Page 33
Is he going to…?
Oh, my stars, he’s going to.
My husband has never done anything like this before. My husband has never even wanted to. I don’t know where to put my hands or what to think of the sudden, frantic hammering of my heart, and my body locks up somewhere between shock and desperate anticipation.
I want to tell Zevran to get off me, but the words just won’t come. I look down the length of my own body and find him watching me from between my thighs. The sight of him there, that hard, masculine face, those pale eyes glittering up at me like he knows exactly how much I want him, sends a fresh wave of heat through me that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
He’s beautiful. I hate that I think it. I hate that it’s true.
“Such a pretty, furious little thing,” he murmurs, his breath warm and damp against the inside of my thigh, and the low rasp of his voice does something utterly traitorous to my insides. “Lie still for me, printsessa.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“No?” His mouth curves into a slow, lethal smirk. “We’ll see.”
He drags his tongue up my sex, slow and unhurried, but I feel it like he’s spread me wide and is thoroughly tasting me. He has all the time in the world, and he intends to use every single second of it.
My hands fist desperately in the sheets. I need to fight, to flee, but instead I find myself arching my back in sheer, helpless pleasure.
This is wrong. Zevran Komarov handcuffed me to him and is dragging me across state lines. I was so close to escaping. I can’t want him. I cannot want him.
He lifts his head just enough to look at me, his lower lip glistening with my wetness and his eyes glittering with danger.
“Here’s the deal, printsessa.” His voice is rough, low, and amused, utterly certain of himself. “If you don’t come for me, I let you go. No more handcuffs. No more car. I’ll drop you wherever you want and walk away.”
My heart stutters violently. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie.” He presses a lingering kiss to my inner thigh, achingly close to where I need him most, and I have to bite back a shameful whimper. “Ask anyone. I’m a man of my word.”
It should be easy. All I have to do is think about anything except Zevran and how devastatingly sexy he looks between my thighs.
“And if I do?” My voice comes out pathetically unsteady. “Come.”
His smile turns wicked. “Then you’re mine.”
Mine. The word sparks a terrifying fire inside me, making me tingle from head to toe.
I push that feeling away frantically, because it’s going to be so easy to win this bargain. I have never, not once, in eight months of marriage, had an orgasm in bed with my husband. Not even close.
My hands tighten on the sheets. But Zevran is not my husband. My gaze wanders over his powerful shoulders, the dark ink curling over his throat, and those glittering, dangerous eyes focused entirely on me.
He couldn’t be less like my husband if he tried.
I’m half naked in bed with a man who isn’t my husband.
He opens his mouth to lick me again.
“Wait! I haven’t agreed yet,” I plead desperately.
“I wasn’t giving you a choice.”
“But that’s not fair!”
“I don’t care about fair.” He drops his head again, and the first slow lick nearly undoes me on the spot. “Better hold on, printsessa. I intend to win.”
He works me with his tongue, flat and broad against my sex, then narrow and precise on my clit, circling, flicking, retreating just enough to make me chase the feeling before he gives it right back. He licks through my folds like he’s memorizing the taste of me, slow and indecent, and then his tongue is right where I need it most, pressing and rolling in a rhythm that has my thighs shaking uncontrollably against his shoulders.
I can win this.
