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“I respect you.” I folded my arms.
“My customs? Culture? Traditions?”
I twisted my lips together. I didn’t think it was the same thing. The parallel was a stretch. I had slighted his authority as Galona’s king multiple times, but how did that equal the way he made decisions without asking me?
“All right. I don’t agree with everything Galonian. I’ll admit that. But I do respect you, Damon. You, the person. What you’re thinking. Feeling. I don’t ignore it. I don’t try to rule your life like it’s a hobby.”
He clasped my hands between his. “Then, teach me. Show me. You’re not my hobby. Fuck, that’s the last thing I want you to think.”
It was another ploy to get me to stay, but this one was working. I felt the tension easing in my shoulders. The determination to run down the hall and find a state room to cry in until we made it to shore was suddenly gone.
“I want you to move into the palace, Molly, because I want you.” He traced the line of my jaw. “I want you every night. In my bed. Waking up next to me. I want to talk to you and drink coffee on the balcony. I want to find you buried in some classic novel in the library.” He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip. “Yes, I need you to be safe. But what I should have said is, I need you.”
I gasped. That resolve was gone. He had ripped it down and tore through it with his words.
I fell against him as his lips crushed mine. His hands tangled in my hair, dragging me toward his chest.
“Move in with me,” he whispered against my ear. “Will you?”
I nodded. My hands roamed over his tuxedo, looking for the space under his jacket. “Yes.” I breathed. “Yes.”
“Are you finished with dinner?” he asked.
“I think so.” I hadn’t eaten half of the first course. I was starving, but my total attention was on the gorgeous man in front of me.
“Good, because I’m going to take you back to the room. Unless you want me to fuck you here on the dining room table. Your choice, of course,” he teased.
My eyes lit with his. I breathed heavily. I pulled the edge of the gown up.
“Here,” I whispered.
“Fuck,” he growled. “You are serious.”
His hands wrapped around my waist, losing control. He kissed my neck. My throat. The fire from his lips blazing against my skin. I searched for his zipper, desperate to feel his cock in my hands.
He groaned when I freed it from his tux pants. I slid my hand over the silkiness of his skin.
He pulled me in for another kiss, setting me on the end of the dining table. My heels locked against his backside, hungry for him. Eager for his skin to singe mine as he took me in heated abandon.
His tongue lashed against mine as the rush consumed us. Damon’s cock pushed against my entrance and I welcomed his thrusts with tiny cries of pleasures.
It was dangerous. Someone could walk through those doors any minute. But we weren’t turning back. He rocked into me as we set sail on a new course.
“Yes,” I pleaded. “More.”
He plunged again, sending us over the edge. It was then I knew it was too late. Neither of us had thought through the consequences. His release filled me as he pumped deep inside my walls. He pressed his forehead to mine. Our bodies trying to find a natural breathing pattern, but it was impossible.
“I don’t want you to leave, Molly.”
“I don’t want to either.”
He reached for a napkin, handing it to me as I hopped from the table. The stickiness between my legs reminded me how careless we had been.
He kissed my hand, leading me back to my seat. “Should we finish dinner?” he asked. He didn’t seem to be alarmed we had forgone a condom, or had sex on the royal dining room table.
“I’m suddenly extremely hungry,” I joked. If he wasn’t going to worry about it, I wouldn’t let it ruin the evening.
He pushed the seat in underneath me. I reached for the champagne,
