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“Sorry if I woke you,” she whispers. “I woke up with your hair in my face, and when I moved it out of the way, it was so soft I couldn’t resist.”
I let my toying fingers descend to her bare abdomen. Her skin there is warm and responsive, inviting me to explore the slope of her hips and the dip of her navel. “Don’t ever say you’re sorry, especially not to me.”
I let my hand wander to the left, skimming her stomach. A stray thought occurs to me, then, as I imagine filling her sweet tummy with a baby.
An heir.
What the hell is wrong with me? A baby is the last thing anyone should bring into an arranged marriage. Exhibit A: the king and queen.
“The word ‘ever’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence,” she says. “Once you’re king and we divorce, there won’t be an ‘ever.’”
For a moment, I wonder if I hear regret in her voice. Regret over marrying me in the first place, or does she regret that this is not a happily ever after? Definitely the former. No one expects a happily ever after for me.
“That changes nothing. I still don’t want you apologizing to me.”
“That may be the first time I’ve ever heard a member of the royal family insist on no apologies. All everyone does is beg your pardon.”
It’s funny because it’s true. That’s precisely why I don’t want to hear apologies from her. Kala is not royal by blood, but she’s better than all of us.
My chuckling provokes a shiver from her. I can’t hold back the heated groan in response. I nuzzle my face between her breasts. Kala’s nails gently bite into my shoulders.
“Etienne,” she breathes.
I pause and lift my gaze, my eyes searching for hers in the dark. “Shall I stop or keep going?”
“For heaven’s sake, I want you to touch me so badly, Your Highness; I can’t see straight.”
I don’t bother fussing about the Your Highness thing because she’s only using it to get my attention. She has it.
“Kala,” I rasp, letting my face skim over her soft mounds. “I’ve been hard for hours. Days, even.”
My hand travels up her ribcage until it cups her soft, bare breast under her nightshirt. I move away and hike the shirt up, exposing her sensitive flesh to me. I can’t help myself: my mouth salivates as I take one pert nipple between my lips and suck, reveling in the sounds of her soft gasps. I swirl my tongue, suckling her tight peak while rolling the opposite nipple between my fingers.
I take as much of her into my mouth as I can, determined to know her and memorize every inch with my tongue.
“Etienne…Etienne, I need you…”
I pop her nipple out of my mouth. “You have me.” I almost say,always, but I stop myself. “Tell me what you want, Princess.”
She lets out a soft whimper of need and arcs her body off the mattress.
I skim one hand over the front of her shorts. “Here?”
“Yes…” she breathes.
I hook one finger into the elastic waistband of her shorts and tug downward, lower, and lower until soft curls tickle my knuckles.
“Please…”
My fingers slip between her folds, and what I find there nearly makes me come in my pajama trousers. My wife is wet and waiting for me.
“There…please…”
“Say my name again.”
“Etienne…”
The pitch of her voice rises as I explore deeper, finding her slippery clit and thumbing it.
