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“I want you tofuckme, Sigurd.”
His eyes hood. “There’s that filthy mouth.”
I squeal as he takes me in his arms. His lips crash back against mine, hot and demanding, as he clutches my backside and lifts me to him. My legs wrap around him as best they can, and all that separates my needy core from him is the damp silk of my underwear.
I barely register anything other than him, his lips against mine, his breath in my lungs, and his caress that drives me wild. That is, until cool sheets press against my skin.
Sigurd lays me on the bed with care, staring down where I’m sprawled out before him.
He pulls his shirt over his head, ripping off a button or two in the process, and tosses it away. His boots follow. All the while, he never looks away from me. Finally, he grasps his silver crown and jerks it from his hair with a grimace. It’s tossed on a chair as if it’s worthless.
Clad in only his pants, he climbs onto the bed.
My pulse beats wildly in my throat. The last time I’d seen him shirtless was that horrible morning after our drinking game. I could barely see straight, much less appreciate the sight before me.
I do now.
All of him is a work of art—the hard, lean muscle, chiseled abs, and strong arms. A few thin scars add to his wild beauty. And that wicked one…
I trace a hand down the healed skin that dips into his waistband.
Sigurd sucks in a breath, his stomach tensing under my touch.
“This wound must have been horrible,” I say.
“It was. An attempt by an Unseelie to end my life long ago.” His expression hardens. “He paid for it with his.”
I swallow. Well, on a happier note…
I give his pants a tug.
“Mmm.” He grabs my hand and twines it with his against my pillow. “Not yet.”
“Si—”
He claims his name with his mouth. I cling to him as he lowers his weight onto me, the press of his cock hard and hot against my thigh.
Sigurd pulls back, a grimace on his face.
“What is it?” I graze his cheek.
“I can’t fuck you.”
“Why?” The fire within me dies. He may as well have slapped me or thrown me in the lake. I thought he wanted me. Iknowhe does.
His forehead leans on my shoulder, pinning me to the bed. But after his previous words, I’d rather be anywhere else. He exhales a deep breath.
A thought strikes me so hard my throat burns. “This is because of Evelyn, isn’t it? Because I’m not her.”
“No!” He jerks upright. “No, Wren. This has nothing to do with her, with any of that.” He cups my cheek. “The opposite.”
“Then why?” I want to scream, to tug at my hair.
“Because I’d mark you, Wren. I’d mark you so hard no one in my court would doubt how much I want you.”
Unwanted heat floods my face. “Mark me?”
“A fae mating bond. You want me, and I certainly want you. The magic of this world would bind us, mark us with a power that anyone, any fae, could feel.”
