Page 129 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

She shrugged the dress off, letting the fabric ripple to pool at her feet.

“Look at you,” Caspian said, his lips moving against her skin.

Nore looked. So many years, she’d inoculated herself against lust, against want. Sex was a mechanical decision: she needed relief, so she took it where she could find it.

It had been so long since she’d looked at her body as more than a tool, a cell, a means to an end. But now, she was nearly bare in the mirror, pale and freckled. She looked, and she saw the contrast of Caspian’s skin against hers. She laid her hand over one of his as his other went to her hair, fanning it out. It spilled across her shoulders, a shock of red.

Nore looked: she took in the flush on her cheeks, the parting of her lips; she saw how her breath stirred in her chest. Her breasts were heavy, her nipples peaked under their dual gazes, though she had barely yet been touched. She looked at the sturdy curve of her hips and the softness of her belly, the shadows of her hip bones as they disappeared into the soft silk of her undergarments. She looked at the lines of her thighs and the dimples on her knees; she looked at the fragility of her hands, thin fingers and tidy nails, and the way she gripped Caspian’s.

When she lifted her gaze, she found his in the mirror; he was watching her watch herself.

Ever so carefully, Nore guided Caspian’s hand down over her hip, down to the silk waistband of her undergarments. His eyes met hers again in the mirror.

“What do you want, Nore?” he asked, his voice almost mournful.

She’d been fucking strangers for years, when the need came; a quick-fire release of tension that left Nore’s veins singing—but she always left most of her clothes on. She always shied away, putting them in positions that allowed for as little contact as possible. She always pushed her lovers’ hands away, choosing to find release with her own fingers pushing herself over the edge, as if she could use their bodies as a tool. She never lingered.

It was all a means to an end, after all.

But now Caspian’s body was flush against hers—she felt him, hard and achingly familiar, even as he made no move to focus on anything other than her.

Nore was lost in it, in the number of things she wanted to beg for.

“Touch me,” she said, feigning steadiness.

Caspian complied, his right hand slipping below the silk. She watched its path, drawing a breath as his hand moved between her thighs. His other arm wound around her, under her breasts, as if he could read on her face that she needed support. She moved her hands up to grip his forearm as it tightened on her ribs. Nore let her head drop back against Caspian’s shoulder, a sigh falling from her lips as his fingers teased and circled. She melted against him, her eyes slipping shut. He stopped immediately.

Nore’s eyes flew open. Caspian was watching her. “That’s not what I asked for,” Nore said.

“I will do as you command me,” he said, “as long as you keep watching.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but only for a moment—his fingers resumed their movements and she arched against a bright shock of desire.

“Who is in control here?” Nore asked, moving one hand back to grip Caspian’s hair. It was dark and curled, and back when their relationship was something else, green and new, she used to twine the curls through her fingers and watch how the deep, dark strands shifted in the sunlight.

It was still just as soft as ever.

“You,” Caspian said in a low whisper, his nose skimming her ear. “Always you.”

Nore made a noise low in her throat. She shifted her hands to take off her shorts, pushing the silk down and kicking the garment aside. “Touch me how you used to,” she said, melting back against him.

Caspian froze for the barest moment. She only had that pause to catch the shock that flickered across his face in the mirror—and then he was crushing her back against him, parting her thighs with his hands. She felt his fingers slip inside of her as his thumb continued to circle. Nore shivered with the mounting pleasure, with the familiarity of his touch.

She turned her head, seeking his mouth. She kissed him, and that was a bit like fighting, too. When she came, it was nearly a surprise: one moment she was in her own mind, the pleasure cresting, and then she was shaking in his arms, crying out against his mouth.

“Take this off,” she insisted, tugging at his trousers even as she made quick work of his buttons. It only took a minute to get Caspian undressed, stripped bare; he conceded without argument when she pushed him down to the floor.

He surged up to kiss her. She straddled him, working him with her hands until he bit her lip, and she felt his desperation in every line of his body.

Nore steadied herself and sank down, taking as much of him as she could. She gasped, arching at the fit. Cas groaned into her shoulder, his hands going to her hips as she adjusted, then slowly started to move. She rolled her hips, getting a feel for him—but she’d remembered everything about this, from the way he fit inside of her to the awestruck look in his dark, solemn eyes, and the grip of his hands on her hips. She’d forgotten the mirror but now she glanced over, taking in how her own body arched for him, and how Caspian’s hands looked as they demanded more from her body.

“Are you going to watch yourself taking your pleasure from me?” he murmured, trailing kisses over the tops of her breasts.

“Yes,” Nore said. She gasped as he took her nipple into his mouth, watching herself in the mirror as she claimed him. There was so much contact between his skin and hers, as if every part of their bodies had been carved from the same stone. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and kissed the side of his head, shamefully defaulting to tenderness. She felt the pleasure cresting again, each roll of her hips bringing the buzzing need higher—

And then Cas said, “Nore.”

She looked at him. He was watching her face like she was something indescribably beautiful, something breakable. His arms tightened around her and she was enveloped in the headiness of him. He was not just another body, not just another lover, not just another means to an end.