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Suddenly, Marrok rolls me to my back and positions himself over me. With a scowl, he lifts my nightgown as his hard thighs spread mine wide. “You need me, and you did not say so. Come to me anytime you need. I will care for you.”
My heart wants to weep. I close my eyes so he won’t see the tears shimmering there. “I’m fine.”
“Lie not to me.” He smooths the hair from my face and kisses me.
Everything inside me tangles. When he touches me, I’m up, down, and inside out. But I don’t ask about his feelings. I’m not in a hurry to break my own heart.
Instead, I nudge his lips apart with my own. Marrok grunts in surprise, then settles into the kiss as if he plans to stay all night. Long, languorous slides of his tongue, soft brushes of his lips, a melding of breaths and mouths and needs.
Something about tonight is different. I can’t put my finger on it except that he’s so…tender.
“Olivia,” he murmurs. “I have been busy, and we have been at odds of late. I dislike that.”
I hate feeling as if he can read me because I’ve left my heart exposed, knowing he can either embrace or trample it as he pleases. But that doesn’t stop me from responding when he sinks into my mouth with another soft kiss, spreading the sweet burn of desire throughout me.
“If I have hurt or upset you, forgive me.”
He can never apologize for what hurts me most: not loving me. Nor should he. The stupidity is all mine. I knew better than to fall in love with a man whose heart has been untouched for a millennium and a half. I’m not beautiful or lovable—even if he makes me feel that way in his arms.
Instead, Marrok apologized for the fact he still suspects my father. And I can’t bear the thought that he might be right. A confrontation about my father or my Le Fay blood is inevitable.
Maybe Marrok and I are just doomed to be at odds.
I barely finish that thought before he kisses me so possessively, my toes curl. My belly tightens. Maybe our end is near, but I can melt into him now and ignore tomorrow.
Long, slow strokes of his tongue imitate what he’ll soon do to my body. The fire blazes between my thighs. I surrender. He wends his way down my torso, pushing up my nightgown until he strips it off and tosses it to the floor.
As soon as I’m bare, he latches on to my sensitive nipples, one after the other. Back and forth. Sensations heat my blood and make me whimper with need. I hiss in at the delicious pull and sting while I hold him tight.
Down lower, his hands travel, divesting me of my panties. A tug and a rip, and they’re gone.
He covers my pussy, rubbing and circling, before his fingers spread to explore every slick fold with unhurried touches. When he thumbs my clit, I gasp and nearly arch from the bed. He urges me back down, holding there as he heaps pleasure on me.
Need burns. I writhe, frantic. Marrok murmurs his approval. Stupid or not, when it comes to this man, I have no pride. I crave him…even if this means nothing to him at all.
Over and over, he rubs maddening circles on my clit. I gasp and keen out. Almost there… I’m so incredibly close I could weep. But he’s clever and patient, turning his attention to my hips, my thighs, even the oddly sensitive backs of my knees, cooling me down before he unerringly finds my clit and revs me up again.
Soon, I’m begging, pleas falling out of my mouth. I don’t care how they sound. I want him inside me. I’m desperate for him to fill the emptiness I feel when he’s not inside me. “Please, Marrok. Please… Oh, my god. Yes! I need— Ah, right there, just…no. Don’t stop. I can’t take it.”
“You will. For me,” he vows in a low voice that makes me shiver.
He still doesn’t allow me to climax before he climbs up my body and aligns his steely-hard crest against my slick opening, his expression somewhere between possessive and determined as he takes me in one rough thrust.
Sensation surges, hurtling me over the edge into a morass of ecstasy that unravels me. But he isn’t done.
As I’m drowning in ecstasy, Marrok holds my thighs wide and pummels me in unrelenting thrusts. Our bed shakes in time to the growl of his rough breaths. Before my first orgasm even ends, he’s ramping me up for a second. Incoherent words roll off my tongue, pleas for mercy, needy sounds that echo off the walls.
I bottle up my cries of love. He won’t want to hear them.
Abruptly, he withdraws, flips me over, and lifts me to my hands and knees. Before I can do more than gasp, Marrok surges inside me again, his chest covering my back, his harsh breaths in my ear as his fingers settle over my pussy and drive me wild. In this position, I feel every vein and ridge of his sex. The friction of every thrust enflames me more.
“Come for me again,” he growls. “We will release together.”
His voice alone sends me surging. Shivers tingle down my spine. Sensations converge in my belly, gathering between my legs. Pressure builds. Then my desperation gives way to a huge explosion and renders me breathless. My vision fades out. I sink to the bed in a heap as Marrok pumps inside me, then shouts my name.
When he stills, he covers my body with his. “God, woman. What you do to me…”
He does the same for me and so much more. As he presses hot lips behind my ear, I struggle to keep my feelings dammed. The pleasure we share is…beyond, but I care less about energy and more about his feelings. About his love. But why would a man who hasn’t loved anyone in fifteen centuries fall for me, a no one even my mother couldn’t love?
