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“Hi,” I whisper back. “How did you sleep?”

“You already know the answer to that question,” she says, rifling through a basket of fabrics.

“Not true,” I drawl. “You weren’t there when I woke.”

“To be fair, I didn’t think you’d expect me to be.”

“There was no expectation, little witch.”

She holds a piece of beaded lace up to the window, showering us in tiny bursts of rainbow light.

“Then why do you seem so put off?” she asks.

“Because it would’ve been…”

Her tired eyes soften. “Would’ve been what, grandsire?”

“Nice,” I say quietly. “It would’ve been nice to share a bed with you for the entire night.”

“A bed is a tad more comfortable than a tent.”

“Then why didn’t you stay?”

“I was… afraid,” she admits, voice tight.

“Of me?”

“Dagny, no.” She sets down the fabric. “Of me. Of what staying the night, what waking beside you, might awaken in me.” Her silver gaze ignites with heat. “But you’ve already awoken a part of me that craves your touch, and I need you to know… I want more.”

My cock hardens at her declaration. “I want the same.”

There’s a light shuffling sound as Gwyn sways closer, the dresses over her arm shifting just enough to conceal her movement toward me. And then⁠—

Sovereign Sisters, spare me.

How did she know?

With careful precision, she strokes her hand across the outside of my trousers, tracing the outline of my cock as it strains against the seam and grows harder and harder from the contact.

My neck sizzles, and my hands curl into fists.

It fucking hurts to be touched by her.

But it hurts more to go without.

She arches a brow. A silent question. Should I stop?

Fuck, no.

My hips snap forward into her hand, giving her permission to touch me however she wants.

Her grin is devious. “Shall I brew another potion?”

The friction is enough to make me grit my teeth.

Somehow, I manage to ground out, “Several.”

It’s embarrassing how badly I have to hold myself back from panting.