She hoped he wasn’t going to get pissy when he saw them.
She wanted to float a while longer, keeping her thoughts confined to the delicious feel of the bed and Daemon’s hand resting on her belly, warm and heavy. But when she opened her eyes ...
Her vision had been so tear-blurred last night, and Sadi had taken them through so many corridors to find a discreet bedroom, she hadn’t known where they ended up. And last night the room hadn’t mattered, as long as it had a bed or sofa. Hell’s fire, last night she wouldn’t have cared if they’d ended up on the floor. But now ...
His psychic scent was much too prominent for this to be a seldom-used bedroom. Maybe this was the bedroom he used when a woman stayed overnight for sex? The thought cut, but she’d asked for something they both needed last night, and she’d told him it was freely given. So she couldn’t quibble now if he hadn’t seen it differently from the other sex he’d had since he’d been anyone’s lover. Even if those other women hadn’t recognized the difference, she’d lived around him long enough to know that Daemon as a sex partner, even when he was giving great sex, paled in comparison with Daemon as a lover.
That thought added a wash of sadness over her contentment. Better to slip out now and go back to her suite to clean up and maybe get another hour of sleep. She would meet him at the breakfast table as if they’d parted company in the family sitting room and spent the night in their own beds.
She started to shift, to slide out from under his hand. Except the fingers suddenly pressed down on her belly and the nails pricked in warning.
“Going somewhere?” Daemon crooned as he rose up on one elbow and looked down at her.
It was still too dark to see his face, his eyes. But that particular timbre in the deep voice had her heart racing. She knew the Sadist’s voice when she heard it.
His hand didn’t actually press down on her belly, but it felt heavier, more ... possessive.
Then he turned back the covers for her at the same time a light appeared through a half-closed door on the opposite side of the room. Enough light to see the room—and to see his eyes.
Not quite the Sadist. But not Daemon either. He was riding a side of his nature that was somewhere between the two.
She slipped out of bed and walked into the bathroom, too aware that a predator watched her and was considering if she too was a predator and required careful handling or if she was prey.
She used the toilet, then let water run in the sink to wash her face and stall for time.
They weren’t in a guest room. She’d seen enough to realize the room was too personal to be any kind of guest room. His bedroom, then. The Consort’s suite, since he hadn’t moved out of the room next to Jaenelle’s. A swift, careful probe confirmed he’d put Black shields in the walls and Black locks on the doors. No way for her to get out of this room until he let her go.
Mother Night.
A Warlord Prince’s bedroom is his private place, and he tends to be more possessive when he’s there. So if you’re invited into his bedroom, you want to be more careful in how you deal with him.
At the time, Surreal had thought Jaenelle’s mind had begun wandering because of old age, especially because those kinds of comments had usually come when they were alone and working on some chore not even remotely related to the subject matter.
Which was why all those comments had stuck in her mind.
“Hell’s fire,” Surreal whispered as she dried her face. Jaenelle’s mind hadn’t wandered. She’d been giving lessons in a way that wouldn’t be resisted—and wouldn’t be forgotten.
Damned if he understood why they had ended up here, except that he’d needed to have her in this room, in this bed.
You’re only eighteen hundred years old, Daemon. You are not going to spend the rest of your life celibate.
You don’t think I can? he’d crooned.
I know you can. That’s why I want you to promise me that you won’t. No one will think you’re being unfaithful if you find another lover after the year of mourning. You’re not going to spend the rest of your life without that kind of companionship or comfort. If you’re not comfortable accepting that as a request from your wife, consider it a command from your Queen.
Cornered. He hadn’t liked making that promise, and he hadn’t liked the sex much. Even when he’d enjoyed it physically, he hadn’t liked it much because of the expectations that always seemed to shroud the bed. And because he usually dreamed about Hekatah and Dorothea afterward. He didn’t need more of a reminder than that of what could happen if a man got careless and had sex with a woman who rode a cock in order to ride ambition.
Besides, something had been missing from the bed with the women he’d pleasured that had made even the best sex a disappointment for him.
That elusive something wasn’t missing last night, though.
The water in the bathroom shut off, and his attention sharpened.
He’d have to think about why last night was different. Later.
Daemon hadn’t moved at all during her time in the bathroom.
“It’s early,” he crooned. “Come back to bed.”
Not a lot of choices.
She slipped into bed, not sure what to expect. Arousal was dominant in his psychic scent, so she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d rolled on top of her. After all, he was the dominant male in Kaeleer, and that much power had privileges no other male could claim.
Instead, he pulled the covers up high enough to cover her breasts. Then his fingers lightly stroked her hair, combing it away from her face.
“How are you?” he asked, his voice still in that dangerous croon.
“All right.”
“Sore?”
“A little.” She didn’t dare so much as tweak the truth. Not with him. Not now.
His fingers drifted to her temple, down her jaw, over her neck and shoulders. So light. So delicate.
Her heart stopped racing as she relaxed under that delicate touch. When he eased the covers down to her hips, she didn’t protest, barely noticed because those fingers kept drifting along her skin, making her float.