Aragon's grip tightened on Malaica's wrist, not yielding but pulling her closer until her body pressed flush against his. The heat of her seeped through the leather and wool, her full breasts crushing against the hard planes of his chest, nipples already stiff peaks that dragged against him with deliberate friction. She was a storm contained in flesh, all fire and demand, and his blood surged in response. The morning with Kaitlyna had left him sated but not spent—his cock throbbed under her palm, thickening further, the leather creaking faintly as it strained to contain him.
"You think you can command me like one of your stable boys?" he murmured, voice a low growl that rumbled through them both. His free hand slid up her back, fingers tangling in that heavy braid, yanking her head back to expose the long column of her throat. He bent and bit her there, not gently—teeth sinking into the pulse point until she gasped, the sound sharp and needy.
