“I enjoy,” he says, and his hand slides under the band to cup her, warm because he has the sense not to come to her bed with cold hands, middle pressing, the heel of his hand resting on the hard shelf of her pelvis. “—making others eat their words.”

He’s not much for humble pie, but he loves stuffing it down others’ throats.

“I will keep you here for a while, I think,” he considers, easing a knee onto the bed to better lean over her, better loom and play the rake as his fingers continue to stroke. It is, technically, his wedding night. The ‘again’ part of that needn’t be remarked upon. They benefit from knowing one another now where they did not before—not this way—and now he can take his precise knowledge of exactly what she can and cannot stand before getting snippy and put it to good use.

The Gallows are perfectly fine (he’s settled in to them) but this is private, and besides, it’s been a fair few weeks.