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“My innocence or our marriage?” she asked, though it took her a moment to track what he was saying when she was far too caught up in the thunder. The fury.
His voice was a lash. “Pick one.”
“I never had the luxury of being innocent,” Melody told him. She concentrated on her stance. Feet on the ground, knees soft, hands loose at her sides. “Not in my father’s house. He didn’t get to be the King of Tabloid Filth by prizing purity. But there are different ways to lose innocence, aren’t there?”
“I am primarily concerned with one.”
Melody sighed. “No, despite training like this since I was very small, I am still in possession of a hymen and the virginity to match. A treasure beyond all others, or so I have been led to believe. Though I should say that this is mostly by default.”
“Default?”
“I will confess to you, Your Royal Highness, that had I been given the opportunity or permitted the company of men, I would have handed off my precious treasure long ago. Sex always sounded far more interesting than random hoarding.”
She heard what sounded almost like another laugh, as if he couldn’t believe she’d said that. “Tell me—what did you hope to gain by pretending you were a fragile thing I might break if I looked at you directly?”
The exhilaration in her burned hotter. “I thought we covered this already. Beauty and the Beast, of course. Everybody loves a fairy tale. Particularly with sad little virgins, for some reason.” She shrugged, too aware of his scrutiny. Her skin felt stretched tight and far too hot. “I’m afraid I don’t make these rules.”
“Did you really believe that I would fall for this?” That sounded rougher. Darker. “For the rest of our natural lives?”
Had she believed that? The truth was, Melody could hardly recall her life before this. Before him. Marrying him had changed everything. It had liberated her from her parents’ house. It had opened up her world—even if, regrettably, it had mostly been opened to poisonous society types and tedious stately dinners. It had taught her that she, too, could yearn not only for concepts like freedom but for one very specific man. His flesh. His mouth.Him.
She hadn’t known any of that when she’d walked down that aisle. How could she have?
And more, how could she have imagined thisneedinside her—that made her want nothing more than to tear aside the pretense and show him who she was, no matter what happened?
Calista has always told you that you were reckless, Melody reminded herself.Apparently she was right.
“It isn’t about what I believed,” Melody said. Carefully. She tracked him as he came back around to face her once more, seething and furious and deliciously male. “It’s what you wanted to believe. I’m not the one who needs this fairy tale, Griffin. You do.”
“Haven’t you heard?” And he was even closer then. He was sobig, the blaze of his temper so hot, that she could sense a kind of humming in what scant inches he’d left between them. She could feel that humming inside her, marking her, thrilling her, making her tremble. “There are fairy tales to go around in Idylla these days. The King has made it so. No one will pay the slightest bit of attention if this one turns out a little tarnished.”
His hand came to her nape, tugging her head to his.
And then—at last—his mouth came down on hers.
Claiming her.
Possessing her.
Taking the storm that raged around them and pouring it into her, then making it worse. Or better. Or both at once, leaving her spinning even as she clutched at his shirt to keep herself upright.
Because his kiss was an onslaught. A form of attack. Melody knew that.
But she thought she might die if he stopped.
He kissed her and he kissed her, and the way he plundered her mouth bore no resemblance to those kisses in the courtyard.
She shook, and this time out of a different kind of fear. She wasn’t afraid of him. But he was...unleashed. And despite all her talk, she had no idea if she could handle all the raw power and sensuality that poured out of him, and into her.
No matter how much she wanted exactly that.
Melody was wearing loose workout pants and a close-fitting T-shirt, because she and Fen had agreed that there was no point raising suspicions by bringing any actual, formal gear. And it had been so interesting to train like that, in light, stretchy fabrics that allowed her a different understanding of the things her body could do.
And now, that same performance fabric offered no barrier whatsoever to the man who lifted her up, held her high against his chest, and then pulled her legs around his waist to settle her there. Wrapped around him like the vines that circled the columns in her parents’ atrium.
Never once lifting his mouth from hers.
For long, desperate, drugging moments, it was like a battle. Melody fought him, though she hardly knew why. Only that she liked the familiarity of a fight. And she wanted to get closer. Deeper. Wilder.
