“I’m afraid I must apologize,” Jack announces as he enters the room, arms folded behind his back. “My message may have appeared deliberately obtuse, but I sought only to avoid the impression of … impropriety by having this discussion elsewhere.” He finishes lamely, eyes flicking over Gar where she sits at the table. “You are not here to be delegated to a mission, Jeanne.”

That’s what he’d said when he entered. Now, with the table bruising the front of her thighs on each thrust, Gar can’t help but think of how absurd it is. Impropriety has been left far behind, and she shudders to think what comes beyond that, but —

Oh, no, she’s not shuddering to think. He’s simply reaches around her hips to press his fingers against her. Gar squeaks, palms slapping down on the round table. Her heart had fluttered at the sound of her name on his lips, and now she’s experiencing an entirely different kind of fluttering: her muscles twitch as he rubs firm circles around the hub of nerves between her legs, and each tiny spasm causes a ripple effect, coiling tension in her belly.

“It is the duty of a Dragon’s Claw to stand apart—to deny ourselves the same camaraderie and closeness of our fellow Knights. As of late, I’ve found myself struggling with that choice.” He looks as if he is, perhaps, embarrassed to admit as much, offering a thin smile and dropping his head briefly. He takes a breath.

Jack leans forward, chest pressed to her back, and worships at her shoulder by planting wet, erratic kisses along her skin, carrying his mouth up towards her neck. He presses his nose against the shell of her ear, burying his face against dark, messy curls. His breath comes heavy against her ear, pants timed perfectly with each jerk of his hips until they stop being surprising. Until the rhythm becomes predictable, yet still leaves sharp, high-pitched noises creaking out of her throat unbidden.

Her eyes burn into the center of the table, unable to forget how completely he’s breaking his vows as she stares the symbol of them in the eye. No harlequin romance has ever adequately captured how dirty she feels in defiling not only the table itself, but the purity of his office.

His free hand reaches around her, palm resting against the back of one of hers, fingers splaying to fill the gaps between her fingers just as he spreads her apart to fill every inch of emptiness in her. The wood of the round table is cold beneath them, the slick lacquered wood rubbing across her nipples as her small breasts are jostled by Jack’s movements.

“Were I in Thomas’ position, I can imagine a great many regrets I would carry with me. When I spoke with Sir de Tanos and Sir Spike, it became clear to me that it was faith in their loved ones, and the belief that they had many who cared for them that allowed them to overcome insurmountable adversity at the hands of Dimitris Sarandis. I have found myself questioning if Thomas possesses the same certainty now.”

It stops all at once—his hands his hips. His fingers curl around her palm, briefly squeezing her hand, then he pulls back, cock slipping out of her, slick and reddened. He grabs her by the shoulders and turns her to face him, lifting her to sit on the edge of the table.

Gar wraps her arms around him, drawing him in for a heated kiss that he meets beat for beat. Their tongues duel, teeth occasionally scraping, while his hands drop to her hips. He pulls her forward and drives home, surprising her into breaking the kiss and allowing him to drop his head. His lips fix against her throat and Gar trembles.

”Maintaining a distance between ourselves and the rest of our colleagues, and taking care of the attention we deliberate to each Knight, you see, are only a part of what we must do. I daresay it is the simpler half. More strenuous, perhaps, is to deny ourselves the solace of companionship—and to similarly deny those who would offer it to us.”

He climbs onto the table with her and she scoots further back on it, keeping their bodies fused together throughout the ordeal. Jack draws her thighs up against his sides, palms pressing under her knees to tilt her hips back, resting her weight on her lower back. Gar’s fingernails scrape into the round table, peeling away at the lacquer. The polished wood burns as her body rocks with each thrust, and the angle gets him to just the right spot inside of her.

The keening noises that slip past her lips are inhuman, humiliating, elated. A bomb goes off inside of her, and the fireworks flash behind her eyes. She forces them open so she can see him as she tumbles over the edge, darkness blurring at the edges of her vision. It’s everything she’s wanted, but tears sting her eyes just as red lines of salt burn into his cheeks. She is lost, and he follows her down, heat spilling inside of her after another handful of thrusts.

”I fear my dearest friend is lost, and without ever truly knowing what he has meant to me. I would not have the same happen again.”

He lies on top of her, fingers twining with hers, holding her palms above her head so that he can kiss her mouth, her throat, her shoulder. She welcomes him there, heels locked around his hips, unwilling to budge.

It won’t happen again, she’s certain, so she intends to take full advantage of the few stolen moments that they do have.