Set in Iron Flame…

“You think I wouldn’t replace them?” He smirks from above you. Damn him and his infuriatingly unfair good looks and his perfect… urgh everything.

His body was a comforting weight above yours, your hips between his thighs sending that familiar spark of desire down your spine as it was pressed further into the map in Riorson House. It was dead in the middle of the night, and he came here because he wanted you alone. And his new rule, ‘we don’t fight in our bedroom’ has led to three rules following his lead.

You pause and really take him in, truly. Onyx eyes that are speckles with slivers of gold that came from the most enchanted stars to grace our mortal eyes, long and dark eyelashes curled naturally. That scar through his eyebrow and the hair never regrowing in the slit. It was hot. His lightly tanned skin, and the smoothness of his cheeks as he’d shaved earlier this morning. The sensual curve of his soft lips, that looked like the most beautiful and kissable things to exist. His flawless bone structure never failed to bring you speechless once you truly began to gape.

And in an odd way it brought a sense of deja vu. In your first year, little over a year ago he’d pinned you to a mat in a sparring gym, at Bagsiath instead of his home, and demanded you unarm him. He was taunting you then. And you suppose he was still now, but now you had another prize. Two new daggers.

His eyes held desire that soothed and aroused my wanton and need simultaneously. “Just disarm me and they’re yours.”