Page 142 of Kneel Before Me

“What would it take?” he murmured, his mouth still against her throat. “Just tell me, and I will do it.”

She was silent for far too long. It was infuriating not knowing what she was thinking. He wished he could read her mind. Maximus could do nothing but smell her skin, breathing in her scent as if he needed it to survive. She smelled like the sea, crisp and fresh and sharp. Nothing about Daphne was subtle. Maximus was constantly overwhelmed by her, and this moment was no exception. He wanted to turn her around and press his lips to hers. He wanted to slide his hands under her dress and touch everything she would let him touch. If he had his way, he would fuck her right here on this horse. But he knew she wouldn’t let him do that. If resisting her was a way to get in her good graces, he would do it. As long as one day, she gave in. His patience would not last forever.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

He held her tighter. “I think you do know.”

She shook her head, and the motion made his cock fully hard. He should loosen his grip—make it so she wasn’t pressed against it. But he didn’t. He wanted her to feel it, to know the effect she had on him. Maximus needed her to feel what he couldn’t seem to say with words.

Daphne turned her head, angling her face so she was looking him straight in the eye. She held his gaze, her breath gently fanning his face. “Trust,” she said quietly. “I need to trust you first.”

Maximus processed her answer. “You don’t trust me?”

Again, silence. Only this time, he was watching her think about her answer. Her brow furrowed, a tiny line forming between her eyebrows.

“No.”

It didn’t surprise him, but it did disappoint him. He would have thought that she already trusted him. Perhaps he hadn’t been open enough with her; perhaps she did not understand how he felt. “Why not?”

“Because of our…arrangement.”

Now Maximus frowned. “What about it?”

“Anything you say to me is just to keep me around so you can anger your father.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? If I walk away, you’ll have to marry Constance.”

“Are you going to walk away?”

Daphne paused. It seemed like she was considering something. When her reply took too long, Maximus spoke.

“Everything I’ve said to you has been genuine.”

She was still looking him in the eye. Their lips were an inch apart.

“You can trust me, Daphne.”

She looked away.

He raised the hand that wasn’t on her waist, pulling her face back to his. “I mean it. I promise.”

Her eyes dropped to his lips. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I don’t.”

He could tell she didn’t believe him. And why should she? He had done nothing to prove himself to her—at least, not on a permanent level that she could count on. Maximus understood that it was not enough just to choose her for the dates. Unless Daphne won the entire competition, unless he proposed with the explicit intent of marrying her, she would not believe in their arrangement.

They stared at each other, the wind swirling around them. Eventually, Daphne whispered, “You’re hard.”

Of course he was. She could breathe on him, and he would get hard. It was embarrassing how much she affected him, yet he had no desire to hide himself from her. If she wanted to trust him, perhaps he had to be vulnerable.

“Can you blame me?” he whispered back.

When she didn’t answer, Maximus decided it was time to take action. They’d done everything else, he realized. She’d been naked in front of him; he’d been naked in front of her. She’d touched herself while he’d watched, and he’d done the same. But Maximus had yet to touch her. Technically, he still wasn’t doing so. There was a layer of fabric between them, and as much as he wanted to rip her dress aside, he resisted. It was far too cold for that anyway. Instead he slid his hand slowly down her waist until it rested on her thighs. They were on a horse; her legs were already open, making it easy to dip his hand between them, moving slowly so she had a chance to push him away. She didn’t. His fingers rested just above her center. Another inch, and he’d be pressing against her clitoris. Again, he waited. Daphne’s head was still turned to his, her back firmly against his chest. It was now or never. Maximus dipped his fingers even lower.

The moment he touched her, she bit her lip. If that wasn’t a universal sign of pleasure, he didn’t know what was. He moved his fingers in a steady rhythm, first up and down then back and forth, touching her assertively so that she felt it through her dress. And feel it she did. He could tell by the way her spine arched, by the small moan that escaped the back of her throat. Maximus had never before been so turned on from something that wasn’t even skin-on-skin.