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Maggie couldn’t sleep.
She tossed and turned in her bed, haunted by memories. Of The Butcher, of the battlefield, of all the people that her secrets had failed to save.
It had to have been several hours since Clover blew out the candles. And while Maggie had suffered small bouts of restlessness with the added amounts of stress, but none as bad as tonight.
The phantom feeling of her previously broken kneecaps reverberated in the dark. She tried to stretch her legs out, but it didn’t help. It never did.
Frustrated, she threw her cover aside and shifted her pillows. She attempted to fluff them to see if that would make things more comfortable. It didn’t.
Her bedroom door opened. Everard peeked in, his knuckles white as they gripped around the hilt of his sword.
Maggie looked up at him to see him visibly relax, his grip loosening as his eyes surveyed the room.
“Everard?” She asked, to confirm she was seeing him correctly in the darkness.
He closed the door behind him, shutting out the minimal hallway light, and pulled up a chair beside her bed. The lights were low, but she heard the screech of the chair legs on the wooden floors. “I heard noise in here.”
Maggie sighed. “Nothing going on in here. You may go back to your room.”
Everard waited to speak. For what, she did not know, but she refused to wither beneath his scrutiny. Her hair was down, which was not proper, but it was so dark in here, and she could not bring herself to care about that specific social faux pas currently. Nor the fact that he shouldn’t be in her room in the first place.
Finally, he said, “Do you need to see the body again?”
“No, I don’t need to see the body again,” she said quickly.
“Very well.” Another long pause, then: “Nightmares are common among soldiers.”
“I know.”
“I know you know,” Everard said. “But I thought to remind you, My Lady.”
Smartass. Maggie wanted to snap at him, but she couldn’t do that. As determined as she was to present a strong façade, it was merely that, and they both knew it. There was a reason she wasn’t asleep.
Then she felt fingers that brushed hers where they lay above the covers. And she wanted to pull away, but couldn’t do that, either. It was a comfort.
You know what should have been a comfort? That this world was fictional. That these were characters from a book, that this could all be hallucinations in a coma for all she knew. That should have brought her comfort. But, frankly, Maggie knew that wasn’t true. These weren’t characters, they were people. And the world she lived in was complex and ever-changing. Thinking of people as characters and events as plot points hadn’t stopped her from meeting The Butcher. It hasn’t stopped her from what has happened after, a pain more real than she had ever in her life before.
Everard’s fingers sunk deeper into her’s. They tightened, knuckles rigid and the calluses of his fingers rough against the back of her hand.
This is real, too, she thought. It was, it’s not like it was hard to remember. Maggie didn’t think of this world in the same way she had when she’d first arrived. Things had changed so much.
Everard continued to say nothing, but his hand was moving up, so slowly that Maggie hadn’t noticed it at first. But now it was on her wrist, and his nails were sharp against the soft skin of her forearm.
“Are you trying to distract me?” She accused.
“Maybe a little,” he teased, his index finger laying down the crease of her elbow. “Is it working?”
“No.” Damnit, yes it was. She cleared her throat as a heat suddenly surged up beneath her skin. Is this appropriate? No. She knew it. He knew it.
A small squeak as he shifted his chair closer. When he spoke, it was barely above a very flirtatious whisper: “Maybe I should try harder.”
“Everard,” Maggie warned, as level as she could muster.
“He will never hurt you again,” He suddenly promised. “He won’t come back to life, I guarantee you that. And I won’t let anyone else lay a finger on you ever again.”
Maggie looked down at her arm. “Do you not count?”
Everard squeezed where his hand rested. “I know you don’t want me to, My Lady.”
And maybe it was the vulnerability of Everard seeing right through her, maybe it was the firm and undeniable presence of his touch. Whatever it was, it had definitely been a moment of weakness that Maggie heard herself say, “I don’t want that.”
She wasn’t sure who moved first. She wanted to blame him, but it was probably her, and then they were kissing and it was tender. A comfort, not the ravenous lust she ordinarily denied herself.
And his hands were real, and firm; his lips were not soft like book characters normally were described. He was real. This was real. They were real.
Everard’s hand slid up Maggie’s arm. Goosebumps sprung in the wake of his touch, until fingers curved around the base of her neck and Everard learned over the bed. She arched into him, then his body was right there. Out of his chair, chest pressing firmly into her’s as his other hand found the small of her back.
Her body felt like it was on fire as he kissed her. Lips heady and wet as they slid against each other. Everard kissed like he fought: with command, and with magic.
Her hands around his waist. The hoister, absent from the sword he had moments ago. The belt clip holding it together. The hem of his pants, and the gap in the back that was exposed when he bent over her.
She felt sparks beneath her hands.
Everard was all solid muscle sinking into her. She fell back as her hands itched to move lower.
This was the man who had sworn to protect her. This was the body that he had promised to her.
The thought was maddening.
Maggie needed to call this off. This was too much. She forced her lips an inch back and tried, “Ev—“
He licked her bottom lip, then folded his tongue into her mouth. The rest of the name turned into a moan as her body shivered, then kept shivering as he traced the roof of her mouth, the back of her teeth, clearly trying to swallow her whole.
Maggie didn’t even care. She’s had her brief flash of chivalry, and look where that had gotten her. Trembling, as Everard’s strong hands threw her blanket aside and dropped onto her hips.
He propped one knee onto the bed in a half-straddle, a half-decent attempt to keep from grinding against her. Maggie didn’t care. She grabbed his ass and pulled him down.
Everard smirked against her lips.
Abandoning any last sliver of decency, he yanked her hips forward and thrust against her. They both moaned as his erection met her pelvis. He thrust again, moaned louder this time, his deep grumble a vibration in her mouth. Then he fully straddled her, and bodies were flat against each other.
Everard pulled back and looked.
“Maggie,” he murmured. “I want to light a candle to see you.”
“Don’t get up,” she said quickly. If he lit a candle, their glass may shatter, and she didn’t want it to end.
Besides, this close, she could see him. His eyes were bright green. Hair was hanging over his face, tickling her own forehead. The tunic he wore was hanging low and exposing the hair on his chest. His mouth was parted, lips shining, and gaze half-lidded as he admired her right back.
Everard’s hands tightened on her hips as he thrust again, and she watched as his two front teeth left indents on his lower lip.
“I want you,” he murmured.
“I can tell,” she couldn’t help but say, but there was none of the usual playfulness in it.
“I know you want me, too.”
He looked at her through eyelashes. It wasn’t said from uncertainty—Ramond Everard didn’t even know what the word doubt meant—he was waiting for her to make the call before things got serious.
Maggie heard herself admit, “I do.”
In a fluid motion, Everard threw his tunic off and tossed his belt to the floor. It resounded with a clang that she barely heard, because then he was kissing her again. More reverently than before, with hands knotting into her hair as his hips rolled against her, and this time, she rose to meet him.
She explored his newly exposed skin with open palms. His chest was bare with tendrils of black hair splattering his pecs. Maggie reached out to comb through the patch. It was spindly and curly. There were several scars across his back. All of them had left lumps and dents across flesh. There was an especially large one parallel with his spine, and her nails dragged up it’s path.
He sighed into her mouth. “My Lady, may I unbutton your gown?” The way he’d said it was nothing short of a purr.
“Yes,” she breathed. A tightness coiled in her gut as he sat up to reach around her.
Everard reached for her buttons. She exposed her back to him, and he climbed behind her. There were ten buttons on the back. Each button undone took an agonizing eternity to complete, with feather light touches that grazed her undergarments. He swept the waves of her hair to one side and kissed her neck as he worked. Then came the undergarments, which he untied diligently until they both had fallen to pool at her waist.
One hand wrapped around her until it came to rest on her belly. The other played with the ends of her hair. Everard’s breaths were heady. “How would you like me?”
His hand crept lower. She was lost in the feel of his embrace and the heavy scent of prickling sweat.
As fingers approached her clit, she decided, “I want to climb on top of you.”
He growled, his body reverberating behind her. Everard’s hand shot down and began teasing circles; shock ran through her. Every muscle in her legs clenched.
Everard whispered, “Ride me, My Lady.”
Whenever she had imagined sex with Everard, Maggie had pictured it rough. Fucking him and subsequently being fucked by him seemed like it would have been a whirlwind of pent up emotions. Frustrations, anger, and neglected pining seemed like it should have led to powerful thrusts and a fighting for control. But this wasn’t that, and how could she have ever thought differently? For she was sure that angry, frustrated, pent-up sex would happen sometime, but that never would have been all it was. Her feelings for Everard ran deeper than the annoyances. There was love there, even if she couldn’t admit it with the candles lit.
Maggie stood, all the fabric falling to the floor. She reached to undo Everard’s trousers. He leaned back and watched her work.
“You are so beautiful,” he said. “Even in the dark, your body is amazing. I can’t wait to be inside you. I know you’ll ride me so well.”
Maggie fumbled on the buttons. She knew she was blushing, and he’d probably compliment that, too, if he could see the color of her face.
Everard got off the bed to kick away his pants and shoes. They flung across the room, and then he turned to her, drew her in with hands at her waist, leaned down to kiss her once more.
His tongue was intoxicating. Truly, Maggie didn’t know how she would be able to continue on after this night. She didn’t think she would ever be able to exist in the same room as him without remembering his lips or the subtle taste of sleep on his breath.
Everard was tall, broad, and strong. Now that he was undressed, Maggie felt the firmness of his body more potently—yes, including his erection, which was stiff and leaking on her stomach. If Everard wanted to, he could probably lift her up and fuck her standing without her feet ever touching the ground. She knew he was strong enough to hold her.
The thought made her thighs clench. Everard, feeling her body shift, pulled her closer to the bed. He spoke against her lips with his tongue halfway in her mouth. “I want to taste you.”
“You are,” Maggie said.
“No.” He nicked her lower lip with his teeth as he pulled back. A finger came to press her lips. “Not here.” He moved it down between her thighs. “Here.”
“I thought we were going to…”
Her words stopped as he brought his hand up between them. Two fingers were wet, and he maddenly licked between them. “We have all night. Let’s do both.”
She swooned, and he tugged her onto him as he laid back. Everard did not stop until his head was between her thighs. His nose poked at her clitoris, and she gripped his hair like a lifeline.
Flat of tongue drew a slow breath across her. She groaned and rocked into him. Then again, the tip dipping near her entrance.
She might collapse.
Everard continued tasting her, at first slowly, then lapping her up. He moaned every time thighs clenched around his head.
“You taste amazing,” he murmured.
Maggie’s hair fell over them, swaying as she grinded against his mouth. He lapped generously, wetness multiplying and leaking down the innards of her thighs. She felt an orgasm tightening sooner than she expected and tried to pull away, but Ramond grabbed her thighs and forced her to stay. So she had no choice but to let it wash over her as she writhed, pulsing against his eager mouth with a strangled wail.
As her high retreated, he let go and she sat back on her ankles. Everard was staring up at her, and he looked ravenous with his face glistening. Instead of wiping it off, he licked his lips.
Maggie gaped. Unable to say anything else, she breathed, “Ramond…”
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said. “I’ll never be able to get enough of you. Now please, My Lady. Ride me.”
Despite her recent orgasm, Maggie was eager to feel him. Looking down at the Duke like this, she knew he was right. There was nothing else she wanted more in the whole world.
Maggie climbed off his face and they resituated. His cock stood straight up as he laid flat, and as Maggie moved to straddle him, it was the first time she got to truly look at it; long, because of-fucking-course he was well endowed. She could wrap both her fists around it and still see the head, which was erupting with precome. Experimentally, she swiped it with her finger and put it to her tongue. He tasted salty.
Beneath her, Everard growled. “I’m getting impatient, Maggie.”
Maggie lightly slapped his arm. “Are you going to beg for it?”
“I will,” he said. “I need you, and I’ll do anything you want if it means you’ll sit on my cock.”
Wasn’t that tempting? But the sight of him laid bare before her like this—panting in the dark and totally at her mercy, bright green eyes a thin ring around pupils blown wide—she couldn’t resist, either.
Maggie sunk onto him.
They moaned together, and Everard cursed. “Fuck, Maggie, you’re so wet.”
She was, the slick of her combined with his precome making the glide smooth as she slowly ramped up. Maggie felt it pool beneath them, spraying her thighs as she slammed down.
“You’re so perfect. You’re mine. My Lady, I—“ Everard made a noise that sounded like a strangled cry. He bit down on his knuckle, then ran his hands up her thighs. A thumb found her clit and stayed there, circling, following her momentum. “Maggie, fuck, My Lady, Maggie.”
When Maggie had imagined this, she had never imagined him to give up control so willingly. To surrender himself completely in this way was a surprise, and the look of adoration on his face mixed with his incomprehensible bumbling disarmed her.
Maggie realized then that she really could do anything she wanted to him. And that wasn’t just from lust; it was built on trust.
But all she wanted was this. Them, moving together. Everard falling apart beneath her. Her, shattering as desire turned to ache. Curses on their lips. Skin on skin on skin, and hands roaming the trail of hair leading down Everard’s chest. Lips, still wet. Cheeks that were drying sticky. Wide shoulders, defined muscles that held her. That caressed her. And The Sleepless Duke, who had given himself and his body to her so completely.
A shiver ran down Maggie’s spine, and she felt the muscles in her thighs tighten again. “Ramond, I think I might—“
He surged forward and grabbed her. They rolled across the bed in a tangle of limbs. Her back hit the mattress as he came down over her.
Everard was on top of her. Staring down with bright green eyes and magic. Loving her body in a way she could get lost in.
“Finish for me, My Lady,” he murmured into her ear. Maggie felt him nibble her lobe, and it set her skin electric. “I need to see you come again.”
Even though she had loved being over him, the sudden control Ramond had stolen made her dizzy. She wrapped her legs around him and clung on tightly.
It was the power he wielded. He could command an army, but he was with her. And she felt it in the solid weight of his body and the force of his thrusts. But that was The Sleepless Duke, and there was also Ramond Everard, leaning his forehead against hers, cursing sweet words that meant nothing: so beautiful, My Lady. So beautiful. You’re mine.
“Ramond, please. Faster, please,” Maggie panted. “I need you.”
He stole her lips in a bruising kiss as he pounded forward. The force of thrusts shook the bed. It creaked and slammed against the wall. Maggie’s whole body shook until the orgasm tore her in half. Her vision went white and she screamed a moan into his mouth. Everard swallowed greedily and carried her through it.
Her mind stayed in the clouds, the only thing she could register was the ache of his weight in her and the sensitivity as it slid against walls that were sore from the double orgasms.
She pawed at his back. His movements grew erratic until he tumbled over the edge with a grunt. Everard buried his face in Maggie’s neck and bit down on her skin as he spurted inside her, the hot liquid gushing as his erection twitched. It bruised her neck and she cried out as he took possession of her in this way she knew he loved.
And then they laid, still, as the sweat settled on their skin and the world came back into focus.
“Maggie,” Everard murmured. He propped up on his elbows and looked down at her. His gaze was all adoration, with only lingering clouds of lust. “Do you need to come again?”
No, she certainly did not. Everything was sore. She felt blood return back to her face as she blushed. “I’m good.”
Everard’s hand moved tantalizingly down her chin, her neck, her collarbones. It moved between her breasts and finally stopped to rest on her ribcage, with his thumb a little too high to be innocent. “I don’t wish to leave you… unsatisfied.”
Oh, god. The way he’d said that, one may think that he was ready for a second round. Already. She was in way over her head
“I’m sore,” she tried.
He hummed innocently and thumbed her skin. “Maybe next time?”
Maggie couldn’t say yes, but she also didn’t want to say no. “Maybe.”
With a final kiss, Everard finally drew out from their embrace. He stood and reached for his discarded pants.
“What are you doing?” Maggie asked.
He put a leg in. “Getting dressed.”
“Why?”
He smirked at her. “So you’re not satisfied?”
“I am,” she insisted. “But…” But, what? Could she really ask him to stay?
As if reading her mind, Everard said, “I will stay with you, but I need to be prepared in case of an intruder. That means I need pants.”
“Right. Of course.”
He finished securing his belt and hoister, then turned back to bed. “Move over.”
She should have said no. It wasn’t proper. It was a bad idea. If it were daytime, she would have said no. But it was dark, and she wanted him.
Maggie shuffled over to make space for Everard, who greeted her with another lingering kiss. His cheeks were sticky, but his fingers were gentle on her chin.
“I am not going anywhere, My Lady,” he vowed. “I’m with you.”
Her heart fluttered. “But what if someone notices you are missing from your room?”
“I think they’ll know where to find me,” he smirked. “You’re not exactly a quiet lover.”
Crap. He was right. Between the bed and their… noises, they’d probably woken up the whole house. And then there was the room, which was sticky and hot and reeked of sex. It would likely linger for hours.
They were both a mess, but they could figure that all out in the morning. Things would be easier then.
Everard wrapped an arm around her middle, and she sunk into it. It was a necessary comfort that she had been missing, and as she curled into him, their breaths synced. Their bodies fit together, perfectly aligned. And her heart beat faster, but then it slowed, until eventually she fell into a dreamless sleep.