He made himself look away before he crawled up on top of her, stripped her naked, and made love to her until dawn of next year.

Paulina’s voice rose, and her little moans and little groans turned into cries, erotic womanly cries of pleasure. He focused his entire attention onto her clitoris, on that throbbing knot between his lips and against his tongue, working until she couldn’t take it anymore. Her back arched and she cried out again, and she came hard on his mouth, hard enough he felt the muscles contract and he could taste the rush of fluid pouring from her. He buried his mouth into her, lapping it all up, drinking her like wine, drinking until he was drunk on her and couldn’t drink another drop.

She went still on the bed, and he crawled up her body. He pulled her limp body to him and held her against him in his arms. Though it seemed to take her extraordinary effort to open her eyes, her lashes fluttered and she looked at him.

“You’re shaking, baby,” he said. “You all right?”

She nodded but didn’t speak. He had a feeling she couldn’t speak. He mentally patted himself on the back for that.

Cyrus pulled her even closer and dragged the sheet and blanket over her. She’d started to shiver. That happened, of course, he remembered. Burning hot one second—orgasm—crash—cold.

“You want me to go so you can get some sleep?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Stay,” she said. “All night. Just sleep with me. Will you?”

He kissed her forehead again and knew she’d be sound asleep in ten seconds, if that long. Nothing more would happen tonight. He didn’t even want anything to. He just wanted to hold her while she slept.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Nora woke alone in her dungeon bed. Søren hadn’t left her, however. She rolled up, wrapped the sheet around her for warmth, and found him sitting in her waiting room, fully dressed with a cup of tea in his hand.

“About time you woke up,” he said. “It’s ten already.”

“You are a monster.”

“Am I?”

She padded across the floor to him, trying not to wince. She turned and bent her knee so he could see the bottom of her feet.

“Bruises,” she said. “On the bottom of my feet. On the bottom of my feet…are bruises.”

“This will happen when one’s feet are subjected to foot torture.”

“Did I mention the bruises that are on the bottom of my feet?”

“They’ll heal quickly. The flesh on the bottom of the foot regenerates faster than any other part of the body. So says the tattoo artist that did my work,” he said.

“You asked about tattooing the bottom of your feet?”

“No, I asked her what parts of the body healed the fastest. I thought such knowledge would come in handy.” He grinned devilishly. “Or…footy.”

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you more because you said ‘footy.’”