Color floods her cheeks. "Don't flatter yourself."
"It's not flattery, Princess. It's truth." I reach for her, sliding my hand around the nape of her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingers. "I saw how you responded to my touch. How you're responding now."
She tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her of my strength. "Let me go."
"Never." I draw her closer, until I can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her gown. "You're mine now. In name. In law." I lower my head until my lips brush her ear. "And soon, in every way that matters."
A shudder runs through her, and I can't tell if it's revulsion or desire. Perhaps both. The complexity of her reaction intrigues me. Women have always been simple creatures in my experience—eager to please me for coin or favor, transparent in their motives. But Fiona... Fiona is a puzzle I suddenly need to solve.
I could take her roughly. Assert my dominance. Show her exactly who holds the power between us. It would be easier that way, cleaner. A simple claiming, like planting my flag on conquered land.
But something in me rebels against that simplicity. I want more than her body. I want her surrender. Her willing participation in her own conquest.
"Do you know what happens between a man and a woman on their wedding night?" I ask, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
Her throat works as she swallows. "I'm not ignorant."
"Knowledge and experience are different things." I let my hand drift lower, skimming the column of her throat, feeling her swallow again beneath my touch. "Have you ever been kissed before today?"
Her silence is answer enough.
"Touched?" I continue, my fingers trailing along her collarbone.
She shakes her head, a tiny movement betrayed only by the slight shift of her hair.
"Then you are ignorant, Princess. But I'll teach you."
"I don't want your lessons," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.
I smile. "We'll see."
My hand slides lower, cupping her breast through the fabric of her gown. She gasps, her body instinctively arching into my touch before she can stop herself.
"Your body disagrees," I murmur, my thumb circling her nipple, feeling it harden beneath the cloth.
"My body is a traitor," she whispers, eyes closing as if she can block out what's happening.
"No. It's honest. Unlike your words."
I bend my head and capture her mouth with mine, no longer gentle as I was during the ceremony. This kiss is a claiming, deep and thorough. She stands rigid at first, lips sealed against mine, but I'm patient. I coax rather than force, my hand continuing its exploration of her breast while my other arm wraps around her waist, drawing her flush against me.
Slowly, like ice melting in the sun, she begins to yield. Her lips soften, her body relaxing incrementally against mine. When my tongue teases the seam of her mouth, she gasps, and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
The first touch of my tongue against hers draws a sound from her throat—part protest, part moan. Her hands, whichhave been hanging uselessly at her sides, rise to push against my chest. But they don't push hard. They just rest there, caught between resistance and surrender.
I pull back, studying her flushed face, her dazed eyes. "Tell me again how much you hate me," I challenge softly.
She blinks, as if waking from a dream. "I do hate you."
"And yet you respond to my touch." I slide my hand from her breast to the laces at the back of her gown. "Let's see how much more you respond when there's nothing between us."
Panic flares in her eyes. "Wait?—"
"We've waited long enough." One by one, I undo the laces, feeling her tremble as the gown loosens around her body. "I've shown you more patience than I've shown anyone in a very long time. But my patience has limits, Princess."
The gown falls away, pooling at her feet in a whisper of fabric. Beneath it, she wears only a thin shift that does little to conceal the curves of her body. I can see the dark shadows of her nipples, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. My mouth goes dry at the sight.
"Beautiful," I murmur, and I mean it. She's exquisite, more tempting than any woman I've ever seen. "Turn around."
