Page 199 of The Crown’s Temptation

“Have you tested it yet?”

“Not by much.”

I paused. “I know I must look strange now.”

He laughed, low. “No stranger than I do when my eye turns copper.”

“To be fair, your eyes were already strange.”

We both laughed again, the sound lighter than either of us expected.

I stared at him for a long moment, then reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt. He watched my hands, voice quiet.

“We don’t need to.”

“Okay,” I said calmly.

I opened my legs slowly on the bed, the nightdress riding up, and let my fingers slide between my thighs. The first touch drew a soft breath from me. I circled where I was already wet, slow at first, letting the pleasure build in steady layers. My other hand rose to my breast, pinching the nipple lightly, rolling it between my fingers until it tightened into a peak that sent sparks straight down my spine. A low moan slipped out as I pressed two fingers deeper inside myself, the stretch pulling another sound from my throat. My hips lifted into my own hand, the movements growing firmer, wetter, the sound of my fingers moving inside me filling the quiet room.

He watched without looking away, eyes dark, one hand resting on my ankle, thumb stroking once, slow and careful.

I shifted onto my knees, still facing him, and began pumping myself harder, three fingers now, the wet slide loud as I rode my hand. The pleasure climbed, my thighs shaking, another moan breaking free when I pressed the heel of my palm against myself with every movement. I leaned forward, one hand braced on his thigh, the other still moving inside me, my body rocking back onto my fingers with increasing need. A pillow lay nearby; I pulled it beneath me, grinding down hard, the friction pulling a broken sound from my chest.

My breathing came faster, moans turning louder, release building tight and impossible to hold back. I came with a long, shaking cry, my body clenching around my fingers, wetness spilling over my hand and onto the pillow as I kept rocking through it, slower now, drawing every last pulse of pleasure while he watched, his grip on my ankle tightening just enough to anchor me.

I collapsed onto the bed, my body still trembling from the rush of release. We stared at each other in the quiet room, his dark eyes locked on mine, both of us breathing hard. The weight of everything that had just passed between us pressed heavy in the air.

He did not reach for me. He did not kiss me. He did not stroke himself.

My heart lurched.

He did not want me anymore.

Tears burned behind my eyes, and before I could stop them they spilled over, running hot down my cheeks.

His brows drew together, genuine confusion flashing across his face. “What is wrong?”

“Do not do this to me,” I said, voice cracking. “I cannot. I have spent—” I took a deep, shaking breath, the words clawing their way out. “Do you know what it is like to have everything you want right in front of you, right within reach, but you cannot have it no matter how badly you may need it?”

Understanding moved through his eyes, slow and clear.

I rubbed the tears from my face with the back of my hand, sat up, and pulled the nightgown back on, the fabric settling over my skin like armor I no longer wanted. “That I cannot do, because⁠—”

He was on me before the sentence finished. A low growl rose from his chest as he pressed me down, one large hand closing over my breast and squeezing firmly through the thin cloth. “All of it is in front of me,” he said, voice rough and possessive, “and all of it is mine. And if you think I’m stupid enough not to take it, then you are wrong.”

He stood again, chest heaving, and looked down at me. His voice dropped, quiet and even. “Tell me, Asharin. What is in front of you?”

“My husband,” I whispered. “You.”

He was silent. He looked away once, then he spoke.

“I cannot change the past. But I am not the same man I was back then. And now we have a daughter and a son. And my biggest fear is being a duty or obligation and not a choice. Yet that is what I have always been, a trap I created for myself the moment I made you sign that marriage contract like you were cattle and not a person.”

“It was all I had ever known and in truth I had never been treated much better, but that is not an excuse.”

“You ripped the contract, Colsar,” I said quietly. “That is behind us.”

“Yes. But even then the tables weren’t fair. You still had not figured out your roots or if you had family at all. Your alternatives were your father and an abusive family. That is not a real choice.”