The water in the tub sloshed heavily against the stone walls as the space between them vanished completely. The hem of her silk nightgown had bunched up around her thighs, leaving nothing but bare, sensitized skin to absorb the searing, radiating heat of his body.

Penelope could only gasp, her fingers clutching blindly at his damp shoulders as the sheer intensity of his proximity overwhelmed her.

Vincent had reached his absolute limit. He had tolerated her soft touches, her quiet worries, and her provocative presence in his space for as long as his tattered sanity would allow. He could not endure another second of this exquisite torment.

If she wanted his protection, his power, or his body, she needed to demand it outright instead of driving him to the brink of madness.

"You know I can give it to you if you just say so," he rasped against the shell of her ear, his voice rough and thick with an unvarnished hunger. He shifted his hips slightly, ensuring she felt the rigid, undeniable evidence of the desire she had so effortlessly provoked.

He locked his gray eyes onto her wide brown ones. Despite seeing the flicker of shock that registered across her face at the sudden, dominant shift, he did not release his hold on her waist. He couldn’t.

If she was going to pull away from him, she should never have stepped foot into this room, let alone his bath. He was entirely at her mercy, yet holding all the power, waiting only for her to give him the final go-ahead.

"Penny...ugh–"

A low grunt tore from his throat when Penelope, instead of shrinking back, willingly tightened the wrap of her legs around his waist. She tilted her hips just enough for him to feel the soft, maddening press of her core directly against him through the damp silk of his loincloth.

The friction was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life– a sharp, electric shock that shattered what remained of his discipline. That single, deliberate movement from her was his undoing. Unable to stop himself, his hands gripped her hips, and his hips started to rock forward on their own accord, seeking the friction she had so tantalizingly offered.

"This is what you do to me," he rasped, his voice a dark, low growl that vibrated straight through her chest. He continued to roll his hips against hers, his pace deliberate and heavy, feeling the exact moment her entire body began to tremble helplessly against him. "There is a chance I will not be able to stop myself, Penny. So speak now if you do not concede."

But Penelope was already entirely lost to the haze of the sensation. The friction through the wet silk was a beautiful, overwhelming fire, and it shattered any thoughts of a verbal response. Unable to bear her own weight, she let her head drop forward, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Her fingers dug frantically into the broad muscles of his shoulders as a soft, breathless moan escaped her.

That sweet, surrendered sound completely broke him.

Vincent drove his hands beneath her thighs, lifting her slightly as he pressed her back firmly against the smooth, wet marble edge of the tub. He pinned her there, obliterating any remaining distance as he ground his heavy, rigid shaft directly into her weeping core. A deep groan tore from his chest, his head tilting back as the absolute perfection of the fit threatened to undo him right there and then.

He braced one strong, veiny arm against the marble lip behind her for leverage, while his other hand clamped around her waist like a vice, locking her in place. He resumed the heavy, agonizingly slow rhythm, lifting her into each powerful roll of his hips.

Penelope whined, a high, desperate sound that echoed in the steamy chamber. She hooked her ankles tighter behind his back, pulling him closer, demanding he destroy what little microscopic space was left between them.

"Oh... Vincent..." she moaned against his skin, her breath hot and shallow.

Vincent groaned in response, a sound of pure, unfiltered torment. He could feel her slick heat even through the barriers of their garments, the friction building to a terrifying, volatile peak. He was so close to the precipice, his muscles straining and trembling under the immense weight of his own restraint.

"Please..." Vincent choked out, his eyes squeezed shut as his hips hitched violently against her. He was practically begging. "Just say the word, Penny... anything. Tell me to take you."

He could quite literally just slam into her right now if he wanted to. He had the strength, the positioning, and a towering height difference to simply overpower her and take exactly what his body was screaming for.

But even in the throes of a blinding, feral lust, his ironclad sense of morality got in the way. He refused to be a beast with her– at least, not without explicit consent.But as the heat of her center continued to scorch his hip bone through the wet linen, he was no longer certain how much longer he could cling to his fading morality.

Then, he noticed the subtle shifting of her weight. Even in the haze of pleasure, Penelope was deliberately avoiding placing any pressure upon his back, ensuring her hands stayed far away from his healing wounds. Instead, those slender, delicate fingers mapped the heavy, cut contours of his chest, her nails biting lightly into his skin,just enough for him to properly feel it.

His breath hitched completely when she leaned up, her hot tongue darting out to lick a slow, agonizing line up the column of his throat, right over his pulsing artery.

Vincent’s mind shattered. He gripped a handful of her wet, ash-brown hair, his fingers tightening to yank her head back just enough to force her to look at him. His jaw clenched so hard a sharp pain shot up his temple.

Verbality be damned.

"You did this," he said, something terrifyingly intense flashing within his slitted eyes.

He didn’t wait for a verbal command anymore. Instead, he reached down to rip the wet, useless barrier that had been denying him entry. Bracing his arm against the slick marble for leverage, Vincent lifted her hips, angled his heavy, throbbing length, and drove forward—

He froze.

The thrust never landed.

His entire body turned into solid stone, his chest heaving against hers as his head snapped toward the high, vaulted ceiling of the bathing chamber.

Penelope let out a frustrated, breathless sound, but he remained entirely unresponsive. The burning, primal lust in his gray eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a deadly, hyper-focused chill. His pupils narrowed to pinpricks,the gaze of someone who had caught a scent on the wind.

Through the heavy, thick steam of the lavender-scented bath, a sharp, acrid odor was beginning to seep under the door.

"Vincent?" she whispered, her voice trembling as the sudden drop in temperature shattered her pleasure-addled mind.

"Brimstone," he muttered, "black powder. Someone has infiltrated my home."

Penelope went completely still, the reality of his words crashing over her like ice water.

"Wait in the room," Vincent commanded, his voice returning to that clinical, absolute register. "I’m going to head out first. Come out after a minute."

Infiltrated?

The word echoed ominously in her chest.

Penelope remained submerged in the warm water as Vincent rose from the tub. As he stood up, her eyes instinctively shifted downward,catching the prominent, unyielding hardness of his manhood still proudly pointed into the air. Despite the sudden threat of an assassination attempt, his body was still thoroughly primed for the woman he had been microsecond away from claiming.

Penelope squeaked, a high, embarrassed sound catching in her throat, and instantly averted her gaze. She shrank lower into the water, trying to hide her burning cheeks beneath the surface.

Vincent, however, remained utterly shameless. He didn’t spare a single glance to cover himself, after all, she was his wife, and modesty was a luxury for men whose homes weren’t currently breached.

If anything, the sheer, radiating aura of displeasure rolling off his naked body was suffocating. He looked less enraged by the actual threat to his life and far more profoundly murderous by the timing. The fact that someone had dared to interrupt him the exact moment he had her exactly where he wanted her irked him.

With a dark, vicious scowl, he simply reached for one of the dry linen towels he had brought with him, tying it loosely around his waist, and stepped out of the bathing chamber to go see for himself who the unfortunate soul was.