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‘Was this for your honeymoon night?’ he murmured.
‘Y-yes,’ she whispered back, her skin prickling into goose-bumps.
Did she imagine the brief darkening of his face before he peeled it off with such infinite care, so that in that moment she felt almost...treasured? Cherished. Zabrina’s heart clenched with something which felt unbearably poignant—as if she’d been given a glimpse of something which could never be hers. Something elusive and fragile and wonderful. Was this what love felt like? she found herself wondering wistfully. Until she reminded herself fiercely that love was irrelevant. Emotion was superficial and sensation was key to what was happening. So she turned her attention to the satin of his skin, and his deepening kisses indicated just how much she was pleasing him. The pace began to change and quicken. The air crackled with rising tension and musky desire. She felt him reach for protection, heard the rough tearing of foil before he stroked her thighs apart with beguiling fingers. And then he moved over her and she was lost.
Roman groaned as he entered her. She felt so tight. Tighter even than she had done on the train—or was that because he was so unbelievably turned on tonight? He thrust deep inside her honeyed flesh, taking her to the brink again and again, until she cried out his name in a ragged plea and he gave her what she wanted. What she needed. What he needed, too. And didn’t a distinctly primeval satisfaction wash over him as he heard her shudder out his name, so that he was forced to silence her frantic cries with another kiss? She was still spasming around him when he started coming himself and never had so much seed spilled from his loins before.
Afterwards, drained and empty, he felt the powerful beat of his heart as she lay slumped against his sweat-sheened shoulder, her own hair damp with exertion. He heard the sudden catch in her breathing and wondered if she was crying. And even though it was definitely not his style to probe a woman’s mood, he found himself doing it.
‘Zabrina?’
She shook her head as if she didn’t want to engage. ‘Shh,’ she said, the sound mimicking the very one he’d made earlier.
It was a get-out clause. An escape route. But surprisingly, Roman paid it no heed. He rolled on top of her again, smoothing the tousled tendrils of hair away from her flushed cheeks. Her eyes were closed as if she didn’t want to have this conversation, which would normally have suited him fine, but he found himself unable to ignore the sudden stab of his conscience.
‘Zabrina?’
Her lashes fluttered open and he found himself staring into forest-dark eyes.
‘I know,’ he said softly and nodded his head resolutely. ‘I know I was the first man for you. The only man. And I’m sorry I accused you of all those things.’
She drew back, her eyes wide. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s hard for me to understand myself.’
‘Well, try.’
He traced his forefinger along the tremble of her lips and resisted the urge to kiss them. ‘When I saw you waiting for me tonight, you looked so sweet and so nervous.’ He shrugged. ‘And so obviously out of your depth. You certainly weren’t behaving like an experienced woman of the world. Deep down, I realised that on the train, when you told me—only it was easier to think you weren’t. To paint you as someone who was wanton, and free.’
‘And why was that, Roman?’ she questioned softly.
He shook his head, afraid of what he might say, what he might reveal in an unguarded and totally irrelevant post-orgasmic moment. But he had been the one who had started all this, hadn’t he?
‘Because it would be easier to keep me at a distance?’ she guessed, when still he said nothing.
He furrowed his brow into a frown. He didn’t want her to be right, just as he didn’t want her to be this perceptive. But he wasn’t going to tell a lie. ‘Maybe,’ he admitted. ‘And maybe because it gave me permission to make love to you under the guise of another man. I should never have done that, Zabrina.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t,’ she said slowly. ‘But I wanted you to. I wanted it more than I can ever remember wanting anything.’
It was an unexpected display of candour, but to his surprise it didn’t repel him or make him want to run. The look in her eyes seemed to be beguiling him even more than before and Roman tensed. The atmosphere was getting claustrophobic and in danger of suffocating him if he wasn’t careful.
He swallowed. So what was he going to do about it?
He reached down to play with one of her nipples and felt himself grow hard as it puckered beneath his touch. He kissed her and guided her hand between his legs, biting back a moan of pleasure as she began to whisper featherlight fingertips up and down his aching shaft.
‘I want you to teach me,’ she said softly. ‘About the things you would like me to do.’
Already, he felt as if he could explode. ‘You don’t seem to need any advice from me. You’re doing just fine,’ he growled.
He had been about to show her how to pleasure him but it seemed that his princess was an instinctive expert where his body was concerned and a feeling of anticipation rippled over his body as he reached down and began to finger her in turn.
He closed his eyes.
Because this type of feeling he could cope with, but only this.
Maybe that was the only lesson he needed to teach her.
When Zabrina awoke, he had gone. She turned to look at the imprint of his head on the pillow and felt her heart give a wrench. Of course he had gone. That was the deal. He had crept from her bed under the velvety cloak of darkness, to slip back unnoticed through the palace corridors.
