But here and now, he’s not a prince, and I’m not a peasant. There’s no one here—only the two of us. There’s no judgment. No barriers.
Nothing to keep us apart.
My pulse thunders in my ears, my body feeling full and quivery with elation and mounting desire. It feels as though my skin is going to come apart at the seams. Overwhelmed at the intensity of my emotions, I turn and dive underwater. When I resurface, I’m several dozen feet away, and I can no longer touch the ground. I laugh out loud and dive again, holding my breath until my chest aches. Something yanksat my leg and I flail away, sputtering. It’s only Roshan, his face lit by a wicked smile.
“You’re going to pay for that!” I squeal, and heave myself at him.
He dodges. “You have to catch me first.”
Our enthusiastic, very splashy game of chase lasts until we’re boneless and exhausted. We find a spot on a half-submerged ledge and lie back, staring up at the luminescent lichen scattered across the top of the cavern. Roshan’s arm rests next to mine, and after a moment, he winds our hands together. Shivers detonate inside of me, and my breath hitches when he props himself up on his elbow and turns to face me.
“You’re such grace and steel combined, Suraya, like a jadu-forged blade sheathed in silk.” His voices turns husky. “I never expected someone like you. Never expected... this.”
I blush at his soft words, grateful for the muted light. I keep my stare firmly on the roof of the cave, but my pulse races as his fingertip winds a tortuous trail up my palm. He traces each finger and each line—heart, head, life, fate—over the soft rises of flesh and the hollow at the center. It’s a delicious, devious kind of punishment, keeping myself motionless, when all I want to do is throw my needy, quivering body into his arms and demand to be held. To be kissed senseless. To be teased and touched in every sinfully wicked way.
But I stay unmoving, riveted by that acute searing point of contact.
My stomach curls into knots of desire as his finger grazes over my wrist to the crook of my elbow. A tremor runs through me. Heat pools at my core, my sensitive skin unnervingly on edge as his touch dances upward. His intake of breath is sharp when his finger brushes the inner curve of my bare arm, so tantalizingly close to my breast.
Sands, I want him to touch me theresobadly.
He can’tnotnotice the state of my taut nipples, ones I make no move to cover under my thin, sheer smallclothes. I wonder if I glance down whether he will be in a similar condition—his body flush with arousal. His undergarments are as transparent as mine, and thatbulge had been more than obvious even in a flaccid state. Will he be swollen and jutting out against the fabric? Straining toward me as my own body yearns for his?
The thought makes me swallow a soft whimper.
More heat gathers between my legs, the need for friction overwhelming.
Unable to keep still, I shift my knee up, and suddenly, my thigh is in contact with a hot, burningly thick erection; he’s so hard and long that I can feel the full imprint of him against my hip. My pelvis rolls in unconscious desire, and Roshan’s fingers close over my upper arm, a soft groan leaving his lips. The hungry sound makes my thoughts scatter in the wake of such a ferocious desire that my core starts to throb.
It aches to be touched, to be filled... byhim.
I’ve never been with anyone that way. But I’ve explored my own body plenty and I know what it likes. If I were alone—in my private quarters—I would snake a hand down to my inner thighs to seek the release that has started to build. But this is all new territory for me—sharing such intimacy with a man. Should I touch him back? I hesitate because my advances have been rejected before and I’ddieif he stopped now.
Clenching my legs, I squirm slightly as Roshan’s hand drifts up to cup my cheek. He stares at me, though I can’t read any expression in his sparkling eyes. His thumb grazes my cheekbone in a slow, tender caress that has me drawing toward him, leaning into his touch. Stars above, what is he thinking?Feeling?Does he want this as much as I do?
Maybe he’s waiting for permission. I am such an idiot. Of course he’s waiting for my consent. That’s just who he is.
“Roshan—”
“We should probably go,” he says at the same time, his palm falling away.
The intense moment fractures.
Disappointment crashes through me, and I barely hold back a frustrated scream. It’s obvious there’s something between us. Somethingthat has been brewing since we first met. He’s choosing not to act on it for reasons of his own that probably have to do with honor and propriety and princely things, but he doesn’t get to makeallmy decisions for me. For us.
When it comes to our safety, maybe. But when it comes to my consent, to this choice, no.
We’re fugitives on the run from the Oryndhrian king.
We’re hiding out with a rebel army.
We could die at any moment.
Roshan moves to sit up, but I straddle his waist in a quick motion and push him back down to the warm stone. He gasps, eyes rounding as he stares up at me, big hands fluttering to my hips. I’m on display for him. I know I am without looking down, the white translucent undershirt clinging to the curves of my body. I see it in the way his jaw goes slack and his breathing heightens. “Suraya, what are you doing?”
“Letting you know what I want. Then you can decide if you still want to go.”
“And what do you want?” His voice is strained.
