Vengeance in His Bed

The clock down the corridor struck three muffled chimes.

In his suite, Dorrent stared blankly at the ceiling, his eyes wide and clear. He hadn’t slept a single wink. The room was suffocatingly warm, but the heat inside his own skin had nothing to do with the summer night. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind dragged him back to the threshold of the door—to the venomous fire in Jannah’s eyes, the tear-stained curve of her cheeks, and the staggering weight of her hatred.

He was bothered. The ruthless corporate king who could stabilize entire markets with a single directive, felt completely unraveled by a five-foot-four herbalist from the lower sectors. A primal ache clawed at the walls of his chest, an intense psychological need that defied all logic. He needed to talk to her. He needed to hear the sharp, defensive frequency of her voice, even if she was hurling curses at his ancestry. More than that, his body burned with a sudden, dirty craving that made his veins run hot—a desperate urge to haul her back into his lap, to crush her hips against his thighs, to kiss her until she gasped for air, and to do all other kinds of wicked, unspeakable things to her until her hatred dissolved into breathless arousal.

She was just in the next room. Only a shared wall separated their breathing.

Dorrent shifted slightly against the pillows, a localized pang shooting through his bandaged ribs as his stitches protested the movement. He ignored it, his jaw clenching. She must be fast asleep by now, he thought, his eyes tracking the sliver of moonlight filtering through the drapes. If he walked across the threshold right now, would he find her already dead to the world, curled up like a wild, untamed creature in the center of the mattress?

The thought took root, growing heavy and irresistible. Slowly, Dorrent pushed the sheets off his frame. He sat on the edge of the bed, his chest expanding with a slow, heavy breath. She will be my wife soon anyway, he rationalized, his possessive alpha instincts completely warping his restraint into a firm justification. We are getting married. She needs to get used to my presence, used to the static of my body sharing her space. There’s no point in keeping up this pathetic wall between us.

Standing up, he navigated the dark room, his feet making absolutely no sound against the floor. He stepped into the corridor, his gaze locked onto her bedroom door. He didn’t bother reaching for the light switches; his eyes had already adjusted to the shadows of the mansion.

He gripped her brass doorknob, turning it with an agonizingly slow precision until the latch clicked open without a sound. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him until the room was completely dark, enveloped in a private obscurity.

Dorrent tiptoed toward the bed, his pheromones coiled tightly beneath his skin. Reaching out in the dark, his hand found the edge of the mattress. He reached for the heavy duvet, intending to lift the sheets so he could slide through and anchor himself beside her. But as his fingers tugged at the fabric, he frowned. The sheets were completely flat, tucked tightly under the mattress, loose and devoid of any weight.

He paused, his eyebrows drawing together. Had she slept without covering herself up at all? Was she just lying on top of the covers because of the oppressive heat?

Without thinking further, Dorrent slowly lowered his frame onto the edge of the mattress, shifting his long legs onto the bed to lie down beside her.

The moment his side settled against the mattress, his shoulder and thigh came into direct, unhindered contact with something else. Dorrent almost bolted upright, his entire nervous system detonating in shockwave.

It was a body. A very warm, soft, naked body.

Jannah was sleeping stark naked.

Dorrent froze, his breath trapping itselfin his throat as the reality of the contact registered in his brain. She was lying on her side, her back turned to him, her delicate skin radiating a natural, intoxicating warmth that cut straight through the cool dynamic of the dark room. He could feel the light, rhythmic rising and falling of her ribcage against the air, the soft static of her bare skin mere millimeters from his chest.

Driven by an immediate, maddening impulse, Dorrent moved closer, his chest lightly brushing against the smooth expanse of her shoulder blades. The contact was electric, that his hardening length throbbed beneath his light trousers. Thesensation of her naked skin against his frame was driving him insane.

Realizing he was on the verge of losing control, Dorrent forcibly dragged himself back a few inches, breaking the contact. He rolled onto his back, staring up into the pitch-black void of the ceiling, his chest heaving in rapid, shallow cycles as he tried to stabilize his erratic system.

Jesus Christ, he thought, his jaw clenching so hard. He swallowed hard, his mind racing through the dark. I hope she sleeps naked like this every single night when we finally get married also. I would love it. I would never let her leave this bed.

As he lay there, his pulse hammering in his ears, he finally noticed how hot the bedroom was. The air was stagnant, heavy with the scent of her skin. Maybe that was the reason the little physician had stripped off every single thread of clothing and slept naked—to escape the suffocating warmth of the summer night. But a sudden, sharp spike of possessiveness flared within his gut, his eyes narrowing in the obscurity. Was she out of her mind? Wasn’t she even a little bit afraid that someone would enter this room unexpectedly and find her completely exposed like this?

Dorrent doubted his friend Shadron would let her off scot-free if he ever stumbled into this room and found her in this state. That bastard was a ruthless predator in his own right; he would take immediate advantage of a sight like this. A protective, territorial fury coiled in Dorrent’s chest. He decided, that when she woke up, he would tell her to stop sleeping naked when she was alone in this house. He wouldn’t tolerate the mere thought of another man’s eyes even imagining what he was currently sharing the dark with.

Lost in the turbulent vortex of his own thoughts, Dorrent suddenly felt the mattress shift.

Jannah stirred in her sleep. She let out a soft, unconscious murmur, her body turning over on the mattress, shifting from her side toward him.

Dorrent instantly held his breath, every muscle in his dense frame locking into rigid stone. A single move from her, a single accidental touch in her sleep, and he knew he would completely lose himself. He would shatter every promise, every boundary, and take her right there in the dark.

And as if the gods themselves were working against his restraint tonight, Jannah continued her turn. Her movements were fluid, heavy with sleep. In one slow, sweeping motion, she draped her slender arm across his broad chest, and her leg lifted, hooking itself securely over his thigh.

Dorrent’s vision briefly went pitch black as the contact solidified. Because she was completely naked, the move brought her lower body flush against his leg. He could feel her center rub against the coarse fabric of his trousers over his thigh—a sensation that was slightly rough, distinct, and raw, as if she had just shaved herself before going to bed.

The Alpha completely froze, his eyes dilating in the darkness. This woman was driving him insane. He had only come to her room to join her, to seek a quiet escape from his thoughts and sleep soundly next to the only person who stabilized his system—not to have her unconsciously seduce him into a state of agonizing torture. His hardening length was now fully erect, straining painfully against his clothes, directly beneath the weight of her bare leg.

Suddenly, as if her internal instincts finally registered the strange, solid heat radiating beside her, Jannah’s breathing hitched. Her body stiffened.

Before she could open her mouth to let out a shriek, Dorrent moved with the lightning-fast reflexes of a trained predator. His hand shot out through the dark, his fingers wrapping firmly around her slender waist to anchor her, while his other palm slammed flat over her mouth, completely silencing her before a single sound could escape her throat.

"Shh," Dorrent rasped, his deep voice dropping into a low, rough vibration that cut through the silence of the dark bedroom. He leaned his head close to where he knew her ear was, his hot breath brushing her skin. "It’s me, Jannah. It’s Dorrent. Don’t scream."

The moment she recognized his voice, Jannah went completely wild beneath him. She began to wiggle and thrash against his hold, her limbs kicking out as she used her fingers to claw at his wrist, trying to pry his palm away from her mouth. The movement only caused her naked front to rub repeatedly against his side, sending fresh jolts of agony straight down his spine.