Page 135 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“I know,” she said simply, and pulled me down for another kiss.

I released her wrist to free my cock. “Hurry,” she demanded, and who was I to deny my wife? The vanity creaked ominously as I pressed her back against the mirror and shoved her nightgown farther up her thighs. I needed her. Needed to lose myself in her body, to drown out the whispers with her gasps and moans.

When I slid into her, we both groaned. She was soaking wet, as desperate for this as I was. I set a punishing pace that had the vanity slamming against the wall with each thrust. She met each thrust with her own, her legs locked around me like she was trying to climb inside my skin. I hooked an arm under her knee to spread her wider.

There was another ominous cracking sound from the mirror.

Before she could respond, I pulled out and spun us, pressing her against the wall.

“Watch.” One hand tangled in her hair to make her face the now cracked mirror, and we both watched our reflection as I pushed her nightgown up around her waist with the other.

What I saw in that reflection should have disturbed me. My eyes held too much darkness, runes glowing across my skin in patterns that weren’t entirely normal. But Arabella was radiant. Light danced along her skin where my shadows touched it, creating something beautiful and terrible. I held her gaze in the mirror as I thrust into her from behind, burying myself deep.

“Harder,” she demanded, pushing back against me.

I obliged, driving into her with enough force to make her cry out. I needed skin, needed to feel her, needed to remind myself that she was here and real and mine. Her nightgown tore under my hands. I only left a bit draped around her front to protect her breasts from the wooden wall.

Then I lost myself in our torrid connection. The familiar pressure was building, that sweet oblivion just within reach. Magic leaked from both of us, shadow and light swirling through the cabin like a localized storm.

I felt her getting close, the way her breath hitched and her inner walls began to flutter around me. I released her hair to grip her hips, pulling her back from the wall to change the angle. The new position made her cry out a string of creative profanities.

“Look at us,” I commanded, and she turned her face toward the mirror again. “Watch what I do to you.”

Each thrust drove deep, lifting her onto her toes. Her palms braced against the wall for support as I held her suspended between my body and the wood, caught in that perfect space where she could push back to meet me.

“Kaz”—she gasped, her body starting to tense—“I’m going to—”

“Do it.” I leaned forward, my chest against her back, never breaking eye contact in the mirror. “Let me see you fall apart.”

She came with a scream that probably woke half the ship. The feel of her clenching around my cock, the sight of her—head thrown back, mouth open, completely undone—pushed me over the edge. I followed her down, my vision going white as I emptied myself inside her.

Our magic erupted in a barely controlled explosion of shadow and light, rattling the porthole windows. Sparks of gold and tendrils of darkness danced across the ceiling before dissipating into the air.

For a moment, we stayed pressed against the wall, connected and panting, trying to control our magic. When I finally looked at Arabella’s reflection in the mirror, there were tears on her cheeks. “Hey.” But when I straightened to see her face, she turned it toward the wall. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head and righted herself.

I hesitated, torn between concern and wanting to respect her wish for privacy. I opted for holding her tightly in confusion.

The vanity chose that moment to give up entirely, the mirror shattering into a thousand glittering pieces. I buried my face into her shoulder to stifle a laugh.

“If the others hadn’t heard us before,” Arabella said with an amused, if muffled, snort, “they definitely heard that.”

“They’re used to it.” I ran my hands up her hips, feeling her smooth skin and wondering how I’d managed three days without this closeness to her.

She turned in my embrace. Her eyes were red-rimmed but clear, the storm passed. Though her freckles stood out on her nose more than ever. We still hadn’t made up, not really. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface. But at least we were talking again.

The cabin looked like a hurricane had hit it—furniture overturned, belongings scattered, glass on the floor. I scooped her up and carried her to the bed without even trying to fix anything. We collapsed onto the sheets in a tangle of exhausted limbs, but I resisted the urge to fall immediately into sleep. Instead, I pulled Arabella toward me, her breasts pressed against my chest, my erection still proudly straining between us.

I brushed her drying tears with my thumb. The words rose in my throat—three simple syllables that normal people said every day. I love you. I took a breath.

The instant the thought formed, the Shadow King’s presence surged through my mind.

WEAK. PATHETIC. You would bare your throat to her blade?

The violence of the response made me want to destroy more than a vanity, but I forced myself to remain calm so Arabella didn’t know. The voice had been strong for days, but this felt like claws raking across the inside of my skull.

But Arabella was here, warm and real in my arms, still catching her breath from how thoroughly I’d just claimed her—