Page 55
His hands—careful at first—slid to her waist, then higher, over silk, cupping the curve of her ribs, brushing the swell of her breasts. She inhaled sharply, and he froze.
“Tell me no, Rosine, and I will stop.”
Her answer was to arch into his palms.
A curse, raw and reverent, escaped him. His mouth descended to her throat, kissing, tasting, grazing her skin with the scrape of stubble. She clutched his shoulders, pulling him closer. Her body betrayed her—pressing, wanting, desperate for friction she hadn’t known she craved.
When his teeth caught gently at the hollow of her throat, she moaned aloud. His groan answered, deep and rough, vibrating against her skin.
He lifted his head, eyes burning. “Do you want this?”
Her voice broke. “Yes.”
“There’s risk.”
“No risk. Promise.”
That shattered all of his restraint.
He sank to his knees, hands sliding down her body, over silk, to the hem of her gown. He looked up, wild and devoted all at once. “Let me see you.”
She trembled, nodding.
His hands pushed her gown slowly upward, fabric whispering against her skin. Stockings, garters, chemise—each revealed inch made his breath ragged, his gaze reverent and raw.
When the gown pooled at her feet, she stood trembling in the soft morning light, clothed only in thin linen that clung to every line of her body.
Aryeh exhaled like a man seeing salvation. “My queen,” he whispered. His hands hovered at her hips but did not touch, as though asking permission even now.
Rosine’s chest heaved. She reached for his shirt instead, fumbling at buttons, desperate to see him, too. He caught her hands, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, then let her continue.
The shirt slid free. The sight stole her breath. Broad chest, taut muscle, skin marked with faint scars—each one a story, a survival. Her fingers brushed over one scar near his ribs from one of the riots in the Pale. He flinched, then steadied under her touch.
“No one’s ever touched me there,” he murmured.
Her throat thickened. “Then let me.”
He swept her up, strong arms lifting as though she weighed nothing, and carried her to the narrow bed he’d prepared. Roses on the nightstand, sheets clean and faintly scented with lavender.
He laid her down carefully, reverently, then came over her, braced on his elbows, eyes dark and desperate. “Tell me to stop if this is too much.”
Her hand rose to his cheek, steady now. “Don’t stop.”
He groaned, kissed her again—hard, hungry—then tugged her chemise upward, baring her completely. The cool air struck her skin, but then his mouth followed, warm and claiming, lips closing over her breast, tongue circling until she cried out.
Her back arched, fingers tangling in his hair. He moved lower, kisses trailing fire across her stomach, down to the edge of her shift. He pulled it away entirely, leaving her bare beneath him.
He looked once, long and reverent. “You’re the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”
Her breath faltered. “Aryeh—please.”
He freed himself with shaking hands, his body thick and hard against her thigh. He guided himself carefully, slowly, until the tip pressed against her. She gasped at the heat, the weight, the promise.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
She did.
And then he slid inside.
