Page 92 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

She glanced down and her eyes widened, and he felt a bolt of pure, male satisfaction go through him. Her fingers stroked, a gentle maddening pressure, and he lost patience.

‘Stop playing,’ he ordered roughly, pulling her hands away. ‘I want you now.’

She didn’t protest as he gripped her hip, positioning her, then, with his other hand, he guided himself into her tight, wet heat, both of them going still, their breathing harsh and fast as she slowly settled down on him.

Wren looked at him, her eyes glowing. It made her look luminous, his glittering star fallen to earth. His little bird. She reached for him, cupping his face between her palms, leaning into him, the brush of her bare breasts against his chest leaving streaks of heat everywhere.

He gripped her hips, holding onto her, keeping her exactly where he wanted her to be as he gazed back. She’d called him beautiful, but she was the beautiful one. He’d thought so from the first moment he’d seen her.

‘I fantasised about you, too,’ he murmured, pressing her down even as he began to move. ‘It was wrong, but I couldn’t stop it.’

She gasped as he thrust up into her, his hips finding a rhythm, guided by the pleasure that glowed hotter and hotter in her eyes. ‘You were beautiful, too,’ he said roughly, the tight feel of her around him slowly driving him mad. ‘Everything about you is perfect.’

Her hands rested on his chest, her gaze pinned to his as he guided the movement of her hips, showing her how to take him. ‘I’m sorry that your first time was on my desk,’ he added, softer this time. ‘It shouldn’t have been.’

‘I’m not sorry,’ she said huskily. ‘I’m not sorry at all.’

Perhaps she wasn’t. He could only see truth in her eyes, and it made that ache in his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t wholly to do with the sex.

Then pleasure began to build, hotter and higher, and he was moving faster, unable to look away from the ecstasy in her face, ecstasy she was feeling because of him. And in some dim recess of his brain, he was aware of deep surprise at that. He’d never been a person who seemed to bring anyone joy. Certainly he hadn’t ever made his parents happy. His father had despised him for what he saw as Isandro’s prudery, and his mother had ignored him. And he’d done nothing but hurt Carlotta.

You can’t hurt Wren, not any more.

No, he realised through the haze of pleasure. He couldn’t. From now on, Wren would know nothing but bliss at his hands. He would give her everything in his power to give in order to make her happy.

It’s not what she really needs, though.

But the thought was as insubstantial as smoke, and it slid away as he moved harder, faster, reaching for her to hold her close to him, his mouth on hers as he drove them both on to the edge of pleasure and then over the side of it.

She cried his name against his mouth as she came, her sex convulsing around his cock, and it didn’t take him long to follow her, holding her tight, burying his face in her long, silvery hair as the climax came for him too.

Then, he simply held her, breathing in her scent, relishing the softness and warmth of her skin. He would be content with this, he realised. She would be his for the rest of his life, she would be his only, and he would be content with it. He couldn’t imagine, for example, ever wanting anyone else right now.

You can’t afford to be complacent, though.

That was true enough. The strength of his desire for her had nearly ruined him, and he couldn’t ignore that. Control, even with her, was paramount.

Slowly, he pulled out of her, adjusting their positions so she was lying in his lap, against his chest, her hair falling softly over his bare skin. He could feel her cheek against his chest, her breath ghosting over him.

‘There,’ he said after a long moment. ‘Now we can talk.’

Wren lifted a hand, her fingers stroking over his bare skin. ‘Are you still going to insist that what I feel is sexual obsession?’

He glanced down at her, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear so he could see her face. ‘I don’t mind if it is,’ he said honestly. ‘In fact, I would even encourage it.’

‘If it were, I wouldn’t be lying here against you. I would have put my dress on and walked out.’

He traced the shell of her ear with one light finger. ‘Why would you have done that? You enjoyed this, didn’t you?’

‘Because love is about being with the other person,’ she said. ‘It’s sitting here with you, being with you in a way that isn’t only sexual.’

Well, that he understood. ‘Why do you think you love me?’ he asked idly. ‘What is it about me that you love?’

She turned her head so she could look up at him, her gaze searching his for long moments. ‘I love your mind,’ she said eventually. ‘I love how you think, and the ideas you have. They’re exciting and inspiring, and I love hearing you talk about them. I love how you care for your country and how being a good king matters to you. I love the way you smile at me, as if you’re happy to see me, and I love how you listen to me, as if what I say matters to you.’

The ache in his chest became unexpectedly painful, though he wasn’t sure why. ‘Surely you feel that way with lots of people,’ he said, wanting to minimise what she was saying for some reason. ‘I’m not the only one to smile at you, Wren.’

Again she was silent. Then she said, ‘I didn’t get many smiles from anyone when I was a kid. My mother abandoned me to go and be with my father, because he didn’t want me, and then I was lumped on my grandparents, and they didn’t want me either. I’ve been a burden to everyone who should matter to me, but you never treated me that way. Not once.’