Daemon feels hot blood in his veins, inflamed to a roiling passion from all this waiting, this stopping and starting. His voice is somewhere between anger and desire, and all rushed, as he breathes it into the nape of her neck. "I ought to have had you in the small councilroom. You wouldn't have made me wait, then."

Does he believe it, is it a threat or an acknowledgement? It doesn't matter. He isn't thinking nearly as tactically as he prefers. So close to something he wants, his patience and control disappears.

He ruts against her leg while he bites at her. Tomorrow, she will be mottled in his bruises, and that brings him another sort of satisfaction.

"No matter what is done, there will be pain," he says. "The first few times, at least." It's what he's always been told, and what he's never been given reason to disbelieve.

His hand finds her thighs again, moving up and into her. It's more gentle now, almost teasing. "I can bring you to the end beforehand. That will hurt less."

But where to touch and how to move? Her duty is to lie back. Surely she knows that. Maybe later... No, he ought to tell her. Clearly, no one else has. "When you've more experience, I'll do more with you. Now, it would only pain you."