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I gasped. “It’s lucky,” I breathed, “that the bedspread is red damask.”
“Isn’t it?” Draven agreed. “I just love a good damask.”
Then he lowered his mouth to my wine-soaked breast and sucked.
When it was over, I lay staring out the window and listening to the waves crashing against the rocks below as Draven lay with his head resting against my breasts. Slowly, I stroked a hand through his hair. After all we had been through in this place, perhaps it was strange that I felt as relaxed as I did. But the sea drew me. Perhaps Draven was right and we should live by water.
I thought of our cottage in the little forest glade.
“You didn’t sleep last night.”
I moved, startled. “What do you mean? Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t, Morgan. And you looked terrible today.”
I flipped over to face him, narrowing my eyes. “Terrible? I thought we’d just established you thought I looked the opposite of terrible.”
He grinned, his eyes moving down my unclothed body with a hunger still clearly unsated. “You always look the opposite of terrible to me. Still, compared to how beautiful you look when well-rested, you looked... well, beautifully unrested.”
“What a confusing conversation,” I complained. “Of course, I slept. I was just... restless, that’s all.”
“Hmph,” was all he said, but the look he was giving me told me he didn’t believe a word. “You need to sleep, Morgan. You’re drained.”
“What? You think Tintagel is going to be attacked again? Tonight?” I said lightly, tracing my fingers over his chest, over the curling hairs covering his nipples.
Perhaps it wasn’t as ridiculous as I made it sound.
He shivered, then squeezed my waist. “Stop, I’m trying to talk to you.”
“And I’m trying to talk to you,” I said, pushing myself against him. Already, I could feel him stirring. “You want me. Again. Greedy, greedy Siabra prince.”
“I’ll fuck you again after this if that’s what you want. All night long.” He bit down on my shoulder, and I gasped. Now I truly was wet again.
“Now,” I breathed. “Do it now.”
“First tell me you’ll sleep after,” he growled. “Tell me you won’t resist. You need to rest.”
Lust subsided momentarily. “I...can’t,” I admitted.
I pushed myself upright.
“Why not?”
“Because...” I took a deep breath. “He’s in my head.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
Draven sat up and leaned back against the headboard, folding his well-muscled arms over his chest.
“Well, fuck. Tell me.”
“He burned our cottage down,” I revealed. “I didn’t want to tell you... before.”
“Before the battle?” Draven scowled. “How long has this been going on, Morgan?”
“Just one night, I swear. The night Ulpheas showed up. The night he died.” Did I tell Draven everything? “My father tried to grab me. In the dream. I fought him. When I woke up, Ulpheas was there.”
