I don’t respond, my eyes fixed on his, unable to look away.
He leans close. “Let’s see how it sounds when you scream my name while you come.”
He moves to kiss me, but I subtly pull away. His brows knit together in irritation, but I catch hold of his tie, tugging it gently. “The princess knew.”
Amusement flickers across his face, one brow quirking up as a devilish grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Knew what?”
“She always knew the king wasn’t a good man. She knew he was spinning tales to win her over. Knew he was playing games with her.”
His thumb grazes over my lower lip, his grin deepening as he retorts, “So why did the princess play along? Couldn’t resist anymore?”
I grab his wrist, pulling it down, and tilt my head back slightly, speaking with quiet defiance. “That’s something the king will never know.”
This time, his smirk stretches wider, his head dips just enough for his lips to hover over mine. “And he doesn’t give a damn, as long as he gets to fuck her.”
The heat drains from my body. What an insufferable, heartless bastard. This man doesn’t have the faintest clue about affection.
His teeth graze my lower lip as he pulls it into his mouth, but I pull back again. I want to slap him across the face, yet his hand snakes behind my head, pulling me into a deep kiss.
I don’t respond, but my head spins, my self-control slipping. He dips down, pressing his face against my neck, his teeth grazing my skin in a teasing bite. His fingers dig into my flesh, not painful, but enough to hold me captive.
“No one is promised the sunrise,” he whispers, his voice raw and low. “The king knows this. He also knows he wants the princess more than he’s ever wanted any woman. He’s waited longer for her than he has for anyone. And if tonight is all he has left, he wants it to begin and end with her, inside her.”
A lump rises in my throat. A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. I cup his face, gently lifting it from where he’s buried it in my neck. For the first time, I kiss him, really kiss him. My lips press against his warm ones, and I let the rawness of my emotions guide me. My kiss is clumsy, unsure, but I pour everything I feel into it. He doesn’t rush me. He matches my pace, his lips moving with mine in a rhythm that’s almost like a slow dance.
As his tongue brushes against the seam of my lips, seeking entrance, I let him in. His tongue tangles with mine, and I respond instinctively. His hold on me tightens, pulling me closer as though he fears I might slip away. The warmth of his embrace radiates through me, setting every nerve on fire.
Heat sparks through me. The sensation pools low in my belly, spreading heat to places I never knew could burn so intensely. Deep inside, I clench with a delicious, empty ache.
My hands slip beneath his jacket, roaming across the solid expanse of his shoulders. The smooth fabric is cool against my heated palms as I push the jacket back. Understanding my intent, he shrugs it off, letting it fall to the floor.
He bends slightly, sliding both hands under my thighs and lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist, and a gasp escapes my lips as I feel the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against me through his pants. The realization that he wants me, that he’s burning with the same hunger, sends a storm of nerves through my stomach.
I deepen the kiss, pouring every ounce of my desire into it. Our breaths mingle, hot and heavy, and the world around us fades into nothing. It’s just him and me, locked in this moment, and for once, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
With my legs still wrapped securely around his waist, he lowers us both onto the bed, sitting back against the plush mattress. My hands glide up his torso and explore the fabric of his shirt. Without breaking the kiss, I reach for his tie, loosening the knot and sliding it free.
I let the tie drop to the floor, and my fingers work their way down the top buttons of his shirt. But as I manage to undo a few, I find myself gasping for air, overwhelmed by the intensity of his closeness. I pull back, breaking the kiss, and he watches me with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“It’s like swimming,” he murmurs, his tongue dragging along my jaw, slow and possessive. “Eventually, you’ll figure out how to come up for air.”
I’m too distracted to respond. My eyes are glued to his chest, exposed through the undone buttons of his shirt. Taut and sculpted, his chest is a masterpiece of lean muscle.
He leans back slightly and places both palms on the sheets. Slowly, I reach for the remaining buttons, undoing them one by one until his shirt hangs open. Sliding the hem free from his pants, I push the fabric back over his shoulders. The shirt catches at his wrists, but he doesn’t bother removing it. Instead, he simply sits there, letting his smoldering stare burn into me.
It’s crazy that after being with him a couple of times, this is the first time I’m actually seeing his body—really seeing it, exploring it, enjoying it slowly, without fear.
The first time, my eyes were blindfolded. The second, I was too consumed by nerves to notice anything at all. And on my wedding night…fear blinded me.
His shoulders are wide, his muscles coiled and defined like ropes of steel. He’s leaner than Carlo, more refined, like a statue carved from marble.
What surprises me most is that he has no tattoos at all. Not even a single one, which is strange, since most mafia guys love covering themselves in tattoos. My hand moves to his chest, firm and smooth like polished marble. His skin is a rich, sun-kissed bronze, and the faint trail of hair running from his chest down to his navel is perfectly masculine, neither too much nor too little.
I let my fingers follow that line of hair downward, marveling at the way it disappears beneath his waistband. His chest rises and falls under my touch, and a deep, guttural sigh escapes his throat. As if unable to hold back any longer, he lifts his hands from the mattress, shrugs his shirt off completely, and tosses it carelessly to the side.
Leaning back onto the bed, he closes his eyes as he says, “Now that you’re playing with fire, I hope you’ve got the courage to finish it.”
I pause, unsure of what he means, but I don’t embarrass myself by asking.
