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What…the…
A thought my traitorous body didn’t let me finish. My bloodstream burst into so many flames of response, I instantly gave up on putting any out.
Gave up. Then gave in.
Closed my lips over his warm, firm flesh, then rolled my tongue around it. Tried not to think of how my sex vibrated from every note of his answering growl.
Tried. Failed.
Especially when thinking this lord and master thing was going to happen.
Hoped. Prayed.
Yeah, despite how he still pissed me off. Maybe, like the good little deviant I was, because of it. All at once, recasting him in my head as the dominant, distant ruler and me as the loving, serving slave girl…
Oh, dear God.
The temperature in my blood now.
The hunger in my nerves.
The need in my sex…
“Do you think about my wishes, Lucina?” His voice was rust on steel. His thumb was incessant pressure. He lifted his other hand, bracing fingers around the back of my jaw. Used the hold to pull me forward then back again, forward then back, working my mouth back and forth on his finger. “Are my wishes important to you? My…needs?”
Well…hell.
He didn’t snap free the padlock. He took a sledgehammer to the thing, shattering it. Immediately my mind surged into the breech—to a space I showed to nearly nobody, because nearly nobody understood it. But this man, this prince with the face of a god and the soul of a hero and now, it seemed, with the dominant hunger of a lion, had shined his incredible light on that special space. Yanked me into the stuff of my most incredible fantasies…
But did I obey? Did I dare?
We’d only ever have the next few hours. Once the Sancti airport was back on line, I’d be on a plane and this would all be an aching, magical memory. But wasn’t everything about this man going to be that anyway? Wasn’t I going to be that woman from every star-crossed love story ever put on film (except Romeo and Juliet, which didn’t really count), face reflected in a rain-drenched plane window, watching clouds superimposed with memories of his face? This was reckless and mindless and headed for such an obvious disaster of a conclusion, we were fools to ignore the clichés.
Except that we couldn’t ignore all the stuff that wasn’t a cliché.
This.
Us.
The connection that meshed us. The spell that bound us. The sight into each other, framing us. Remolding us. Redefining what we would be to each other even now.
We could be a different kind of movie.
Flutes and guitars, blended by synthesizers, began playing in my head. The soundtrack of a mini movie. Duran Duran’s Save A Prayer.
Some people call it a one-night stand, but we can call it paradise.
Paradise.
Yes.
“Yes.” I had to set his finger free to voice it aloud, but if I read the look on his face right, that thumb was just the prelude of what he wanted in my mouth. “Yes, Your Highness. Your wishes are important to me.”
Somebody punched that special effects button again—only this time, his fierce focus was layered with absolute command. His gaze, sharp as blue lasers, sliced into me. His hand, still wrapped against the back curve of my jaw, squeezed in just a little tighter. Compelled me forward, my body liquid and obedient, until our mouths nearly touched.
I gasped up at him. Breathed every harsh, heavy, consuming breath as an offering to him…an open entreaty to him. God, yes. Kiss me…please…
The corners of his lips curled again.
