I trail my fingers over his high cheekbone, down his jaw and the column of his throat. I continue to move my hand lower and lower until my palm returns to that spot just beneath his pecs.

War closes his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

He has a warrior's build, which isn’t surprising—and it’s nothing I haven’t already seen. But tonight, when I know it’s going to be pressed against my own skin, tonight I notice.

Now I’m staring at his chest and those glowing markings. Why am I so nervous? And why am I making this weird? Should I just kiss him?

“Have you done this before?” he asks, opening his eyes.

I nod, not meeting his gaze. I don’t tell him that I haven’t done it much. Too tricky with pregnancy.

“Have you?” Like an idiot the question escapes my lips before I can stop myself.

War tilts my head up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Mmm,” he says, which I guess is his way of saying yes.

Before he can do anything else, and before I have a chance to make this feel truly uncomfortable, I bring my hands to his chest again. Ignoring the way they tremble, I smooth my palms over his flesh.

Beneath my touch, I feel War’s skin pucker, and it’s a shock, knowing I can do that to him.

I move my hands down, reaching for his trousers, ready to get this whole thing going, but then War catches one of my wrists.

“Wait.”

Wait?

My knees are nearly knocking together with nerves. I don’t think I can wait.

Holding my arm, War draws me over to a side table, where a decanter and glasses rest. Uncorking the container, he pours out two drinks and hands one to me. The other he keeps for himself.

I take it, wrapping both my hands around it. At least this will take the edge off. My senses could stand to be dulled.

I take a tentative drink of the alcohol. It’s spicy, and I honestly couldn’t say what particular type of distilled spirits I’m drinking, but it warms me instantly, so I take another drink.

Maybe I can simply do this drunk …

In the spirit of that thought, I tip back my glass and swallow the rest of the drink down, grimacing at the sting of it.

War watches me closely. After a moment, he sits down in his chair, his gaze never leaving me. I think he’s going to point out that I look nervous. Instead he takes a long swallow of his drink, then sets the glass aside. After a moment, he takes my drink from me and sets it, too, aside.

Reaching out he grabs me by the hips and reels me in so that my legs are caught between his. My heart is hammering away in my chest.

Staring up at me, the horseman begins to rub his thumbs over my skin. Slowly, his palms skim up my sides, lifting my top along with them. His touch is electric. I’ve never been so aware of myself in my entire life.

Bit by bit he lifts my shirt, revealing a tattered bra beneath. I finish removing the shirt, casting the garment aside.

I feel like I’m about to leap out of my own skin, which is alarming, considering how little we’ve done.

Need to spearhead this.

With that thought, I lean in and kiss him.

Sweet relief.

The moment my lips press against his, all my anxious energy turns into intensity. I clasp my hands on either side of his face, directing his mouth to mine.

He groans against me, and whatever agonizingly slow pace he set out for us earlier, it vanishes in an instant. His hands are in my hair as he devours my mouth.

My knees are still weak, and I practically have to crawl onto War’s lap to keep myself from collapsing on the floor. The skin of my chest presses against his, and I shudder against him.

The warlord grinds his hips against me, and I can feel his hardness straining against the material.

“The feel of you against me …” he growls out, “all the saints, it’s like a memory of heaven.”

I don’t know what to say to that; the horseman just likened me to heaven—and he’d know all about the place. On a more personal note, no one has ever cherished any part of me the way War is doing right now. And it’s heady. It’s so goddamn heady.

War breaks away from my mouth. “I want to see your pretty breasts,” he says, his voice gravelly.

I stare back at him, dazed from his lips.

Before his words fully process, he’s removing my bra. A moment later, my breasts spill free.

Automatically, my arms come up to my chest, and my earlier nervousness comes back in full force.

Still, it’s War who pulls my arms away from my chest, revealing my dusky nipples. His smoldering gaze dips to meet mine. “You have no reason to be nervous, wife.”

Wife. The sentiment makes my stomach drop.

“Please don’t call me that right now.” I thought I’d gotten used to the term, but I was wrong. Right now it sounds far too intimate. I can trivialize what I do with the horseman so long as I remain emotionally distant.

“That’s one thing I will not agree to. Wife.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

His hand skims over my skin, then cups a breast. It’s almost laughable, how big his hands are. They engulf my breast—and then some.

He brings his other hand up, so that he’s cupping them both. His thumb scrapes over a nipple.

“I want to be in you, Miriam,” he breathes. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about lately.”

His words set my core on fire. Need is growing in me to take this farther, faster.

War lifts me easily, giving himself access to the breast. I feel his hot breath exhale against my nipple, and then he takes it into his mouth.

My reaction is instant.

I moan, arching against him, pressing myself against his chest. His lips are like sin, and I can feel myself getting wet with every stroke of his tongue.

He groans against me. “Wife. That sound.”

I need more.

“What do you want me to do?” I say instead.

“Touch me wherever it pleases you.”

Now that is a tricky command. It implies that any part of him pleases me, and even though my lips are already swollen from his kiss, and even though I’m straddled in his lap and my panties are soaked, I still don’t want any part of him to please me.

And I definitely don’t want him to know it.

But desire wins out. I run my hands over his pecs, his shoulders, his back and arms. I’m touching him everywhere, everywhere. His body is enormous, his massive torso dwarfing mine.

The horseman groans again, and again he grinds against me. His lips begin to skim over my chest, getting more demanding, and his hands are getting greedier. Reflexively, I run my fingers through his dark hair.

His violent, kohl-lined eyes lock on mine, and they sharpen with purpose.

War picks me up and carries me over to his pallet, setting me down on the bed I slept in not so long ago. It feels familiar and foreign all at the same time, the sheets smelling faintly like the horseman.

I lay there and look up at War, who looks larger than life from this angle.

Minutes ago I would’ve been all jittery nerves. Now I just want him.

He kneels down next to me, his gaze pinned to mine. His hands go to my boots, removing them and my socks one by one. He moves up the bed, his fingers going to my waistband.

My throat bobs a little as he unbuttons my pants. The sound of the zipper dragging down ratchets up my excitement. He hooks his fingers around my pants and underwear, and then he drags it all down, bit by bit, unveiling me as he goes.