Page 88 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“We can stop anytime,” I murmured. She nodded.

I pulled her onto my lap to straddle me. My hands found her waist, then slid lower, bunching the silk gown as I explored the smooth skin of her thighs.

I let my fingers drift higher, toward the heat I could feel radiating from her core. “Just think—anyone could see.”

She glanced around the booth, taking in the shadows and the strategic positioning that would hide most of what we were doing. Below us, the orgy was still in full swing, and several other couples had found their own dark corners.

“You know,” she breathed against my ear, her voice thick with the wine’s influence and lust, “after our wedding, when you threatened to claim me in front of your entire court…” She paused, pressing closer, and I felt her heart racing against my chest. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

My hands stilled on her thighs. “Is that so?”

“I hated how much I wanted it.” Her admission came out in a rush, her cheeks flushing deeper. “The idea of everyone knowing exactly who I belong to.”

In all our time together, through every battle of wills and moment of passion, she’d never admitted to belonging to anyone—least of all me. She’d fought that notion with teeth and claws, and now here she was, straddling my lap in a den of villains, offering it freely.

“Say it again,” I commanded.

Her eyes met mine, pupils blown wide. “I belong to you, Kazimir Blackrose.”

The thrill that shot through me was equal parts triumph and humility. This magnificent creature, this woman who could bring me to my knees with a look, was choosing to be mine.

“And I,” I said, sliding my hand higher under her dress, “belong to you.”

Her hands curled into my hair as she whispered, “What’s mine, stays mine.”

“What’s mine stays mine,” I echoed.

She gasped as my fingers found the edge of her silk undergarments, already soaked through. The Twilight Wine made every sensation electric, and I could feel her trembling as I traced lazy patterns against the fabric.

“So wet for me already,” I murmured, pushing the silk aside. “And I’ve barely touched you.”

“The wine—” she started, but I cut her off by sliding three fingers into her in one rough thrust.

“Not the wine,” I corrected, curling my fingers to hit that spot that made her back arch. “This is all you.”

My thumb found her clit, working it in tight circles as I fucked her with my fingers. The wine amplified everything—I could feel every flutter of her inner walls, every pulse of her desire. She was so responsive, so perfect, grinding down against my hand with abandon.

“Kaz,” she moaned, burying her face in my neck. “Oh gods, I’m already—”

She came with shocking suddenness, her whole body going taut as she clenched around my fingers. The sound she made—a long, broken groan muffled against my throat—nearly undid me.

I laughed, dark and rough, continuing to work her through it even as she whimpered from oversensitivity. “That’s it. Let them all hear you. Think about all those people out there realizing exactly what I’m doing to you in here.”

She shuddered, drenching my fingers further. “Too much,” she gasped, her hands fisting in my shirt. “Kaz, please—”

“Please what?” I asked, adding a fourth finger and watching her eyes roll back. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop?”

“I don’t—fuck—I don’t know,” she babbled, caught between pushing into my touch and trying to escape it. The wine made everything too intense, too good, and I used that mercilessly, drawing out her pleasure until she was begging.

Only when she was trembling uncontrollably from another orgasm, tears of euphoria gathering in her eyes, did I ease my fingers out of her. She slumped against me, panting hard.

“I haven’t even touched you yet,” she complained weakly, and I could feel her lips curve into a smile against my neck. She turned her head to lay it on my shoulder as she sucked in breaths. “But I’m utterly exhausted.”

“Oh, I fully intend to let you return the favor,” I promised, shifting so she could feel exactly how hard I was beneath her.

She suddenly went rigid. “Kaz,” she said, but this time her voice was sharp with alarm rather than desire.

“What?” I sat up, alert.