Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(75)

Cow her.

Make her live in fear.

Make her endure a life running.

Hurt her in any way.

Ever.

He could not allow himself to think of the other him raising his hand and killing the Christophe of that world while he grew inside his Madeleine.

He would think about that later, when he next saw Valentine. And then he would give her another Sjofn diamond, or a chest of them, to see to doing what needed to be done to the Apollo of the other world.

That was not for now.

For now, there was much to be done.

With reluctance, for he would much prefer to remove his clothes and return to her warm softness in the bed, he instead left her and the house. He went to the dower house’s small four-stall stable and saddled the horse he’d ridden there. He mounted the gelding and headed home.

The short ride to the main house of Karsvall should have been taken up with his thoughts of the many things he needed to do. And if not those, then of his children.

But they were not.

They were taken with Madeleine.

His Madeleine who rushed to avenge his children. His Madeleine whose shrieks of fury he heard as he ran to the gardener’s shed the night before. His Madeleine who he saw sink a blade in a man and heard threaten another, all in defense of his children.

His Madeleine who reared into his cock, whimpered and moaned as she did as he bid, cl**axing so strongly, her sex convulsed around his shaft, milking him and prolonging his cl**ax in a way he’d never experienced.

A way he liked very much.

Keeping the horse at a sedate walk, his thoughts turned troubled as they moved to Ilsa.

His wife had not been adventurous during play. He did not mind, her appetites were strong and healthy, regardless that they were conservative. She had aroused him greatly, and sated him almost nightly throughout their marriage.

However, it was not lost on him that there was often more that he wanted, desires he introduced to his marriage bed that were not spurned, but they were gently denied.

He had more than once considered suggesting adela tea to Ilsa when she was alive. In the end it was only time, and the fact that he’d run out of it, that disallowed that discussion.

With only two sessions, Madeleine had gone further with him than the years he’d had with Ilsa.

The first time—when she’d taken his shaft so deep he could feel the tip graze the back of her throat and when she’d taken his thumb in her arse, moaning and bucking into it violently—he could attribute to the adela tea.

Last night, no.

Last night, with no tea, she’d given herself with equal abandon. He had gone to her wrought with emotion for all she’d done, burning with need and taken her in the throes of it.

But she was not frightened or repulsed. She met his passion and even bested it.

And during their play, he did not need to be cautious, to curb his desires, to do or be anything but himself and take what he wished with Maddie giving it to him.

Gladly.

He was very aware that as they became attuned to each other, learned about each other, got used to each other, he would make comparisons between what he was building with Madeleine and what he had had with Ilsa. This would happen even if she did not look like Ilsa.

What he would not have imagined, after the loss he suffered when he lost Ilsa, was that Madeleine, it would seem, in a very short time was beginning to surpass all the beauty, intelligence and strength that had been his wife.

Fifteen years ago, his eyes fell on Ilsa, he quickly became smitten and not long after fell deeply in love.

With Madeleine, it was something else.

He could not turn his mind from her. Her smiles felt like gifts. Her laughter, a triumph. Every “honey” a treasure. Every “baby” sent a pulse through his cock.

He was not smitten.

He was growing consumed.

And he was troubled by it.

Not that it was happening. Not that some part of him felt this swift response to Madeleine was a betrayal of Ilsa.

No, because if his world could turn dark at the loss of Ilsa and these feelings he had for Madeleine grew, what would become of him if he lost her?

The horse reached the clearing of the trees and Apollo’s attention was taken away from Maddie when he saw Achilles and Draven on the front steps of Karsvall, a horse at the foot, Derrik packing it.

All that needed to be done last night was done with the swiftness it required. Therefore, he had little time to speak to any of his men as he did it, other than to give orders. And he’d gone directly to Maddie, so there was no time after it was done.

Regardless, he would not have been able to talk to Derrik for, after they extracted the information from the assassin, Derrik had absented himself completely.

At the time, Apollo had neither the time nor the desire to search him out and share gratitude for his efforts at keeping Christophe, Élan and Karsvall safe.

Now, he would take that time and hope what had elapsed since he’d last seen his friend had helped to cool his ire.

He kicked his horse to a trot and reined in when he was close to Derrik’s mount, seeing it packed for a journey.

Apollo home, clearly Derrik was returning to the Lazarus seat.

Perhaps his ire had not cooled.

His eyes slid through Achilles and Draven.

Draven looked annoyed. Achilles looked thoughtful. This told him nothing.

Although Draven was not often annoyed, it was known he could get that way on occasion.