With a wink, she closed her eyes. “It feels . . . warm.”

“Just warm?”

“Feverish.” Her other hand drifted to her throat, her neck, as she continued to caress her thigh. Her smile faded. “I feel feverish. Hot.”

Feverish. Hot. “Your finger. Move it higher.” When she complied, sliding it between her legs, I nearly tore through the cushions. My heart beat rapidly. “What does it feel like there?”

Her breath left in a whoosh as that finger moved. Her legs trembled. I ached to grab them. To pin her to the table and finish what we’d started. But this—this wasn’t like before. This was different. This was everything. “Tell me, Lou. Tell me how hot you feel.”

“It feels”—her hips rocked in slow rhythm with her finger, and her head fell back, her spine arching—“good. It feels so good, Reid. I feel so good.”

“Be specific,” I said through gritted teeth.

When she told me what it felt like—slick and sensitive, aching and empty—I fell to my knees before her. She’d spoken of worship. I understood now. I still didn’t touch her, however, not even when she added a second finger, a third, and said on a sigh, “I wish it was you.”

I wish it was too. “Part your legs.” Her legs fell open. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

And she did.

Her thumb made delicate circles first. Then indelicate ones. More and more, her movements growing faster, graceless, as her legs tensed and spasmed. I felt each press of her thumb myself—the building pressure, the sharp ache. The need for release. I managed one breath. Two. Then—

“Stop.”

The curt word startled her, and she stilled, her chest heaving. A fine sheen of sweat glistened there. I longed to taste it. Rising on my knees, I gripped the table on either side of her. “Open your eyes.” When she did so—still panting softly—I said, “Look at me. Don’t hide. I said I want to see you.”

Those eyes locked on mine with unerring focus then. She didn’t so much as blink as her fingers resumed between us. Slow at first, building faster. And on her lips . . . I leaned closer still, almost touching her now. Never touching her. When she breathed my name—a condemnation, a plea, a prayer—the sound virtually undid me. My hand plunged into my own pants. At the first touch, I nearly broke.

“Do I—” Lou rested her forehead against mine, near frantic now. A bead of sweat trickled between her breasts as she moved. I tracked its path mindlessly. “Do I make you feel wanton, husband? Does this—make you feel ashamed?”

No. God, no. Nothing about this felt shameful. My chest constricted tighter at the word—too tight, too small to contain the emotions rioting there. I couldn’t describe them, except that they felt—she felt— “You make me feel right. Whole.”

A shiver swept my spine at the confession. At the truth. My skin tingled in anticipation. Her voice might’ve broken on a sob, on my name, and the moment she came undone, I did too. One hand rose to clutch my shoulder. Mine seized her knee. Our eyes remained open as we shuddered together, and when I sagged into her—gutted—she brushed her lips against mine. Gentle, this time. Tentative. Hopeful. Her chin quivered. Without a word, I engulfed her in my arms, holding her tight.

She’d seemed so strong since the beach. So tough and unyielding. Impervious to hurt or harm. But here—after breaking, shattering beneath my gaze—she seemed fragile as glass. No, not glass.

My wife.

I couldn’t remember. Those memories had disappeared, leaving great cracks of emptiness in my identity. In my mind. In my heart.

No, I couldn’t remember.

But now I wanted to.

The Belly of the Beast

Lou

As the sun crested the horizon on the third morning, we slipped into Cesarine’s waters.

Jean Luc gripped the helm tighter than necessary, fingers twisting the wood in an agitated gesture. “This is going to get very ugly, very quickly.” His eyes flicked to me and Reid, who stood behind me at the rail. He’d hovered since that first day in the cabin, speaking little and frowning often. I’d expected as much. Reid wasn’t the type for casual flings. Our time on the table had meant something to him.

He just didn’t know what.

Still, when he thought no one could see, I’d catch him furrowing his brows and shaking his head, as if in silent conversation with himself. At times, his face would even contort with pain. I didn’t dare speculate at the cause—didn’t dare hope—instead focusing on what he’d freely given me. Though his words had been few, they’d been precious.

You make me feel right. Whole.

Despite the bitter cold, warmth suffused my body at the memory.

It hadn’t been the final decision—not by any means—but it had been a decision. In that moment, he’d chosen me. In all the moments since, he’d chosen to stand near me, to sleep beside me, to listen when I spoke. When he’d offered me the last of his food yesterday, scowling and confused, Beau had even offered to pay Célie what he owed her.

It felt too good to be true.

I held on to it for dear life.

“When we dock at port, the harbormaster will call for His Majesty’s Guard,” Jean Luc said, “who will in turn alert the Chasseurs. I’ll order an escort to the castle to request an audience with the king. He’ll grant it once he discovers who I’ve captured.”

Célie lifted her injection. “Lou and Reid will feign incapacitation whilst in the city.”

“They’ll still need to be bound.” To Beau, Jean Luc added, “As will you, Your Highness.”

“When Célie’s parents come to collect her at port, I’ll slip beneath their carriage.” Coco stared at the skyline of the city as we approached. Though still small and indistinct, it grew larger every moment. “I’ll wait with Claud and the others at Léviathan for the signal.”

Reid towered behind me, his presence warm and steady. An uncanny sort of calm overtook his features whenever we discussed strategy. Like he’d slipped into another state of consciousness, separate from the chaos and turmoil of his emotions. I chuckled quietly, hiding the sound behind my palm. The compartmentalization was strong in this one. “After they deposit us in our cells, Coco will create a distraction large enough to merit Chasseur attention,” he said. “Jean will insist our guards intervene, and he’ll take up their post temporarily.”