“What can I say, spending time with the Witch Queen has changed me.” His wink makes my thighs clench. I love it when his flirtation turns wholly on me. I bite my lip, and he growls, pulling me close again. “If you keep looking at me like that, I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” he whispers in my ear, nipping it with his teeth. The move sends shivers down my spine.

“Maybe that’s what I want,” I coo in a husky voice, arching my back to press my breasts closer to his broad chest. He trails his finger down the column of my neck.

“If I recall,” he murmurs, “you were just complaining yesterday that I’m ruining all your favorite garments with my impatience to get you naked.”

He’s right. Since I accepted the mating bond, our need for one another has been uncontrollable. We can barely spend any time alone without ripping off our clothes, no regard for where we are. Silene’s been the one to handle getting out the word to the Council that she and Thorne’s betrothal was a sham, whispering it into the right ears. It’s a cover we desperately needed with how much additional time we’ve been spending together, often in compromising positions. Yesterday, we were nearly discovered naked in the Council chamber while waiting for advisors to arrive for a meeting. Thankfully, Silene once again saved the day, having the foresight to speak loudly to Admon before they walked in together, buying us enough time to dress. While I’m sure my advisors have their suspicions about us, I certainly don’t want to confirm them via accidental nudity.

Evenings are a different story. Regardless of whose bed we’re in, gone is the savage and wild lust. Instead, Thorne makes love to me gently, slowly. We explore one another, our sighs filled with emotions we haven’t yet expressed. I tell him stories of my life, and he offers his own. And when we finally fall asleep, it’s in each other’s arms. I’m the happiest I can ever remember being, despite the Nemesia-shaped hole that consumes me when I’m not with him.

I mock pout, and Thorne’s pupils dilate. “Why can’t you simply unlace my gown or pull the skirt up, instead of ripping open the front of whatever I’m wearing?” I ask him with a smirk. He returns it with his own, then peppers kisses over my collarbone and neck.

“Because. If I’m going to fuck you. Witchling. I need it to be with your breasts. Cupped. In my palms,” he says between kisses. I moan.