Page 127 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

I watch her from across the training yard.

Movement along the upper training yards catches my eye. Two guards have stopped there, not talking, not training, just watching her. My hand tightens around the hilt without me meaning it to. A familiar pressure settles between my shoulders, the instinct to step closer, to block her, to put myself between her and whatever’s measuring her from above.

They don’t linger long enough to be obvious. Just long enough to take note.

She’s sparring with Hayes, really sparring, not just demonstrating. Moving in the way she used to before the blast, fast, fluid, and deadly.

Hayes lands a strike to her left side. She blocks it, but I catch the wince and the way her arm drops a fraction too slow. She’s better, so much better, but she’s not there yet. She still favors her left side when she thinks no one’s looking. It makes my stomach clench every time, because if I can see it, someone else can too. And in this castle, a weakness spotted is a weakness exploited.

The morning sun catches her as she moves, and I can’t look away from the way her body flows through the strikes. I’ve been waiting for her to heal, for the moment I can finally collect on that promise. The anticipation is the best kind of torture.

Every night, I lie awake thinking about what I’m going to do to her. How I’m going to learn every inch of her. Find every spot that makes her breath catch, every place that makes her moan my name. I need to feel her fall apart underneath me until she’s gasping, trembling, and begging for more. But I wait because taking her before she’s healed would only put her at risk. And she already has enough threats circling without me adding to them.

The sparring session ends. Hayes lingers for a moment, saying something that makes Gemma roll her eyes. She shoves him away, and he goes, but not before throwing one last smile over his shoulder. Gemma walks toward me with a little smirk playing at her lips. It’s dangerous for my control.

“Enjoying the view?” she asks.

“Always.” The word tastes reckless. Like saying it out loud sharpens the edge we’re already standing on.

She’s flushed from sparring, her chest rising and falling fast. There’s a strand of hair stuck to her neck, and I want to peel it away with my teeth.

She tilts her head. “You’ve been staring at me all morning.”

“Can you blame me?”

She steps closer and lowers her voice. “Staring but not touching.”

My blood heats. “You know I’m barely holding back.”

“Do I?” Her eyes hold mine, with a teasing glint. “It’s been a month. I’m starting to wonder if all that talk on the ride back was just…talk.”

Fuck. She has no idea. No idea how many nights I’ve spent hard and aching, thinking about her. Stroking myself to the memory of her moans. Coming with her name on my lips, and still not satisfied. I won’t be satisfied, not until it’s really her.

“Gemma—”

“Slowly. Thoroughly. With me underneath you.” She throws my own words back at me. “That’s what you said. Remember?”

I remember, I remember every fucking word. I remember the way she moaned when I said it. The way she pressed back against me and whispered promise like a plea.

“I remember,” I manage.

“So, what are you waiting for?”

She bends forward slowly to stretch her hamstrings, with her ass half-pointed at me, the leather stretched tight across every curve.

My cock strains against my leathers, painfully. The image slams into me, her just like this, bare and bent over for me. My hand coming down on that perfect ass, watching it ripple, hearing her gasp. Then my hands spreading her open, working her clit until she’s begging for me. Then and only then sliding my cock into her while she moans into the ground.

She holds the stretch longer than necessary, then peeks back at me with that wicked little smile. She rises slowly, making a show of it, then saunters back to me. She steps close, too close.

“Still just going to stare?” Her voice is low. “I told you. I’m fine. I’m ready.”

I take a half step back. Not because I want to, but because staying where I am would give the wrong people too much to read. Too much to use against her.

“You’re not ready yet.” The words come out strained. “You winced three times in that last bout with Hayes. You’re still favoring your left side, and you’re breathing harder than you should be.”

Her jaw tightens. “I’m fine.”

“You’re healing.” I hold her gaze, resisting the urge to grab her wrist and pull her against me.