*
Eleanor woke up in the middle of the night moaning. Rebeka’s hands shook her gently.
“Eleanor? Eleanor, are you well?”
“Oh … oh.” Eleanor’s eyes fluttered open and her body stopped writhing under her soft linen blankets. She looked around and tried to reorient herself.
Rebeka looked more beautiful than ever. Even though she had just been sleeping, her olive complexion was glowing, her eyes bright, her lips moist. Her black hair slipped in waves down her bare shoulders. The expression on her face was so tender and caring that it enhanced her beauty even more.
“King-wife?” Rebeka’s green gaze darted from one of Eleanor’s eyes to the other. “Were you dreaming, Eleanor?”
“I … I … I suppose I was.” What had she been dreaming about? Her entire body thrummed, as if with an energy she had never known before. Her blood pounded. Her skin tingled. Her breath came in quick, heavy bursts. But worst of all, a fire seemed to burn between her legs. Was this how Byron had wanted her to feel when he took a long time performing intercourse, kissing her slowly and exploring every inch of her body with his hands? If so, then he had not succeeded. She had never felt this way before: not with him.
“Was it a good dream?” asked Rebeka. She smiled softly and reached out to touch Eleanor’s cheek.
“No!” Eleanor reached up and grabbed Rebeka’s wrist, pushing it away from herself. “No it wasn’t! My Discipline is wearing off. This damn safra is getting to me. I need more Discipline. Quickly!”
Rebeka hesitated. Her smile wavered. Then she got up to obey.
8
The Edge of Pain