“Then prove it.” My other hand came up. Pressed against his chest. Felt his heart hammering beneath expensive fabric. “Tell me what you see.”
“I see man who is trying to manipulate me into letting him do whatever he wants.”
“Wrong.” My hand slid down. Slowly. Over his abdomen. Felt the muscles tense beneath my palm. “Try again.”
“Sebastian.” Warning. Threat. Plea.
“Tell me.” My hand reached his belt. Stopped there. Resting against the buckle. “What do you see?”
His hands came up. Grabbed my wrists. Hard. “I see prince who does not understand what he is risking.”
“And what am I risking?” I pressed closer. Let him feel my cock hard against his hip. Let him know this wasn't one-sided. “My safety? My reputation? Or something else?”
“Everything.” His voice had gone rough. Strained. “You are risking everything.”
“Good.” I leaned in. Mouth near his ear. “Because everything is what I need to feel alive.”
His grip on my wrists tightened. Bruising. His cock was pressed between us now, thick and hard and impossible to ignore.
“This is dangerous,” he said.
“I know.”
“I could hurt you.”
“You won't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you're too controlled. Too disciplined. Too afraid of making a mistake.” I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. Saw the war happening behind them. “So I'm going to make you make one.”
I rolled my hips forward. Deliberately. Pressed my cock against his. Felt him shudder.
“Stop,” he gritted out.
“You don't want me to stop.” I did it again. Slow grind that made his eyes darken. “You want me to keep going. Want me to push you until that control snaps. Until you stop thinking and start feeling.”
“You do not know what you are doing.”
“I know exactly what I'm doing.” My hand slid from his belt to his hip. Squeezed. “I'm showing you that I have power here too. That I'm not some helpless prince who needs saving. That I can make you lose control just as easily as you think you can control me.”
His hands released my wrists. Moved to my hips. Gripped hard enough to hurt.
For a second, I thought he'd push me away.
Instead, he pulled me closer. Yanked me against him so my cock ground against his through layers of fabric. Made us both gasp.
My hands found his hips, fingers digging in, pulling him tight, making sure he could feel just how hard I was. His hands clamped down on my waist in response, rough and unyielding, but I didn’t care. I wanted the fight. Wanted to see him unravel.
“You want to play this game?” His voice was lethal. “Fine. But understand that if I lose control, I will not be gentle. I will not besweet. I will take what I want and you will have no one to blame but yourself.”
“Promises, promises.”
His hand moved to my throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. Claiming. “You think you are in control. Think you are pushing my buttons to prove a point. But all you are doing is showing me how much you want this. How desperate you are to feel something other than trapped.”
“Maybe I am desperate.” My hips rolled against his, slow and filthy, grinding my cock into the hard line of his, making both of us groan. The friction was maddening—fabric dragging, heat building with every thrust. “Maybe I want you to lose control. Maybe I want to see what’s underneath all that ice.”
His eyes burned with something wild, something raw and dangerous. “You will not like what you find.”
