CAMILLA
The word tasted bitter on my tongue. I repeated it anyway, like a prayer, and like a curse because goddess help me, I needed it.
Without it, I would’ve already f****d, fought, or flat-out murdered a certain blue-eyed bastard with veiny forearms and long fingers that looked far too skilled at wrecking a woman’s resolve.
I squeezed my thighs together.
No.
No, no, no.
This was not happening again. Not over him. Not over Rhysand, and yet my brain betrayed me.
My body betrayed me. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands again. The way he manhandled me in the war room, the way he pressed me down like he owned me, like I wanted to be owned.
The way his hips aligned with mine, grinding, hard and hot and maddening.
The way he f****d me with his fingers and left me wanton.
I
