The Stolen Princess (Fated Royals 1)

He threw the man into a hedge of holly bushes on a grunt, and then followed and grabbed him by the shirt with two massive fists, plucking him back from the ground with so little effort he could have been stuffed with feathers. With a few long, authoritative strides, Bors carried him over to Angelica’s pigsty and plopped him headfirst into the sloppy, filthy mess.

I choked back a giggle seeing the man was covered from head to toe in pig muck, but Bors wasn’t finished. He reached back over the fence and dunked him face-first, into the trough.

A bit of panic clutched around my neck as he held him down, the man’s hands slapping and pulling at Bor’s solid grip and I wondered for a moment if he intended to end his life. As I opened my mouth to protest, the punishment seeming excessive to the crime, Bors jerked him from the trough and he emerged like a gasping, wet rat.

“Touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you. Now get the hell out of here.” Bors roared as the man stumbled away coughing down the road, cursing us both as he ran.

Bors turned and met my gaze with that same fire in his eyes he’d had the first time. I squeezed my legs together against the heat and rush of wetness, as he seized the breath from me in his enormous arms, and I knew everything was about to change.

Under the shadow of the budding magnolia tree, Bors took me in his arms and asked, “Are you hurt?”

I found I couldn’t speak, so I merely shook my head, overcome with warmth and desire. I was smitten, so very, very smitten with this beast, this hero. This man. He smelled musky yet clean, like a pine forest after a soaking rain.

“Forgive me. I can’t take your word for it, Sara.” His hands ran down over my hips as he dropped to his knees at my feet and I wondered how he knew my name. “I will always take care of…” He glanced up, drawing a deep breath to stop himself before he went on.

I placed my hand on his immense shoulder. I could feel the heat of his body through the fabric and once again, I ached to trace every muscle and fiber. “Don’t stop…what were you going to say?”

He merely shook his head as he continued running his hands over me bringing back the wicked sensations I’d experienced in my dream from the morning making my head spin.

My knees felt weak and I steadied myself on his shoulder. “Please tell me.”

“Quiet. I’m not done checking you.” He caressed my calves with his huge palms, careful to stay on top of the fabric of my skirt, but I could feel the edges of his fingers brush against my bare skin.

Inch by inch, he checked me over. His touch was certain and confident as he explored my body. He touched me in a way that I had never even touched myself, even in the darkness and privacy of my own bedroom. He touched me in a way that made me feel liked a treasure. Something rare and fragile. Something to be guarded and revered.

As he moved up from my calves to my thighs, I ached for him to touch me where my body had begun to throb—between my legs—I wanted his rough fingers where I had never been touched, where I had never touched myself. I wanted him to touch me on the throbbing, aching blossom of my cunt.

But brutish though he may appear, he didn’t touch me there, though in my haze I dreamed he desperately wanted to.

Instead, he slid his hands up my waist, drawing my plain shift tight. I felt tiny in his arms, as his thumbs glided beneath the curves of my breasts, making my nipples tighten against the rough, scratchy linen of my dress.

As if trying to wake myself from a dream, I took a deep breath and pinched my eyes closed, then opened them again. I was being swept away in his presence and my own desire. But there was so much I needed to know.

Once he rose to his full height, one hand still on my waist as I looked up into his eyes, and finally I seemed to find my voice again. “Why are you here? Why did you come to Angelica’s house?” I best I tried, I could not keep the hint of jealousy from each clipped word.

“For a bed and a meal,” he said, without hesitation. “And, if I’m honest, for a place to collect myself after first laying eyes on you.”

“The washerwomen told me about you,” I said narrowing my eyes trying to assess the legitimacy of her earlier comments.

“I’m sure they did.” He answered, his tongue coming out to trace along his bottom lip as he drew a deep breath flaring his nostrils.