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I kept my mouth on her until the last pulse eased. When she tried to pull me higher, I kissed my way over her stomach instead of making her drag me.

Her bra still covered her breasts. I reached behind her, opened the clasp and drew it away. She lifted her arms, letting me throw it beside the rest of her clothes.

I covered one breast with my hand and put my mouth over the other. Her nipple tightened against my tongue. Bryony’s legs closed around my hips, careful of the wound without becoming gentle everywhere else.

I kissed her. Her blood remained on my tongue, and she tasted it without flinching. The bond settled into a low heat that belonged to both of us rather than Harrowmere.

The feed had restored my strength and slowed the bleeding. It hadn’t closed the cut.

Bryony reached between us. I caught her wrist before she reached my trousers.

“Not with the wound open. I’m not tearing it wider to prove I can fuck you through it.”

Her pupils widened, then her gaze found the blood marking the bandage. Frustration gave way to reluctant sense.

“I dislike how reasonable that is.”

I kept her wrist in my hand and pressed her palm over my heart. “You chose to feed me. You didn’t promise to ignore the cost.”

Her fingers spread across my chest. The bond carried the frustration neither of us needed to name, but she didn’t reach for my trousers again.

She’d accepted the limit without making me defend it. That mattered more than any promise she could have made while desire was pulling at both of us.

I released her wrist and rested my hand over the fastening of my trousers. Bryony stayed still. She watched me open them and free my cock, waiting until I took her hand and brought it back between us.

Her fingers closed around me.

The first stroke dragged a rough breath from my chest. I covered her hand and moved it once, setting the pressure without giving an instruction. She understood my body as quickly as I’d learned hers. When I let go, her next pass matched the first.

I settled onto my back and kept the injured side straight. Bryony shifted with me, one knee beside my hip and her hair falling over my stomach. She avoided the bandage without turning careful everywhere else.

Her thumb moved over the head of my cock, gathering the wetness there before her fist travelled down again. The sight tightened every muscle I was trying to keep still.

I caught her face and drew her into a kiss. She stroked me through it, slow enough to hold me near the edge without making my body fight the pace. The bond carried her satisfaction when my control began to fray.

My hand moved down her back and closed over her hip. I could still feel the tremors left by her second climax. She pressed closer, naked against my uninjured side, and increased the pressure around my cock.

Pleasure built without the hard movement that would tear the wound open. I let her feel every part of it through the bond. She watched my face as intently as I’d watched hers, learning which small changes meant I was close.

Her final strokes stayed firm and unhurried. My head pressed back into the pillow as release hit. I came over her fingers and my stomach with her name leaving my mouth.

Bryony kept her hand around me until the last pulse passed. Then she reached for the clean cloth beside the water and wiped her fingers and my skin without turning the moment into a joke.

I checked the bandage. No fresh blood had soaked through. She saw it at the same time, and the remaining tension left her shoulders.

She stayed beside me instead of reaching for her clothes. Her palm rested over my ribs above the bandage, warm against skin that had spent too long knowing iron better than touch.

Once, I might have treated her desire as proof that anger no longer mattered. That was another way of choosing the easiest version of the truth. Pleasure hadn’t erased the dead, my confession or the boundary she had drawn. It had given us one honest moment inside all three.

Bryony had changed one part of the boundary for reasons she named and kept the rest intact. I could want more without pretending she had offered it.

I kissed her temple and felt her settle against me. The quiet held no forgiveness I hadn’t earned. It held trust given in a smaller measure, which made me more careful with it.

The need to take her properly hadn’t vanished. It settled into a promise for a safer room and a body no longer held open by a cursed blade. Adrian was still outside, the Crown was still under the throne, and Bryony needed me able to stand when either came through the door.

She studied my face, then checked the bandage once more. The cloth stayed dry.

Neither of us tried to turn the limit into a challenge.