Page 76 of Dark Elf Makes Five

"Undoubtedly." I turn her in my arms until she faces me, pale eyes meeting hazel in the dappled light. "Do you ever regret it? Coming back that day?"

She considers the question seriously, as she considers everything. Her fingers trace the silver embroidery along my coat sleeve—a nervous habit she's developed over the years.

"I regret running away." Her voice drops to a whisper. "I regret the fear that made me think I had to choose between loving you and protecting them."

"You were trying to keep them safe. I understood that, even when it nearly killed me to know you'd left willingly."

"You didn't let me go." She raises an eyebrow, and there's the sharp-tongued woman who once defied me in chains. "You tracked us down like a hunting hound."

"I prefer 'determined suitor.'"

"Obsessive stalker."

"Devoted husband."

The word still feels strange on my tongue, even after two years of marriage. Strange and perfect and utterly right in ways I never expected when I first caught a desperate thief in my orchard.

Kessara's smile softens, and she reaches up to cup my face in her palms. "I love you too, you impossible man."

I lean down to kiss her, slow and thorough, tasting the sweetness that has so little to do with stolen fruit and everything to do with the life we've built together. When we break apart, she's breathless and flushed, and I'm reminded again how fortunate I am that she chose to stay.

"You should have known better than to disobey your husband back then," I murmur against her ear, my voice carrying that familiar edge of dark amusement.

She pulls back just enough to arch an eyebrow at me, that defiant spark I fell in love with flickering to life. "We weren't married at the time, if you recall. Technically, I was a free woman making her own choices."

"Technicalities." I dismiss her logic with a wave of my hand, though my grip on her waist tightens possessively. "You've always been mine, Kessara. From the moment I found you with stolen fruit in your hands."

Her breath catches, and I see the familiar flush creeping up her neck. After all this time, she still responds to that tone, that claiming. "Always so arrogant."

"Always so disobedient." I let my fingers trail along her jawline, watching her pupils dilate. "Which means you still need to be punished for your lack of obedience."

"Still?" she purrs, her voice dropping to that husky register that never fails to make my blood heat. Her finger traces a deliberate path down my chest, following the silver embroidery of my coat. "After all this time?"

The innocent act doesn't fool me for a second. She knows exactly where this is headed, knows exactly what that sultry tone does to my control. The minx has perfected the art of pushing my buttons until I snap.

"Any chance I get," I growl, and before she can offer another clever retort, I spin her around and bend her over the stone fountain at the orchard's heart.

The carved marble is sun-warmed beneath her palms as I lift her skirts, revealing the perfect curve of her backside. Three years of proper meals have filled her out beautifully, and I take a moment to appreciate the view before bringing my palm down in a sharp slap against her flesh.

She cries out, the sound transforming into a moan that echoes through the quiet orchard. Birds scatter from nearby branches, but I couldn't care less about witnesses right now.

"What do you say?" I ask, rubbing the reddening area with gentle circles, soothing the sting I've just delivered.

"I'm sorry, Master," she purrs, the title rolling off her tongue like honey laced with sin.

The word sends heat straight through me, and I reward her submission with another firm smack. "Good girl. Say it again."

Another slap punctuates my words, and she arches against the fountain's edge, presenting herself beautifully.

"I'm sorry. I'll be good from now on," she gasps, her voice breathless with want.

I smirk, admiring the way her body responds to each correction. "Is that so?"

She nods enthusiastically, then yelps as my palm connects again with her increasingly pink flesh. The sound she makes is pure music.

My hand slips between her thighs, and I find her slick with want. Two fingers slide into her heat, and she hums, a low, satisfied vibration that travels through my entire body. When my other hand connects with her backside in another firm smack, her inner muscles clench around my fingers.

"Such a naughty girl, hm?"