Page 89 of The Cornish Princess
Gwendolyn blinked. “Do what?”
“I should not say it, but I will… come with me, Gwendolyn,” he pleaded. “Forswear the crown and come to a place where no adversity may seek you.”
Gwendolyn laughed softly. “And where would that place be, Málik? If there is one thing I have learned, it is that there is adversity everywhere, always.”
“Not where I am from,” he said, and then, after a long, excruciating moment, when Gwendolyn did not push him away, he dared to press his lips over her own.
They were not warm, but hot—too hot to deny.
It drew Gwendolyn like a moth to flame, but where his mouth was soft and pliant, his teeth were not.
Somewhere in the fog of her brain, she understood these teeth represented danger, and yet not the sort she’d once supposed. Even knowing she should not, she dared to cling to him, pulling him nearer, greedy for the taste of his mouth.
Gods.
Aside from Prince Loc, she had never tasted a man like this before this, even despite that she had imagined herself kissing Málik just this way—full-mouthed, with lips pressed hungrily together, bodies melting into one another, as she sipped greedily from the nectar of his mouth.
His teeth, so sharp, dared to catch her lip, and he pricked it ever so gently, then lapped her thereafter. And on his tongue, Gwendolyn could taste the copper tang of her own blood.
She sensed his restraint in the grip of his hands about her upper arms, and hadn’t even realized he held her so firmly, until she felt him shudder… and… if she uttered a word… a single word… only “yes”… he would dive deeper into her mouth, to plunder its depths.
Tentatively, Gwendolyn offered him the tip of her tongue, and he suckled greedily, then offered his own, the trading of these forbidden caresses titillating but… prohibited.
Greedy for more, she dared to deepen the kiss, and some small noise escaped him that sounded suspiciously like a growl. Her body responded at once, as she longed for his hands to roam her body, but daren’t ask.
Thiswas how her body was supposed to hunger, like lovers coupling in the woods on a summer solstice, with the sweet scent of pollen heavy in the air.
Dearest gods…
Deep in Gwendolyn’s heart, when she imagined herself carrying a babe, her belly swollen with child, it was Málik’s she envisioned.
She didn’t know when this had changed, or if ever it did—perhaps she’d wanted Málik all along, only knowing in her heart this love was forbidden.
“Gwendolyn,” he rasped.
Gwendolyn’s heart hammered against her ribs, like a prisoner begging to be set free. She desperately wished to give herself to him, but… she was… promised.
It was Málik who tore himself away, staring expectantly through the shadows. “Gwendolyn,” he begged.
“I have a duty to Cornwall,” she said brokenly.
“You don’t love him,” he argued.
“Iwill,” she vowed. “For Cornwall, Iwilllove where I must.”
“I understand,” he said, and the look on his face was thoughtful.
Gwendolyn felt the need to explain. “I cannot deny what I feel for you, Málik, but I was born to serve my people, and I cannot fail them now. I am my father’s heir—his only heir—and I am duty-bound and promised by my word.”
“I understand,” he breathed. “I do.” And then he pulled her close again. “Sleep, Princess. The day has been long. Tomorrow will arrive too soon.”
ChapterThirty-Five
Gwendolyn opened her eyes, momentarily relieved to still be drawing breath, but then her belly roiled to find Málik gone, though she suspected he must have descended to ready the horses, and she calmed herself, knowing he wouldn’t have gone far.
He said he would not leave her, and she trusted him to do what he said.
Puffy white clouds sailed by on a watery firmament. Occasionally peering between them, a golden sun was busy at work, burning off the last traces of last night’s rain.
