Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

For the first time in my life, I’m choosing the person I take to bed. I get to see what all of this sexual tension and spiking chemistry between us is going to surmount to. It just took a restless night and a dwindling hourglass to face my truth.

I want him.

I’m sick of pushing him away, of trying to confine myself to denials and doubts. I understand the importance of him doing his kingly duties, of not playing into Midas’s hands. But I also want to know what it feels like for Slade to be truly mine, and that’s what I had to face when I woke up. Because if I were to leave without telling him, without giving myself this, then I would have regretted it forever. I would’ve always wondered.

I’m sick of wondering.

There comes a point in your life when you have to choose between having regrets and the possibility of making mistakes. I’d rather make those mistakes than live without ever taking a chance, because I’ve missed out on too much already. Taking chances can be like walking through a mudslide, where every inch of you gets stained, but regrets are the stagnant pools of deprivation, and I’ve been wading in them for far too long.

It’s time to get a little dirty.

Slade’s attention is solely on me as I peel myself away from the wall. The fire blazes behind him like the mouth of a demon, but the wickedest thing in this room is him. The way he watches me leaves no doubt in my mind that his thoughts are as filthy and debauched as he claimed.

“You know, this hardly seems fair that I should be undressing while you aren’t,” I point out.

Slade grins from his seat. “If you wanted me to strip, Auren, all you had to do was ask.” When I narrow my eyes on him, he clicks his tongue. “Shy?”

Of course I’m a little shy. I’m about to bare myself to him, to let him see every inch of me, and it’s nerve-wracking.

As if he’s caught the tremor of hesitation that moves through me, Slade says, “Do you remember when I accidentally walked in on you in my tent when you were changing?” At my slow nod, he goes on. “I wanted to touch you so damn badly it took every ounce of self-restraint to walk away. I’ll admit, I thought about that moment many, many times.”

“That’s not very gentlemanly,” I tease.

His lips tip up. “I’m no gentleman.”

Why does something as simple as that send a trill of excitement reverberating down my spine?

Before I lose my nerve, I look down at the ribbons that are still somewhat wrapped around me to hold up my dress. One by one, I let them slowly unravel all the way until the loose back of my bodice parts like paper unfolding.

When all of my ribbons are lying on the floor behind me, they shake out and stretch. I lift my fingers to the top of my gown, more to keep it up than to peel it off.

One look at Slade, and my face heats, but I don’t want my nerves to get the better of me. I want to be confident, sexy, in control. Empowered.

Keeping that frame of mind, I turn around until my back is facing him, and the heat of the crackling fire trickles up my spine. With my fingers digging beneath the collar, I drag my dress off my left shoulder, feeling like I’m exposing far more than just my skin. Two of my ribbons come up to help tug the sleeve the rest of the way down, and with my pulse ricocheting in my veins, I do the same to the other side, until the bodice sinks around my waist.

“Not a fan of the corsets here, love?”

That damn word.

“No,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “And you wouldn’t be either if you were expected to wear them.”

A low chuckle. “I suppose I wouldn’t.”

I start to pull the dress down, but Slade says, “Slower.”

Just that single word spikes desire low in my belly. “Bossy.”

“King,” he reminds me.

My lips tilt up, and then with a careful drag, I start to take my gown off. I give a slightly exaggerated shimmy of my hips, and behind me, I hear Slade groan. A thrill shoots through me, and my confidence grows enough that I haul it down the rest of the way and let the dress pool at my feet.

I look over my shoulder, careful to keep my body still as I turn my head.

He’s leaning forward, bent elbows propped against his

thighs, hands clasped in front of his chin. There’s nothing bored or stony about him right now. No, he’s pure heat and restrained hunger, and I love that I’m the person who’s put that look in his eyes.

“Let down that gorgeous hair of yours.”