McKinnon's Royal Mission (Man on a Mission 1)

But she trusted him, and he didn’t have any way to protect her. Nothing with him to prevent unwanted consequences. Her earlier words came back to haunt him—there is no such thing as a bastard child...only bastard parents...

He gritted his teeth and fought for control. He couldn’t make love to her the way he desperately wanted—she would remain a virgin despite their mutual desire. But he could give her this gift. And she would never forget the man who had given it to her. Never forget him.

His fingers damp with her essence, he slid them upward, cherishing her secrets along with her trust. And she responded. Her hips rose and fell involuntarily as he alternately stroked her and soothed her, and her breathing became erratic. She whispered his name as a question, her hands clinging to him as he drove her higher and higher. “I cannot...” she said, but he knew from her tone that she could. “Oh, please...”

“I will, Princess,” he whispered against her perfumed skin. “I will please you.”

“I cannot...” she repeated, but then her legs stiffened and he knew she was close. So close. “What are you... Oh, I cannot...” He rubbed faster, his fingers dipping into the honey he’d called forth from her body, sliding it over the delicate nub that was now swollen and begging for release. “Oh, please...please...”

Then her fingernails were digging into his arms as her hips surged upward. Her head thrown back, she cried his name again and again, little sobs tearing through her chest. Involuntary tremors shook her, and he could see as well as feel her shattering climax. Gently he slid one finger inside her, needing to experience as much of her orgasm as he could, and her body clamped around his finger, holding him prisoner for endless seconds as she throbbed around him.

A minute later she sighed and relaxed bonelessly against his body. He removed his hand reluctantly, but he couldn’t help one last stroke over her swollen flesh, and she trembled against the pleasurable aftershock.

“Trace?” His name was a question again, but this time she was asking something different. “What of you? I want to—”

“It’s okay, Princess,” he whispered, cherishing her, brushing kisses against her eyelids and forcing her eyes closed. “This was for you.”

“But I...”

“No.”

She opened her eyes and stared up at him for long seconds, varied emotions flitting across her face. Finally she said, “I do not understand. Do you not want me?” Her voice wavered, and her eyes held such pain and fear of rejection it broke his heart.

He took her hand in his and dragged it down his body, forcing her to cup him, to feel the throbbing intensity of his desire. “Tell me I don’t want you,” he rasped.

Hesitantly at first, her fingers stroked, squeezed, measured, and Trace groaned. He couldn’t get any harder...but then he did, and the ache between his thighs threatened to overwhelm his good intentions.

“You want me,” she whispered, the startling revelation reflected in her lovely green eyes, and then she smiled at him, shyness replaced by a womanly resolve. “You do want me.” She strained toward him and brushed her lips against his.

No man ever had a woman offer herself to him so sweetly. No man ever had to fight so hard not to take what was offered. A shudder tore through him as savage as his desire to possess her completely. “No,” he said, tearing himself away from her. He hunched over, pain wracking his body in waves that seemed endless, and all he could hear was his own tortured breathing.

Eons later he glanced back at her, only to find her watching him with confusion written across her face. “I’m sorry, Princess,” he said, gently caressing her cheek. “You don’t understand. I have no way to protect you. And I won’t be like my father, whoever he is. I’ve never made love to a woman without protecting her.” He clenched his jaw fiercely. “And I never will.”

Her face was solemn as she took in his words. Then she smiled at him as Eve must have smiled at Adam in the Garden of Eden. “I cannot ask you to be less than the man you are,” she said softly, sitting up and moving closer to him, so that he could smell the sweet fragrance of her. “But I can ask you to let me be a woman for you.”

Her hand slipped down to stroke him through his jeans, her green eyes darkening with desire as he swelled against her touch. “Please,” she said, that one word sliding through his shattered defenses. “I want to do this. For you. Only for you.”

Helpless against her, helpless against his own raging desire, he didn’t resist as she slowly popped the button and unzipped his jeans. One small hand reached in and caressed him through the opening she’d created, through the cotton fabric of his briefs, but suddenly it wasn’t enough. He needed her touch against his naked skin, wanted her to see what she did to him, what she would always do to him merely by her presence. He caught her hand. “Wait,” he said. Then he raised his hips and forced his jeans and briefs down together, revealing himself to her. Hard. Achingly hard.