Page 56 of Vow to Claim You

I want to tell him off, say something to destroy his flaring ego, but instead the air leaves me in a quiet rush. “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” His nose grazes mine. His mouth hovers, close enough that I can taste the words. “Don’t notice you want me? Too late, Princess.”

He dips his head toward my ear, and whatever sanity I had left abandons me.

“And I assure you,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You can’t live without it.”

His hand slides from my jaw to the side of my neck, slowly, and it sends a shiver racing down my spine.

“Because once you know what it feels like to be wanted by me…” I feel the words against my skin more than hear them. “You’ll crave it like an addiction.”

His teeth catch my earlobe, and a sound escapes me that I’ll deny until I die.

The cold rushes in where his body used to be when he pulls away and steps back. My hands are trembling, and I’m still pressed against this wall like I’ve forgotten how to stand on my own. But what I loathe most is that I want him back exactly where he was—want him to touch me after spending weeks convincing myself I wanted the opposite.

And that he knows it.

“I’ll take the floor,” he says, tone matter-of-fact, as if that settles it. As if he’s not enjoying my humiliation.

I raise my chin. “That won’t be necessary.”

I make my way toward the bed, tugging the edge of the robe tighter around me more out of habit than modesty. “We’re adults,” I add. “We can sleep in one bed.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement. Genuine, unguarded amusement.

“In the same bed,” he repeats.

“Yes.” I shrug, forcing nonchalance. “It’s huge. You’ll have your side, and I’ll have mine. We won’t even touch.”

I climb onto the mattress before he can say anything else, claiming the side closest to the window. I fluff the pillow, arrange it just so, and slide beneath the covers with deliberate calm, as though my heart isn’t doing something reckless behind my ribs.

I hear a chuckle, an actual chuckle. “You took my side.”

I lift my head and give him a flat look over my shoulder. “I thought you were a gentleman,” I say sweetly. “Gentlemen let ladies choose.”

For a second, he just stares at me. Then he bows. “My mistake.” That maddening side-smirk again. “I forgot I married a princess.”

I lie back down before my expression can betray me.

Aric Vold actually speaks in full, infuriating sentences.

He actually smiles. And has dimples!

He even… chuckles.

But the worst part?

I like it.

I like this version of him. The one without the armor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Aric

The digital clock on the nightstand reads 5:02 in cold blue numbers. Too early for the house to be awake. Exactly when I like it.

Ayanna is curled on her side near the very edge of the bed, as though even in sleep she’s careful not to cross the invisible line we drew last night. One arm tucked beneath the pillow, breathing slow and even. There’s something almost instinctive in the distance she keeps—like some quiet part of her mind still doesn’t trust me enough to relax fully.