“Get your broadsword and we’ll see about your bloody point,” she retorted, breathing heavily from exertion and fury, which did not make it any easier to lie atop her and not grow hard, something he was struggling mightily with already.

“We’ll continue to discuss this later when you’ve calmed the fuck down,” he growled.

“We won’t be discussing anything at any time. We’re done, Cassius. You are Regent. You will be king. You can do anything with your realm. Including allowing your daughter to assume your throne. You need no heir. You have an heir. I will be your wife. We will battle the Beast. And then I will live in my treehome in The Enchantments with Dora and carry on with my life as I wish, and you will do whatever you will, just without me.”

His chest did not feel tight with her declaration.

It burned.

“We’ve already made our bargain, my warrior,” he reminded her.

“No, you made your decree. Heed this, my warrior, you may be able to best me hand to hand, but you will never cow me to your whim.”

“Do you wish to test that?” he asked.

“I think that question is better asked of you,” she retorted.

He dipped closer and whispered, “I can smell your excitement.”

Her chin dipped into her neck and he saw the truth of his statement flash fleetingly in her eyes.

Cassius did not relent.

“You like sparring, verbally, physically. You like my weight. You want my mouth on you. You want my hands on you. You yearn for it, Elena. I can feel it. I can smell it.”

“That’s absurd,” she hissed, but her breath was coming even faster.

“So you wish to test that.”

“Get off me,” she snapped.

“I see,” he murmured, studying her mouth. “You don’t wish to test it for you know I’m right.”

“Get off me, Cassius.”

He looked to her eyes. “Has True had your mouth?”

“Yes,” she bit.

“Liar,” he whispered.

She turned her head to the side and he watched her swallow.

It looked painful.

He didn’t like that for her.

Therefore, it was then he relented.

He kept hold on her wrists, but he did it using his thumbs to stroke the apples of her palms.

She swallowed again, for a different reason this time, and he spoke.

“Not even a stolen kiss, my lamb?” he asked gently.

“I am not your lamb.”

Oh, but she was.

Playful and frisky in sparring.

Soft, innocent and dewy-eyed after climax.

Skittish and stubborn pretending she didn’t want him as badly as he did her.

“Yes, you are.”

She shook her head, still turned away. “Please, get off me.”

“True is a gentleman.”

“And you are not.”

He didn’t need to be.

He would be her husband.