Page 45 of A Witch and Her Dragon
I cross my arms. “That’s ridiculous. My grandfather—”
“Is the king,” Raelan says, cutting me off. “What do you think he’d say if you told him about us? About what we’ve done?”
“Well, he . . .” I trail off.
In truth, I’m not sure what Grandfather would do. He’s always told me that he wants me to carve my own path, to marry for love rather than duty. But does that leniency extend to members of his own guard? Would he truly allow it?
Feeling suddenly flustered, I glare up at Raelan and say, “There’s nothing to tell him about us. You kissed me. Twice. That’s it.”
Raelan tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “No,youkissedme. I’ll take no responsibility for that.”
An ember of defiance flares to life inside me. “You weren’t complaining about it last night,” I mumble with a shrug.
And though I don’t think he means to, Raelan lets out a low growl. It sends a shiver across my skin.
“You shouldn’t speak to me of last night,” he bites out.
“Why?” I challenge.
His jaw feathers again, and he finds my elbow once more. Though it may be my imagination, I think his hand is warmer now through the fabric of my long-sleeved dress. He leads me farther down the alley. It’s quieter here, a distance off the main road, and very few people even turn theirheads to regard us as they pass by, too absorbed in their own business to care.
“Because,” he growls, “I came very close to—” He clamps his jaw closed hard, huffing out a breath. I want so badly for him to finish that sentence, but he’s not even looking at me now. “We can’t let it happen again.”
“Is it because of...?” I nod toward his chain, with the burn visible just beneath the links.
Raelan sighs again. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so annoyed with me. Still, it comes nowhere close to how upset he was about Tristan.
“No. My pain has nothing to do with it.”
“Then what are you so afraid of?”
This forces him to meet my gaze. Now his dark eyes burn.
“You are the one who should be afraid. You saw my mother. Do you have no sense of self-preservation?”
“Of course I do.” A strand of hair drifts across my face, and I reach up to push it behind my ear, noting Raelan’s intake of breath as I do so. “But I... I trust you.”
Ralean scoffs and turns away, pacing a few steps from me, his back turned. His broad shoulders appear tight. “You shouldn’t.”
“Why?” I stand up straighter and lift my chin. “Give me one good reason.”
He whips around and crosses the alley to me in two wide steps. His chest forces me back, and I let out a small breath as he pushes me against the ivy-clad brick wall, his hands coming up on either side ofme so his arms cage me in. Against the whites of his eyes, his pupils are sharp again, having tightened into narrow lines. “Because you have no idea what I want to do to you.”
Again, I realize I should be afraid. But instead of wanting to cower back or run from him, I find myself getting warm, heat blossoming in my low belly and between my legs.
And I can’t stop myself from grabbing his tunic and pulling him closer, can’t resist the desire to press my mouth to his, even if it’s foolish—and potentially even dangerous, forbothof us.
Unlike yesterday in the castle corridor, when Raelan froze beneath my mouth, this time he responds immediately, his lips moving against mine without hesitation. He tastes of chocolate and strawberry, and his body puts off so much heat that it washes over me like a summer breeze, keeping me warm despite the chill in the air.
My fingers work their way down his tunic, to the waistband of his trousers. When they curl around the edge, Raelan lets out a trembling snarl, and he forces his weight against me, pushing me back into the wall and grinding his hardening length against my thigh.
I’ve kissed boys, have fooled around with them in darkened halls and firelit parlors, but I’ve never felt a man inside of me. And I know now, with certainty, that I want Raelan to be my first.
I kiss him hard and fast. My mouth finds his jaw, then his neck. Beneath my lips, his muscles strain, every inch of his body coiled tight as my touch trails across his skin. He smells slightly of the café, mixed with a pleasant muskinessthat’s distinctlyhim. It twines around me in the heat put off by his body, serving only to make me wetter, to make me want to wrap my legs around him and discover what it would feel like to have him buried inside me.
“Tell me,” I whisper against his skin, making goose bumps pebble along his throat beneath my breath.
“Tell you,” he grunts out, “what?”
