He was still so hard, so full, and she was so exquisitely sensitive that every millimeter of his invasion was a tiny, breathtaking earthquake.

“Jaenor,” she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Look at me, Grandma,” he commanded, his voice thick with a desire that bordered on reverence. The use of the familial title while he was buried inside her sent a jolt of illicit heat through her veins.

Her dark eyes, heavy-lidded with passion, fluttered open to meet his.

He began to move, not with the frantic, primal pace of before, but with a slow, deep, rolling rhythm that was infinitely more intimate.

Each withdrawal was a sweet agony of loss; each thrust, a homecoming that struck the very depths of her soul.

“This,” he panted, his forehead resting against hers, their breath mingling, “this closeness… is it not the strongest bond? To be inside you… to feel you clutching me… to see your pleasure…”

She could only nod, her world narrowing to the place where their bodies joined.

She wrapped her legs high around his waist, locking her ankles, pulling him deeper still.

Yes. This.

This was the indescribable thing.

It was not just the friction, the glorious stretching fullness, or the electric spark that ignited with every grind of his hips against her swollen clit.

It was the utter rightness.

The feeling that in this decadent, forbidden act, they were mending something broken in each other.

He shifted his angle slightly, and her thoughts shattered.

HUIIIII!!

A cry was torn from her throat as he found a spot inside her that sent blinding white heat lancing through her entire body.

Her eyes rolled back.

“There,” he husked, a wicked grin touching his lips.

“That is the place!”

He focused his efforts, each measured thrust now a precise, devastating assault on that hidden bundle of nerves.

“Let go for me. I want to feel you come around me. I want to drink the sounds you make.”

His words were the final catalyst.

The coil of tension in her belly snapped.

Her third orgasm erupted not as a wave, but as a cataclysm.

It ripped through her, relentless and all-consuming, milking his length with rhythmic, pulsing contractions that made him groan her name like a prayer into the crook of her neck.

She clutched him, her body bowing against his, a silent scream on her lips as pleasure, raw and absolute, owned her completely.

He continued to move through her climax, drawing it out, until with a final, guttural shout, his own release claimed him.

She felt the hot, sudden rush of his seed deep within her, a primal claiming that triggered a final, smaller aftershock that made her toes curl.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the crackle of the fire. He was heavy on her, spent, but she welcomed the weight. It grounded her.

Her hands, which had been gripping him so fiercely, now moved soothingly up and down his sweat-slicked back.

He nuzzled her neck, placing a soft, damp kiss there.

“You see?” he murmured, his voice slurred with satisfaction.

“No ghosts. Only us.”

She turned her head, her lips finding his in a slow, tender kiss that tasted of salt and sex and something new, something uniquely theirs.

When they parted, a playful, sated smile touched her lips.

“This vow of yours to pleasure me whenever I have need…” she began, her voice a low purr as she gently rolled her hips beneath him, feeling him stir inside her once more.

“Does its urgency begin again so soon?”

“Maybe.”

Just like that, they fell asleep, their bodies mashed against each other, naked, raw, and filled with the smell of sweat and sex, and so was the room.

The fire continued to burn brighter, showing their glistening skin in its warm glow, as they drifted off into a peaceful slumber, tangled in each other’s arms.

–

–

The morning sun was streaming through the tall windows when Morgana arrived at Jaenor’s quarters, intending to discuss their next moves and the intelligence she had gathered from her contacts in the duchy.

Finding his rooms empty, she made inquiries among the staff and was directed toward her stepmother’s private wing.

A big frown creased her face as she listened to the maidservants.

They told her that Jaenor hadn’t come out of Lady Emmanuelle’s chambers since yesterday.

She approached Emmanuelle’s door with growing puzzlement, unable to imagine what business would require Jaenor to stay in her chambers.

The chamber was quiet as she knocked softly, receiving no immediate answer.

Concern overriding rules, she turned the handle and stepped inside.

The sight that greeted her froze her in place.

Emmanuelle lay tangled in silk sheets, her silver-streaked hair spread across the pillow, while beside her Jaenor’s distinctive form was clearly visible despite the partial covering of the bedclothes.

They were both sleeping naked, and Emma was hugging Jaenor, and from the state of their appearance and the wrinkled bedsheets, she could guess what went down here.

For a moment, Morgana simply stared, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing.

Her face changed and had shown a lot of expressions within a couple of seconds.

Then embarrassment and something that might have been jealousy flooded through her, and she quickly backed out of the room, shutting the door as loudly as possible.

She stood in the corridor for several long minutes, her thoughts churning.

The logical part of her mind recognized that Jaenor was a grown man, free to make his own choices about companionship.

The protective part of her worried about the complications this could create and the potential for scandal or misunderstanding.

But there was another part, one she didn’t want to examine too closely, that felt something remarkably like betrayal at the sight of her stepmother’s arms around the young man she had come to think of as family.

–

That same morning brought unexpected guests to the chateau.

Morgana was still processing her earlier discovery when word came that Baron and his wife, Lady Beaumont, had arrived and requested an audience.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep