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Suddenly, I’m sure I misjudged everything and made some terrible mistake. My belly twists itself in knots as I pull away.
And then his hands are on me, warm and coarse against the small of my back, pressing the beaded strands into my skin. His lips crash against mine in a kiss that steals my breath.
It’s all consuming, like a dying man who finally found water.
Sigurd’s tongue plays with mine, a game of conquest that neither of us wish to lose. His palm slides down to cup my backside and tug me closer. His other is in my hair, ruining the careful updo Uncle Mark commissioned, but I couldn’t care less.
There are no words, but we don’t need any. I want him, no matter what he’s done.
And he wants me, not for the woman he once loved and whose face I may bear. Nor for my humanity and whatever power that gives him. The way he groans against me, the slide of his hands along my form, and the glow of his eyes that I can see beyond my shut ones tell me everything.
My core thrums with need. I’d take him right here and now on this balcony, bared for all the night to see without a second thought.
His fingers trail down my neck and over my collarbone, sending a shiver across my skin. They settle over my necklace, tracing the pendant.
I groan as he pulls back and lean in for more, but he denies me.
“A bird,” he says. “As if you were fated for me.”
A wren. Such a funny name for a girl. I’d never truly liked it until tonight. Maybe I was meant to meet him long before I ever knew his world existed.
His fingers continue down, sliding over each beaded strand holding my dress together and caressing the sensitive skin between my breasts. My nipples pebble against the fabric.
I pull at his coat, urging him to shed it, to shed everything.
Sigurd dips his head to my neck. His breath heats my skin as he whispers, “What do you want, Wren?”
A kiss follows his words.
“I want you.”
“Mmm.” He licks at the pulse fluttering in my neck. “In what way?”
Sigurd shrugs out of the coat with my help. It falls with a heavy thud to the floor. His shirt crumbles in my fist.
“You know,” I say.
“Do I?” Slowly, carefully, he pulls a strap of the dress from my shoulder.
The buttons on his shirt stick. I can’t get them. With a huff of frustration, I reach for his waistband instead.
He pulls me close, confining my movements and trapping my hands. His mouth leaves my neck as he stares me down with searing intensity. “Do you want me to fuck you, Wren?”
“Yes.” Yes, that’s exactly what I want.
Sigurd grins as he slides the other strap down my shoulder. The loose sleeves puddle around my lower arms before sliding off. The dress goes loose. Night air tickles my heated skin as the beads and fabric drop to pool at my feet, leaving me bare other than my silken underwear.
His gaze locks on my exposed breasts. I make no move to hide them, just bite my lip, to keep from squirming.
“Say it,” his voice is hoarse. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
“I…”
He takes my hand and raises it to his lips, pressing a decadent kiss to my palm.
Moisture grows between my legs, and for a moment, I forget what he’s asked. “I want you.”
He drops my hand and steps back, raking me with his gaze. “You want me to…”
