“How nice you took the trouble to instruct me on what I should wear,” she’d continued, his thoughts now returning from those of her imminent defeat, a triumph he could all but taste. “I just wanted to be sure,” she’d said, standing beside the table now, her hands running down her body for emphasis, “this wouldn’t be your first choice?”

He’d stood so fast the chair fell. He’d grabbed her, his hand a vise around her arm as he pulled her from the room. The laughter behind them had been so out of control by that point, they’d beat out their enjoyment upon the tabletop.

By the time they’d entered their chamber, he had been so furious he could barely speak.

“How dare you, wife!”

“How dare I? How dare I?”

He backed her to the door, his look causing her retreat with every step he took. “I thought to be helpful,” he shouted, blocking her escape.

“You—did—not!”

“Apologize—now.”

“Never.”

“You’ll pay for your insolence,” he warned, an inch from her face.

“Oh God, Greylen!” She’d grabbed his shirt. “Make it quick, I’m almost there.”

He hadn’t made her wait at all.

He’d ripped the clothes from her body, then threw her to the floor. Kissing her savagely as he’d pressed himself against her, and in such a state that he was beyond thought, he had ground his hips roughly between her thighs, barely unfastening his breeches enough to free himself before plunging inside.

He’d loved to hear her beg and beg she had done—again and again. He’d released with a shout, hearing his name escape his wife’s lips.

The next incident happened two days later. He’d been unable to run with her that morning, and when she had approached Hugh, who had her guard, he’d informed her ’twas forbidden. Greylen couldn’t say why he chose that particular word, but he insisted Hugh use it knowing his wife would be furious.

She had still been in her robe when she’d stormed the study. “I was about to change for my run,” she hissed, steam nearly coming from her ears. “But was told you forbid it.”

Greylen had looked to Gavin and his men at the table. “Leave us,” he’d ordered in an ominous tone, eyes narrowed on his wife. He could taste victory again, body and mind reeling with anticipation.

Gwen had waited till the doors closed. “Listen, caveman, I need to run and you can’t stop me,” she shouted, approaching his desk, her strides determined, her look furious.

“I did stop you, wife,” he’d corrected.

“I’ll go in my goddamned robe if I have to, Greylen! Where are my clothes?”

“Don’t jump ahead, sweet. Repeat the term you used to describe me—now!”

“It was caveman,” she’d yelled, leaning over the desk.