“Gareth?” she whispered.
She’d never called him by his given name before. He’d told her she could, but she hadn’t yet done so. He was quite certain of that.
He wanted to touch her.
No, he wanted to consume her.
He wanted to use her, to prove to himself that he was every bit as good and worthy as she was, and maybe just to show his father that he did belong, that he wouldn’t corrupt every soul he touched.
But more than that, he just plain wanted her.
Her eyes widened as he took a step toward her, halving the distance between them.
She didn’t move away. Her lips parted, and he could hear the soft rush of her breath, but she didn’t move.
She might not have said yes, but she didn’t say no.
He reached out, snaking his arm around her back, and in an instant she was pressed against him. He wanted her. God, how he wanted her. He needed her, for more than just his body.
And he needed her now.
His lips found hers, and he was none of the things one should be the first time. He wasn’t gentle, and he wasn’t sweet. He did no seductive dance, idly teasing her until she couldn’t say no.
He just kissed her. With everything he had, with every ounce of desperation coursing through his veins.
His tongue parted her lips, swooped inside, tasting her, seeking her warmth. He felt her hands at the back of his neck, holding on for all she was worth, and he felt her heart racing against chest.
She wanted him. She might not understand it, she might not know what to do with it, but she wanted him.
And it made him feel like a king.
His heart pounded harder, and his body began to tighten. Somehow they were against a wall, and he could barely breathe as his hand crept up and around, skimming over her ribs until he reached the soft fullness of her breast. He squeezed—softly, so as not to scare her, but with just enough strength to memorize the shape of her, the feel, the weight in his hand.
It was perfect, and he could feel her reaction through her dress.
He wanted to take her into his mouth, to peel the dress from her body and do a hundred wicked things to her.
He felt the resistance slip from her body, heard her sigh against his mouth. She’d never been kissed before; he was quite certain of that. But she was eager, and she was aroused. He could feel it in the way her body pressed against his, the way her fingers clutched desperately at his shoulders.
“Kiss me back,” he murmured, nibbling at her lips.
“I am,” came her muffled reply.
He drew back, just an inch. “You need a lesson or two,” he said with a smile. “But don’t worry, we’ll get you good at this.”
He leaned in to kiss her once more—dear God, he was enjoying this—but she wriggled away.
“Hyacinth,” he said huskily, catching her hand in his. He tugged, intending to pull her back against him, but she yanked her hand free.
Gareth raised his brows, waiting for her to say something.
This was Hyacinth, after all. Surely she’d say something.
But she just looked stricken, sick with herself.
And then she did the one thing he never would have thought she’d do.
She ran away.