Not Fit for a King?

“Want more,” she said. “Want you to kiss me properly.” “Like this?” he asked, nibbling at her earlobe.

She felt the coiling of desire in her belly and the dampness between her thighs. Her womb actually ached, her innermost places empty, wanting him. “No. A real kiss. A proper kiss to make the day perfect.”

“You’ve already made it perfect,” he said, catching her face in his hand, and lifting her chin up to look down into her eyes before capturing her mouth with his.

He kissed her slowly, gently, coaxing a response from her, at first warm and sweet, and then warm and sweet became desperate and hot. His lips parted hers and his tongue took her mouth and Hannah wound her arms up around his neck, unable to get close enough.

She needed him, wanted him, wanted everything with him—marriage, and babies, and growing old together—but she wouldn’t have that, she’d only have this.

And she’d take this, all of this, and somehow she’d make it be enough.

She could feel the stubble on his jaw, smell that subtle cologne he wore, taste the wine on his tongue.

“Need you,” she murmured against his mouth, as she slipped her fingers into the short crisp hair at his nape. “Need you so much …”

He broke off the kiss, lifting his head to look down at her. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths and his eyes were cloudy with desire and she reached up to touch his mouth with her fingertips, awed by everything she felt for him.

It was magnificent.

And terrifying.

“You are so damn beautiful,” he said, pressing a kiss to her fingertips. “I honestly can’t get enough of you.” “Then don’t.”

Jaw thick, eyes narrowed, he lifted her into his arms, carried her to a broken stone in the shadows of the turret and set her on the edge. Pushing back her skirt he exposed her bare legs and parted her pale thighs to reveal the scrap of thong she wore. “Unbelievably hot,” he growled, lightly running a fingertip over the damp silk thong between her thighs, making the fabric even wetter.

She gasped as his finger traced her swollen lips again and again, making her thighs quiver and her insides clench with need.

“So wet,” he muttered, fascinated by the bit of silk outlining her most intimate places, and stroking it even more slowly to feel her shudder against his hand.

“And so eager for more,” he added, voice rough, raspy, before pulling the scrap of silk away from her body. He swore beneath his breath as he caught sight of her inner lips and her pink, glistening core.

Hannah clutched the sides of the broken stone she sat on, unable to breathe. No man had looked at her so closely, so intently and she tried to close her thighs but Zale was crouching between, his thighs holding hers open.

“What is it about you?” he groaned, lightly sliding his fingers up and down the wet tender flesh. “Why do you do this to me?”

She jumped and cried out as his fingertips brushed against her, the nub already so sensitive she thought she might explode. “It’s not … me …” she panted, fire licking her skin, making her burn, ache. “It’s … you.”

“No. I’ve never needed or wanted a woman the way I want you.”

She gripped the stone even harder as he focused his attention on her, teasing the small nub, using the pad of his thumb to draw small light circles against the slick ridge.

Hannah could feel the pressure building within her, the coil of desire growing hotter, tighter, fiercer. She was close to climaxing but was too aware that Zale watched her face as he touched her, reading her emotions and reactions. It was sexy and yet scary—to be so open in front of a man—physically and emotionally.

There was so much at risk, she thought, struggling to breathe, already too dizzy. If she wasn’t comfortable he’d see just how much she wanted him to take her, own her, make her forever his.

“Come,” he said, “I want to watch you come.”

She shook her head even as her body jerked and jumped, nerve endings stretched to breaking. “Can’t,” she choked, skin hot, body burning, desperate to find release but unable to let go when he’d watch her fall apart. She’d never been wild, never sexually adventurous, her college boyfriend going so far as to complain that she was boring in bed, but with Zale she felt positively daring.

Desperate.

Wanton.

“Yes, you can,” he insisted.

“N-n-noooo. I c-c-c-can’t,” she stuttered, unable to meet his gaze even as her thighs trembled with the building pressure.

“Why not?” he murmured, gaze intent on her flushed face.

“You’re … watching.”