“All of it.” But even as she says it, she arches toward me.
I pull back to look at her.
Really look at her.
Her hair is a mess, dirt smudged on her cheek, her dress torn at the hem.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“You scared me tonight,” I admit, the words surprising us both. “When I realized you were gone, when I thought about what could have happened to you in those tunnels…”
“Why do you care?” Her eyes search mine. “I’m just a tool for your revenge, remember?”
“You’re more than that. You’re mine.” The admission costs me, but it’s true. Somewhere between the forced wedding and now, she’s become something I can’t define. Something dangerous.
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. Not rough and claiming like before, but slow and deep. Tasting her. Savoring her.
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat and kisses me back. Her bound hands reach for me as much as they can.
I break the kiss and rest my forehead against hers. “I should punish you properly. Make you regret ever trying to leave.”
“Then why don’t you?” she challenges.
Instead of answering, I strip slowly, letting her watch. Her eyes track every movement, her breathing quickening as I reveal more skin.
When I’m finally naked, I see the hunger in her gaze, the way she bites her lower lip.
“Your turn.” I move to the bed and reach for the zipper of her dress.
She doesn’t protest as I peel the fabric away, unhooking her bra and untying and retying each arm.
I take my time removing her simply cotton panties, my fingers skimming over her skin, learning every curve and hollow.
When she’s finally bare before me, I just look at her.
Memorize her.
The way the firelight plays across her skin.
The rapid rise and fall of her chest.
The flush spreading down her neck.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, climbing onto the bed beside her.
I start at her neck, pressing soft kisses along her throat. She tilts her head back, giving me better access, and I smile against her skin.
So responsive. So perfect.
I work my way down, taking my time with her breasts. Circling each nipple with my tongue before taking it into my mouth.
She gasps and arches into me, her bound hands pulling at the silk.
“Mikhail,” she breathes. “Please.”
“Please what?” I move lower, kissing down her stomach. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want…” She hesitates, and I look up at her.
