‘You’re unbelievably sexy in those heels,’ he murmured, running his hands up her legs once more, pressing kisses to the small of her back. ‘But I can’t have them hurting you.’
‘Oh, it’s okay. I don’t mind. Not if you like them.’
‘I do like them. But I also mind that they’re hurting you.’ Sitting back on his heels, he closed his hand around one delicate ankle and lifted it, easing the shoe off, before doing the same to her other foot. Then he knelt there and began to touch her body, outlining every dip and curve with his fingertips. The narrow indentation of her waist and the soft roundness of her bottom. The sweet swell of hips and thighs. The delicate arcs of her shoulder blades and the graceful curve of her neck.
She shook as he traced her, but he didn’t rush it. He wanted to take his time, because if he was going to allow himself a whole night to indulge in her...with permission to do whatever he wanted...then he was going to make the most of it.
His hunger simmered as he fed it small bites. The velvet of the back of her neck. The petal softness in the crook of her elbow. The creamy taste of the small of her back as he pressed his tongue there.
Her breathing became louder and more erratic as he went on, and she leaned against him, as if she couldn’t hold herself upright any longer. But he’d only just started, and he wasn’t done with her yet, not even close.
When he’d explored every inch of her from behind, he turned her round to face him at last, staying on his knees because he wanted to savour her up close.
And what a sight she was, her pretty face flushed with heat, her silvery-grey eyes darkening into charcoal. She had the most perfect round, pink-tipped breasts, and the soft curls between her thighs were as silvery as the hair on her head.
His breath caught at the sight of her, the simmering hunger beginning to boil. He was so hard and so ready, but his long years of self-control had taught him well so, instead of picking her up and throwing her on the bed the way his sex was demanding, he stayed where he was, put his hands on her hips and drew her closer.
She reached for him, swaying on her feet, clutching at his shoulders, her gaze open and so full of longing and heat that for a second every thought went straight out of his head.
He’d seen an echo of that look before, every time he’d visited her. When she’d come rushing into the room to greet him, her face lit up, eyes shining. And it hit him all of a sudden that she’d been the brightest part of those years before his family had died.
He’d thought he was happy then, rebelling against his rigid upbringing and all the palace rules. Throwing them in his father’s face and indulging himself whenever and wherever he could.
But he hadn’t been happy. He’d been at war with his family...at war with the ideals that he felt had been forced on him...at war with his place in the world. He’d been living selfishly and a part of him knew it.
Really, the only time he’d ever felt true happiness was when he’d come to visit her. When she’d smiled at him, taking him out of his own petty grievances and pain. Distracting him, teaching him what it was to be interested in another person, not just himself.
He’d married her because of the way she’d looked at him that night in his limo, seeing in him something better, something worthy. A hero. A saviour. And that was how she’d continued to see him, no matter how awful or selfish he’d been. No matter how imperfect. No matter how flawed.
She saw the good in him and it gave him hope.
She wasn’t smiling now, but that same look was glowing in her eyes, only this time it was hotter and tinged with passion. And suddenly he was almost beside himself with desperation. To touch her, taste her, explore every part of her. Take her out of herself, the way she’d done to him.
To feel like he was worthy.
He pulled her closer, pressing his mouth to her stomach, licking her and then moving higher to take one of those little pink nipples into his mouth. She tasted so sweet, like strawberries and champagne from a long-lost summer, and when she groaned, arching into him, offering herself, she sounded even sweeter.
He was starving, desperate for her. Releasing her breast, he licked his way down her over her stomach to the soft, sensitive place between her thighs. She gasped as he nuzzled against her damp curls and then, when he slid his hands over the curves of her bottom to hold her steady, sliding his tongue through her slick folds, she cried out.
She was delicious, the best thing he’d tasted in his entire life, and he couldn’t get enough. She sagged against him, folding herself over him, panting out her pleasure, saying his name like a prayer as he explored all the delicate textures of her, silken, slick and hot.
And, as he lost himself in her, he had the oddest feeling that it was her sheltering him, her holding him up, rather than the other way around.
He wanted to hold her there for ever, forgetting everything but the sound of her cries and the taste of her on his tongue. But her pleasure was a double-edged sword, because her every cry sharpened his own hunger until he couldn’t stand it any more. He pushed his tongue deep inside her, gripping her hard as she cried out his name and convulsed in his arms.
He stayed where he was through sheer will power alone, holding her as she quietened. Only then did he rise to his feet, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her over to the bed.
Then he laid her on it and followed her down, putting one hand on either side of her head, stretching himself over her.
He looked down into her darkened eyes, tendrils of silver hair clinging to her damp forehead.
‘Time to make good on your bargain, little one,’ he growled.