Page 123 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

It had started out of determination to take something of value from Otto. It had been solidified as a goal to punish Juanita for her disloyalty. But now? Now it was all about Astrid. All about the beautiful, regal, carefully guarded woman who held the world at arm’s length but couldn’t do so with him.

Knowing he was able to slip beneath her guard and provoke her to this reaction so easily was a powerful aphrodisiac that made it almost impossible to take his time.

He heard her skirt rip and felt a primal, animalistic throb of ownership, an ancient urge he hadn’t known for a long time, if ever. He was no longer a teenager with no control of his raging hormones and yet he felt like it. Especially as he strode into the living room and knew he couldn’t make it to the bedroom. Knew this was going to happen now, for both their sakes. Slow could come later. Once they’d burst the dam wall and felt the pleasure of this, they’d take their time to explore.

A fire was burning in the grate with flickering flames. He moved her to the rug in front of it and brought her body to the ground and his own on top of hers in one easy motion. Delighting in the sensation of her body beneath his, of the way she writhed at his touch, begging him for more, saying his name with each frantic breath, her hands pushing ineffectually at his clothing. He knelt above her, legs straddling her, eyes locked to hers as he began to unfasten his buttons. Her gaze dropped hungrily to his chest. A moment later, her hand lifted, fingers trembling in a way that drove him wild. Her touch was tentative and he understood it. She’d never done this before. Sex, of course, but he suspected she’d never even touched a man. Her life was one of caged beauty, a rarefied loneliness, because of how impossible it was for her to conduct a relationship without public intrusion.

On some instinctive level, he understood that the invasion of something so intimate would be unbearable to a person like Astrid. She was private. Guarded. Contained.

Except with him.

A thrill ran through his veins as he dropped his shirt beside him and stayed right where he was, letting her indulge in a slow, curious inspection of his chest, until he couldn’t stand it any more. Her uncertainty was its own kind of drug, making him yearn for more. She was slow and uncertain, he wanted fast and powerful. He wanted everything, in a way he hadn’t before.

Her shirt was silky, with pearl buttons down the front. He unfastened them quickly, his breath burning in his lungs as he separated the fabric and stared down at her, the lace of her bra so delicate and feminine, his cock straining hard against the confines of his pants.

‘Better,’ he murmured, running his hands down her arms to remove the shirt completely, as she pulled up to sitting, so he could free it from her back. He claimed her mouth then, because she was too close not to, and unfastened her bra. Something unhinged inside of him as he dropped it from her body and pulled back, sucking in a breath as he prepared to see her breasts for the first time. Except, he couldn’t prepare. She was so perfect, so utterly beautiful, with her creamy pale skin and breasts the perfect size to be cupped by his hands. He moved to hold them both as his mouth devoured hers, pushing her back down to the rug in the same movement, unable to stop touching her, tasting her, wanting her.

His knee pushed between her legs, spreading them—something he could do because her skirt was split and continued to split as she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. Her hands moved between them, finding the buckle of his belt and fumbling with it until it was loose and she could drag it from the loops. A moment later, she was toying with the button and zip of his pants, her nervousness making it difficult to unfasten them. She persisted though and he didn’t move to help her. He couldn’t let go of her breasts. Not when sculpting and feeling them had suddenly become his reason for being.

She let out a guttural cry of success when his pants separated and her hands were able to push them down. He grinned against her mouth and only then did he shift his grip to the fabric and slid them off his legs, kicking out of them completely, so he wore only a pair of boxer briefs. Once more, he kneeled over her, straddling the queen of this country he thought he hated, his breath ragged, his need to see her overpowering him.

‘Your turn,’ he demanded fiercely, moving his grip to her hips and working the skirt loose, down her legs, then, with his gaze on her face, questioning her silently, he returned to her underpants, slowly inching them down, daring her to stop him if she wanted.

She didn’t.

She bit into her lower lip as though she was keeping a thousand and one feelings locked inside of her through sheer force, but she didn’t stop him. She didn’t do anything but arch her back and finally, convinced of her consent, he let himself look at her sex and felt a hard, throb of need twist inside of him.

‘You are perfect,’ he muttered, because she was. Utterly beautiful and completely his, for this one night.

He didn’t think beyond that. He didn’t particularly want to contemplate the potential marriage in her future and the fact that might yet be with his vile prick of a brother. For now, there was only Astrid, Javier and this fire-lit room.

As he slid her briefs from her body, he brought himself lower, pressing a kiss just beneath her breast, enjoying the way her skin lifted with goosebumps, before dragging his mouth lower to her flat stomach, then lower still to her most intimate flesh.

‘Javier!’ Her voice rang with shock, but when he glanced up at her, her eyes were squeezed shut, her cheeks a bright pink and he knew that wild horses wouldn’t have her wanting this to stop. To underscore that, she reached for his hair, driving her fingers through it, ‘God, please,’ she cried out, pressing her feet into the rug, so he moved back to her sex and devoured her, his tongue flicking, tasting, until he felt her fall apart against him and a rush of ancient, primal power filled his body. He couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t wait.

Only ingrained habit had him reaching behind them for his trousers and the wallet in which he always kept a stash of condoms. He unfurled one with the desperation of a man on the brink, who knew that if he didn’t take her now he just might die, then brought himself over her, his eyes level with Astrid’s.

‘This might hurt, Your Majesty,’ he said, the words not a reminder of her title so much as a sensual rejection of them. Because she might be a queen, but here she was just his partner, for this one night. His equal. Perhaps it was the stripping away of elitism that added to his pleasure and enhanced his need to take her. He, a man who’d been made to feel as though he didn’t belong anywhere with anyone, who’d been told his entire life that he wasn’t good enough, was being begged for by the queen of this small yet mighty kingdom.

‘Not as much as not doing it,’ she responded, eyes lifting to his.

Something inside of him locked into place.

‘I trust you.’

He ignored the way the words pulled at him. He doubted it was true, anyway. His first impression of Astrid had been that she kept her cards close to her chest and nothing about their interactions had changed that. But in this way, in this moment, she was right to trust him, because he had no intention of hurting her.

He hitched himself at her entrance and moved his mouth to hers, kissing her as a distraction, while he gently nudged inside. God, but she was tight. So tight. Her muscles squeezed him hard, almost rejecting him, so he held himself right where he was, giving her time to adjust, to adapt, then pushing in further. She made a garbled sound in her throat. He lifted up, staring down at her once more, unsure if she was asking him to stop.

‘Please,’ she said, her fingernails digging into his shoulder. ‘Now. All of you.’

Jesucristo, he didn’t need to be asked twice. Mindful of her, he began to drop his hips completely. Not as fast and hard as he wanted, but enough to drive into her all the way, burying himself completely in her sweet heart, holding himself there once more as her body adjusted. Her eyes flew wide, her body stilled. He waited for her to say or do something. A moment later, she shifted, her hips moving, tilting, so he knew she was past that first sting of pain and discomfort, that she was eager for more.

After that, instincts took over. She was no longer a virgin, nor a queen, she was Astrid, he was Javier and this moment was theirs. His possession of her was swift and absolute, their bodies moving in unison, the same desperate, all-consuming hunger overpowering them, tilting them to the edge of sanity as one.

He wrapped his arms behind her back and held her close as he lost himself in the depths of her soul and felt her muscles rapturously squeezing his length as they came together. Breast to chest, bodies as one, perfection in that single moment. This stolen night…