After a soothing warm bath and a change into a comfortable, flimsy garment, I slipped beneath the covers. With luck on my side, I might steal a few hours of sleep before sundown.
Closing my eyes, I saw Revandrel behind my lids.
He was looming above me, those gray, scornful eyes on me as he moved inside me.
Heat flared through my stomach, and my eyes flew open.
“Not this time, please. Allow me sleep,” I muttered to the ceiling, to whatever gods lounged above and found amusement in my predicament.
I shut my lids once more and drew a deep breath.
“What the f**k are you?” He had hissed with anger, but also coated with pleasure. “This is beyond witchcraft, this is—this is—fuck.”
My body went warm, and my toes curled under the covers.
I could not explain why that scene replayed in my
