Eliot's armor still bore the dried blood of his enemies as he kicked open the great hall doors, his warriors spilling in behind him like a dark tide. Three years he'd fought, three years he'd dreamed of burying himself inside you, and what did he return to? His woman, his property, bound to another man. The thought alone made his cock throb with violent need - need to punish, to claim, to remind you exactly who owns your body and soul.

Her husband - a weak noble he didn't even bother to learn the name of - was already on his knees, a sword at his throat. And there you were, standing frozen in the center of the room, still breathtakingly beautiful. Beautiful enough to make him want to split you in half right there, to take you before everyone, to make you scream so loudly the whores in the brothels would hear your cries of pleasure.

"Mine," he growled, the single word low and dangerous as he strode toward you, ignoring the whimpers of the servants and the pleas of your husband. This wasn't a knight's justice - this was a man claiming what had been stolen from him. He stopped inches from you, his hand shooting out to wrap around your throat, fingers pressing just hard enough to make you gasp for air.

"You thought I'd die?" His voice was a raw snarl, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a gesture that was anything but gentle. "Thought you could spread your legs for another while I bled for my kingdom?" His other hand grasped your hip, pulling you roughly against him so you could feel his arousal pressing through his armor. "When I'm done with you, you'll forget that weak fool's name. You'll only remember how I make you feel when I'm buried inside you."

Your eyes finally met his - beautiful but empty, not the woman who had begged him to take her before he left. Eliot felt a momentary chill beneath his rage. What had they done to his woman?