," She said, reaching across the table to put her hand over mine. She added hastily, "However deep and hidden and small that part may be..." She offered me a smile, and she continued, "I feel like we have been friends for a lot longer than we have been. I hope you don't take offense to my...er...blunt way of putting things."

"Not at all," I said. "When I realized I loved him, it wasn't a golden revelation. It sucked the wind from my lungs. It shocked even me, but I can't help the way I feel."

"I understand," She said with a soft nod. "Love doesn't come when it is convenient. It sneaks up on you...even at the worst, most tragic of times."

I watched as she refilled my coffee. Everything she said was completely true. Love could be inconsiderate, and at times, downright cruel. I took my coffee when she offered it, and I sat back into my seat, trying to let the events of the morning fully sink in.

I sat in the throne stiffly, and I inhaled. Court was as boring as it always had been, but I tried to make the most of it by taking the opportunity to gauge the people's reaction to my sudden "recovery." None of them seemed the wiser that I hadn't been sick.

People had commented on how much my color had improved since the last time they'd seen me, and a few even noted that I looked even more beautiful now. I simply accepted the compliments with grace, but I wished they would stop. It was a terrible reminder of the lie Reaver had told everyone. If anyone knew the truth, I was sure that no one would be bowing or groveling.

When the afternoon was drawing to a close, a man stepped from the crowd. He had a head of thick raven-colored hair, and a long, thin nose that suited his narrow, angular face very well. His eyes were inky and black, and his face was very solemn. He bowed his thick, muscular body graciously as he approached the throne, and he introduced himself.

"Sir Silas Green, Your Majesty, sworn Knight of The Old Guard," he said in a rich voice. "I come to inquire of my sister, Constance. When I received word of her death, I was speechless to say the least."

My heart came to a skidding halt, and I gripped the arms of the throne tightly as I leaned forward. "Y-you may speak," I said unsteadily. Memories of her death flooded my mind, and guilt took hold of me.

"First, might I say that you look very well for having battling such an illness," Sir Silas said, his dark eyes scrutinizing me. "It must have been quite an illness to have The Hero Queen of Albion incapacitated for so long. It's no wonder that my poor sister did not survive."

"I am very sorry for your loss," I said, my voice faltering. I took my hands from the throne, and I folded them in my lap.

"I have received condolences, and I have received pity," He said. "But what I have not yet received are my sister's remains."

I suddenly felt nauseous, and I sucked in a deep breath. Why had I declined Reaver's offer to be at my side?

"The n-nature of your sister's death meant that her r-remains needed to be...er...incinerated," Murphy piped up, stepping to my side and stiffening his back. "I believe that the m-m-mortician has plans to p-put her remains into a very nice urn...courtesy of Her Majesty, of course."

I was surprised. Did Murphy know the complete details of Cosntance's death? I couldn't see why he wouldn't. He was Reaver's most trusted man, and he had been specifically assigned to keep an eye on me in the time since my return. It only made sense that he knew everything.

Sir Silas looked baffled for a moment, and he raised his eyebrows. "No one was speaking to you." He slashed his eyes over to Murphy.

Murphy bowed his head, and stepped back once more.

I stood, and I said, "Mister Murphy was merely answering your question since I was not well at the time of Constance's death." It hurt to say her name out loud, especially when I was lying to her brother's face.

"Your husband: was he incapacitated, too?" Sir Silas asked, his face reddening. "Or was he right as rain, even after tempting my sister into his bed? How did he manage to escape such devastating sickness? Was there even a sickness? Or did you simply get rid of your competition for the affections of your husband?"

The people that remained in the throne room gasped, and a hushed murmur spread through them. Suddenly, my anxiety morphed to anger, and I stiffened. My hand squeezed into a fist, and I met Sir Silas's gaze. "How dare..."

Murphy stepped forward once more, seizing Sir Silas by the arm and interrupting my retort. "You will speak to your queen with more respect!" His eyes slashed upward at the larger man, but they were filled with pure contempt. "To accuse her of s-such crimes is treason, and to even suggest that His Grace would stoop so low is downright p-preposterous." Murphy was as skilled at tweaking the truth as Reaver was, it seemed. His face was taut with a heated resolve, and his eyes were steady and clear of any sort of anxiety.

Sir Silas ripped his arm away from Murphy's grip. His face reddened and contorted into one of rage. "Are you looking for a fight, little boy?"

"No, sir," Murphy said, drawing his coat away from his hip and revealing a gleaming polished pistol. "I'm not. If you think you know so much, then you must know that I have b-been trained by the best shot in all of Albion, perhaps the world, specifically to p-protect that which he holds most dear." His eyes slashed over to me before moving once more to his target.

I'd never seen Murphy so forceful and assured before. Maybe his tryst with Anabelle had been good for his confidence. Assertiveness looked good on him. Though, I was perfectly capable of handling myself even with a brute such as Sir Silas, it was reassuring that I had someone to watch over me. I would never have expected that stammering, stuttering Murphy could be so intimidating.

"It would be best that you step away and hold your tongue in The Queen's presence," Murphy continued. "That is, if you wish to have it when you leave the castle." His blue eyes burned with such ruthless devotion as he moved to shield me, just in case it was required.

Sir Silas stepped backward, his face becoming less fierce. He wrung his large hands together, and he bowed his head in defeat. "I apologize for my unfounded accusations. I only want my sister back, Your Majesty. She was my only sister, and...she deserves better."

I pressed my lips together, and I glanced to Murphy, who still stood on guard with his hand hovering over his pistol. "Can you see what you can do to give this man the closure he desires?"

Murphy's head tilted, but he then straightened. "Yes, of c-course. I will speak to the mortician at once, and I will see if w-we can send Sir Silas Green on his way home this afternoon...with the remains of course." He gave me a very specific look that read, 'I will handle this.'

I was thankful for Murphy. If he hadn't been there to intervene, I might have cracked under the pressure of my guilt. As grave as her betrayal had been, her family didn't deserve to have to mourn her.

I pressed my lips together, and I returned my attention to Sir Silas, who now looked ashamed. I was at a loss of what to say, so I gulped down the lump in my throat and tried to look composed. "I hope that you find closure here today."

I truly hoped that he did, not only for my own safety, but for the sake of his family. Such sadness and mourning could only lead to more strife, as I knew so well. Silas and I had more in common than he could ever know. I had killed both of our siblings, and it haunted me. I had been thanked for murdering my brother because he had acted out of desperation and let his morals slip. People pitied me when Constance's death became public because they believed I had been so near death. I felt horrible, disgusting, and ashamed, but I had to hide it.

"She was a rare and beautiful girl," Silas said, folding his hands behind his back. "She had so much excitement for life..." He drew in a shaky breath. "It is hard to believe that she is truly gone."

I couldn't look directly at him anymore. It was too painful. I brought a hand to rub at my temple.

"Court is dismissed," I said in a sigh.

As Murphy led Sir Silas away through the crowd, he glanced back over his shoulder to give me another reassuring nod. Murphy surprised me more and more every day since he'd taken this new position. Perhaps I should have replaced Hobson with him the very moment he and Reaver came into my household.

I pushed myself from the throne, and I saw that Anabelle had slipped into the throne room. Her eyes followed her paramour as he left the room with the large knight, but she seemed star struck by him alone. She turned her attention to me once Murphy had disappeared from sight, and she hurried forward to curtsy—making a show of it. I'd asked her to stop curtsying on her very first day. I hadn't felt very regal in our first days together. I didn't feel very regal at the moment ether.

I choked down my sadness and anger, and I tried to put on my best neutral look. I couldn't trouble Anabelle with such things. She'd been so accepting and supportive of me before, but what would she think if she knew the truth?

"So, your afternoon is clear, and I've done what you asked," Anabelle said. "Did you wish to do anything else?"

"For one, I'd love to get out of these stuffy clothes," I huffed, pulling at the collar of the uniform. It would be easier to don the official regalia once the winter had set in, but this year's summer was being particularly stubborn.

"I know you well enough to know that would be your answer," she chuckled with a nod.

"I was thinking of taking Angus for a walk around the garden if you'd like to join me," I said.

Anabelle's eyes warmed, and she nodded. "He is such a sweet thing."

"I feel as if I've been neglecting him since I've come home," I sighed.

"I doubt that Reaver would let him sleep in the bed with you now that he's moved in." She chuckled.

"I'm not sure how either of them would take that," I said in return as we made our way from the throne room. The guards stiffened as we passed.

"There would probably be a fair bit of snarling and whining," she said. "And Angus might act up, too."

I cracked a smile, and we made our way to my chambers.

I felt much less stifled by the stubborn, dying summer in a cream-colored gown, and my hair was simply pulled from my face and allowed to flow down to my hips in thick chestnut waves. Anabelle always seemed to be able to coax the best behavior out of my hair.

Angus panted excitedly as he returned the stick to me, his feet barely able to keep still. He shuffled back and forth, his eyes fixed intently on the object of his desire. When I tossed it clear across the garden, he tore off, letting out a yip of thanks as he went.

Anabelle laughed from her place on the nearby bench, taking her eyes from her book to watch him lope happily after the stick. She turned her page and immersed herself once more.

My face almost ached from smiling, but it was a pleasant sort of ache. I tucked a stray strand of hair from my field of vision, and I saw that Angus was returning, a smile of his own fixed upon his mouth as he brought me the stick.

I bent to take it from him, and I felt the nudge of someone's hips against my backside. I straightened, and I looked over my shoulder to see Reaver smirking at me, his eyes taking me in.

His fingers ran tenderly through my hair. "Good evening, darling. It seems that you are enjoying yourself with that...animal."

Angus turned his attention on Reaver, and he tilted his head, whining softly. His tongue hung out of the side of his mouth, and he very quickly remembered that I was still holding the stick. His tail wagged, and he yapped until I hurled it further than before.

Reaver spun me to face him, and his eyes sought mine. I expected him to kiss me, but he looked rather more severe than he had moments ago. "I need to speak with you in private, my dear," he said, his mouth tightening a little. "I think, perhaps, that Anabelle can see to it that your pup is thoroughly worn out before returning to his kennel."

Anabelle had already stood up and closed her book by the time Angus came hurrying back with the stick. She got his attention, and tossed the stick speedily. She gave me a nod, assuring me that she was fine with Angus.

Reaver hooked my arm in his, and he led me back toward the castle. His face looked tight and nervous, and when he pushed me into the nearest empty room, I knew that something had clearly upset him.

"This morning," he said, clearing his throat and releasing me. He put his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his posture stiff and formal. "What happened this morning-"

"Doesn't matter," I said. "I certainly cannot complain when my husband wishes to ravish me upon waking." I offered him a slight smile.

His expression softened, but he shook his head. "The nightmares mean that my time of tribute is drawing near. I have eight weeks until I am due in Wraithmarsh."

"And that means that you must find a...sacrifice?" I questioned.

His face went blank, and he turned away. "I have already selected a willing candidate. It makes things less...messy when I can find someone who will go of their own accord."

I almost asked who had volunteered for such a thing, but I decided not to inquire too much. Whoever had given up their future for him had a reason or some sort of compensation waiting, I was sure. "And yet you are still nervous?"

"I am not nervous," he said firmly, turning to face me. I had obviously chosen my words poorly, for he looked agitated now. "I usually do not dwell on the unfortunate details of my little arrangement with The Shadow Court, but I have not personally been to Wraithmarsh in nearly century."

"You usually find someone else to go instead?" I asked.

"Yes. Your mother being one of those someones," He said as if I'd somehow insulted him. "I cannot entrust just anyone with such a task. It nearly failed when I placed my faith in your mother, but I had arranged for some poor, beautiful thing to stumble in at precisely the right time...just in case."

"You obviously brought me here to say something," I told him, walking to touch his shoulder. "What is it?"

"I think it would be wise if you accompanied me...so that everyone's questions may be answered," He said. "I would not make you witness the sacrifice itself. In fact, I would prefer if you were not present for that, but you should be present when I demand answers of those wily, wretched beings."

My stomach twisted. The thought of returning to that place so soon did not appeal to me, but I knew it was necessary. "I suppose you're right. It would be best if I...got used to that place."

He heaved a great sigh, and he took one of my hands into both of his. "It will be necessary, yes. I am not sure the terms of your deal, but from what you have told me, I believe your arrangement requires your presence."

After a few moments of silence, Reaver shifted from one foot to the other, and he pulled my gaze to his. "This morning was uncalled for, and I-"

"I already said that it wasn't an issue, Reaver," I said, pulling my hand from his to cup his face tenderly. "Some warning next time would be nice. Perhaps a nice 'hold on for dear life, darling' would be acceptable."

I realized that Reaver was a sexual person. To the best of my knowledge, it was how he handled his problems. It was a character flaw, to be sure, but it was a flaw that no one else had ever been shown. Slowly, he was opening up to me. It was enough for now. I did not want to push him.

A smirk crept across his mouth, and the faintest laughter bubbled from him. "So does this mean that I am allowed to share your bed every night?"

"I've already had your suits moved into my chambers," I said with a smirk. "The rest can come later."

"Yes, I suppose that is a side-effect of co-habitation, isn't it?" he asked, his eyebrows raising. "I don't suppose you would be willing to allow me to bring a few portraits...?"

"I think one of you will be more than enough in the bedroom," I chuckled

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the open chest sitting on a table in the corner. It held Reaver's Dark Seal, and mine was nestled next to it. It had undoubtedly been there since my return, as I'd requested for him to hold onto it. Next to one another, they looked so astoundingly different. Mine was plain, while his was intricately decorated.

I moved closer, and I took each into my hands. His was even heavier than it had been before. It felt almost painful to hold it, so I placed it back onto the white silk cushion. I turned mine over in my hand. It felt as light as a feather, but it glimmered with a dark magical aura. I set it down next to his, and I closed the top of the chest.

I heard the door open behind me, and I saw that Reaver was ushering Murphy inside of the room. Murphy carefully balanced a tall stack of black books. In addition to the ones that Reaver carried, there must have been nearly four dozen. Unfortunately for Murphy, he wasn't tall enough to see over the edge of his stack, and his foot got tangled in the rug.

He fell forward, and I rushed to catch him. The books tumbled to the ground, and I heard Reaver's tongue click loudly in disapproval. He hurried around the mess that Murphy had created.

I helped Murphy stand fully on his feet before we both crouched down to pick up the volumes. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the edges of the pages were gilded, and I cracked one of the books to see the elegant scrawl of Reaver's handwriting.

"That," Reaver said, pulling the journal from my hand, and inspecting the spine. "Is a year that I would prefer you didn't read."

"How many of these do you have?" I asked, still gathering up the scattered diaries.

"Oh, I think I started about fifty years after I made my arrangement with The Shadow Court," Reaver said casually. "These hold the events of the past twenty-five years or so." He tossed the book behind him, and Murphy scrambled to catch it.

Murphy placed each volume on the shelf of a bookcase that had been moved in. It was large, and I imagined it would hold a quarter of the novel-like diaries.

Reaver, taking a few careful steps toward me, offered a smile, "I wonder how long you will be able to resist the temptation of reading through them any time you get a chance..."

"If you don't want me to read them, why move them in here at all?" I asked, arching a brow. It would probably be both interesting and unsettling to learn Reaver's complete history.

"I cannot simply let them lay about. They go where I go. I have never had to share a living space with someone else," He said, rolling his eyes. Unsatisfied with Murphy's pace of stowing the diaries, he nudged him out of the way and went to work himself.

My eyes found Murphy, and I offered him a soft smile. "Thank you for what you did in court today. I'm honored that you would stand so firmly in your determination to protect me."

Murphy's mouth turned up into a grin. "I w-wasn't protecting you, Your Majesty. I was protecting Sir Silas. Und-doubtedly you would have crushed him in an instant. It would be a shame for the people to have to see that."

Reaver looked to Murphy with a solemn face, as if he'd crossed some sort of line.

Murphy silently backed away, giving me a nod of farewell before he closed the doors and sealed me inside with my frustrated husband.

Reaver started to rearrange the journals, his mouth mumbling unkind words about Murphy's sense of organization. He bent to grab another small stack from the nearby table, and he glanced at their spines, then shoved them into the appropriate places.

I removed the gown I'd been wearing, and I stowed it back in the wardrobe before moving toward the basin of steaming water. My eyes moved over to Reaver, and I saw that he was still distracted with his organization. I slowly removed my underclothes, and the next time I glanced at Reaver, I saw that I had his attention.

I pushed my braid over one shoulder, and I wrung the sponge out before dabbing it across the back of my neck. I washed all over, ignoring my husband who eased closer with every second.

Soon enough, he was behind me, and he took the sponge from my hand. He snaked an arm around me, his mouth tracing across the moist skin of my neck. The fingers of his free hand trailed up my ribs, and I shivered softly.

"Hold on for dear life, darling," He whispered against my skin, and he cupped a breast in his warm, soft hand.

A sigh of approval escaped me as he put the sponge back into the basin, and he pulled me in the direction of the bed.

A/N: Alrighty! I hope you enjoyed it, and there will be more on the way as soon as I can get it written. Leave me some reviews to let me know what you think, I'm always really happy to hear feedback.

As always, I'd like to thank my awesome beta Angelacm.