Isabella had rehearsed it. Gods, she had rehearsed it—right down to the sway of her hips and the smile that wasn't supposed to tremble.
She had left Ella's house with a plan. A seductive, wicked, tempt-your-husband-into-utter-oblivion sort of plan. She had even memorised three lines from Ella's scandalous book.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her when she stepped into their chamber.
There he was. Butt naked.
Standing beside the bath like some untamed god of war, with muscles carved out of vengeance and sheer bloody-minded stubbornness.
Her jaw slackened.
One would think, after the number of times she had seen the man naked—during injuries, baths, or shared nights—that she would have grown accustomed to it. But no. If anything, it had only made the problem worse.
Leofric was a sculpture carved from desire itself. Broad shoulders that narrowed down into a lean waist, a torso defined by taut muscles and a sprinkle of chest hair that led down in an infuriating trail. His back flexed with each small movement, and the strength in his arms made her stomach flip. And then there were his legs…thick, strong, masculine.
He turned slightly, offering her a side view of that glorious behind. "You're late," Leofric said gruffly, not even bothering to look at her. "Feel free to join me."
Isabella didn't answer. Her mouth had gone dry, and her tongue appeared to have forgotten how words worked. She just stood there like a statue carved from awkwardness.
He finally looked over his shoulder, his lips curving into a knowing smile when he saw her stunned expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he said. "Or maybe just a very handsome man." No reply. "Have you turned to stone?" he asked, one brow arching in amusement.
She managed to blink, but still didn't say a word.
With a deliberate grace, he turned away and climbed into the tub, his muscular behind on full display as he lowered himself into the water. Her eyes followed the motion without permission. His arms stretched along the rim, leaving his chest open and glistening.
Good heaven, that chest.
"You're just going to stand there all day?" He asked, his voice laced with challenge.
His voice jolted her. Isabella shook her head quickly, hoping to regain some sense of control. Ella's voice echoed in her mind, You are not a deer, you are a hunter.
Right. She was a hunter. A very awkward, slightly terrified, blushing hunter.
She took a deep breath, bolted the door with a quiet click, and began to walk toward the bath, slow and deliberate. Leofric's gaze followed her every move, narrowed, almost predatory.
He didn't move. Just watched. Waiting and probably curious.
She tugged at the ties of her gown, fumbling with them purposefully as she bought herself time, not out of uncertainty, but from trying not to combust under his gaze. Her dress slipped off her shoulders and pooled around her feet.
When she stepped out of her shift, Leofric's breath grew heavy, chest rising and falling with measured restraint.
One point for the hunter, a little voice chimed in her head.
Instead of joining him immediately, Isabella picked up the sponge, dipped it in the water, and ran it gently along his back. She felt him tense, then gradually relax beneath her touch.
"To what do I owe this very... nurturing touch?" Leofric asked, his voice a deep rumble. "Did you hit your head somewhere on your way?"
Rolling her eyes, Isabella replied, "I'm simply being a good wife." She tried her best not to laugh at the way his eyes widened, but it was a failed attempt. He grunted, but said nothing more. She continued to lightly rub the sponge in lazy circles. "Would you care to tell me how your day was?"
Leofric hummed. "Not particularly restful. There was a theft and some damage in the northern part of town last night."
She blinked. That didn't sound good. "Thieves?"
He nodded. "Two carts of food stolen. Property destroyed. I suspect it was the ex-lord's loyalists."
"That's... awful," She murmured, brows drawn together in a frown.
"It is," he said. "They're growing bolder. I fear they may strike again."
Isabella's stomach sank. There she was, learning scandalous tricks and ogling erotic drawings, while her husband was dealing with serious town matters. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked softly.
Leofric turned his head slightly, his gaze softening. "Keep being yourself. The people seem to like you. That is enough help for me."
"I can do that," Isabella whispered with a small smile.
"Good," he replied, leaning back and closing his eyes.
She hesitated for only a heartbeat before murmuring, "Scoot over."
One of his eyes cracked open before a grin tugged at his lips. He did as she ordered without a word. The water was warm and welcoming, though she suspected the heat had less to do with the temperature and more to do with the man in it.
She resumed her gentle ministrations—this time across his chest. Her fingers moved in slow, teasing circles, skimming the surface of his skin as water beaded and slid between his muscles. His eyes remained on her, unwavering.
"So," Leofric said after a moment, "Your turn. How was your day?"
She blinked as panic began to set in. How was she supposed to explain erotic books, drawing positions, and being straddled by a courtesan? She forced a casual shrug. "Uneventful, as always."
He gave her a look. The kind that screamed, I know you're hiding something, woman.
Isabella coughed into her hand and added, "I—um—I spent the day with Mrs Louis. The old lady is quite a great companion, I must say." His brow arched slightly, his expression doubtful. She laughed, trying to play it off. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because I know when you're lying, Isabella." He said flatly.
She grinned up at him. "That's not fair. Maybe I just have an unconvincing face."
"You have a beautiful face," he said without hesitation.
Isabella flushed. To cover it, she shifted closer, her hand trailing lower across his stomach now. He said nothing, but the muscles under her fingers tightened.
"So," she said in a lighter tone, "what if I told you I've been studying... ways to please my temporary husband?"
Leofric's gaze darkened. "I would say that sounds suspiciously like the influence of a certain demonic lady friend of yours."
Her brows shot up in surprise. "Demonic lady friend?" She echoed before laughter rumbled out of her chest. "How do you even know about Ella?"
He smirked. "I know a lot of things. Things that would surprise you."
Oh, she didn't doubt that. Smiling, she said, "And yet, you didn't stop me from befriending her?"
"I respect your decisions," he said simply.
Something shifted in Isabella then. The honesty in his voice. The steadiness of his gaze. Her arms moved almost on instinct, wrapping around his neck as she leaned forward to press her lips to his.
Leofric groaned softly, one arm sliding around her waist, the other moving lower to give her behind a firm squeeze. He pressed her fully against him, their bodies slick and flushed from the heat and proximity. She gasped, then let out a soft, involuntary moan.
Leofric leaned back slightly to look at her, the corners of his mouth curving up. "You surprise me, Isabella."
"Good," Isabella whispered, her breath fanning against his lips. "That's the point."
She kissed him again, slower this time. Her hands slipped into his wet hair, holding him close, as if afraid he might disappear if she let go. The bathwater lapped quietly around them, but all she could feel was the heat of his body and the tremble in his restraint.
Leofric's fingers pressed into her hips. He was holding her like a man starved, yet trying not to break her. "I need you, love," he murmured, voice hoarse.
His hand moved to her backside again, guiding her gently until she could feel the full length of him pressing against her.
She gasped as a warm pulse spread through her. Her body responded before her mind caught up. Then he leaned down and took her breast into his mouth. She bit her bottom lip to stop a moan from escaping, but it was too late. Her breath hitched, hands flying to his shoulders.
"Leofric…" she exhaled, overwhelmed.
"That's the first time you're saying my name." Before she could reply, he dived in again.
He was slow and deliberate. He didn't rush, didn't grope. His mouth was hot and reverent, as if he remembered this body from memory, not just lust. When he moved to her other breast, she let her head fall back, eyes fluttering closed, a shaky laugh bubbling up in the middle of her moans.
She began to rock against him, slow and steady, dragging out the feeling but never quite letting them go too far. His lips parted against her shoulder as he groaned. She smiled at the sound, feeling oddly powerful.
Still, when the edge neared, she pulled back, her body trembling from restraint. She buried her face in his neck and kissed his skin. Soft, lingering kisses that made his breath catch. Her lips traveled down to his chest. She paused at his nipple and gave it a playful tug with her teeth before smoothing over it with her tongue.
He let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan. "What are you trying to do to me?"
She didn't answer, just smiled as she kissed lower, then rose back up to face him.
"Sweetheart," he whispered, forehead pressed to hers, "How far are you going to take this little game?" His voice was thick, and his hands trembled slightly where they rested on her thighs. "I think I'm dying," he added with a short, helpless laugh.
"I'm the hunter in this bath, my Lord," she said with a mock bow of her head, her smile warm but mischievous.
Without breaking eye contact, she slipped her hand between their bodies. The moment she touched him, they both stilled. Eyes locked.
"Oh," she whispered, genuinely startled by the heat and weight of him. "You really are—blessed."
Leofric would have laughed at that remark if he hadn't been tortured. He closed his eyes, a line appearing between his brows as he exhaled sharply. "Isabella…"
She ran her hand slowly along him, feeling the tension in his thighs, the way he bucked ever so slightly in her palm. She marvelled at his reaction—so strong, yet so utterly undone by her touch.
Is this what Ella was trying to make me understand? She asked herself.
"I can't—" he started, but the words broke off into a hiss of breath. "I can't do this anymore." Just as he moved to take her, to finally end the waiting, she slipped away, laughing breathlessly. "What—Isabella?" He said, confused and dazed.
"I'm afraid, Sire," she said sweetly, already halfway out of the tub, "This is where our little game ends tonight."
She stood, water running down her bare skin, glowing in the candlelight. Her long, wet hair clung to her back. She didn't rush for a robe. She just smiled at him, triumphant and a little breathless herself.
Leofric stood too, towering above the water. "You're not serious," He said in disbelief, one hand outstretched.
"Oh, I am," she teased, stepping just out of his reach as he lunged forward to grab her. He caught only air.
"Damn it, woman," He growled, voice low and frustrated, "Get back in here."
"I'm sorry," she said, her tone mock-apologetic as she gave him a little curtsy in all her bare glory. "I have more urgent matters to attend to, my dearest husband." Her laughter rang through the steamy air upon seeing his stunned expression.
Leofric groaned, dragging a wet hand down his face. "Tell your friend I'll soon have her head on a spike if this ever happens again!"
The only response he received was more laughter—sweet, wicked, and echoing in the room.
And in that moment, watching her naked husband glaring at her, Isabella realised she was completely, helplessly, and joyfully doomed.