Page 12 of Pregnant After One Forbidden Night

She was breathless before he began to release the braid.

When he loosened the last of its weave and brought his fingertips to her scalp to massage and shake her glorious mane free, she moaned.

The sound was a molten rod down the center of him, threatening to melt and combust at the same time, but his fingers kept their rhythm and she leaned in closer, her pebbled nipples grazing the fine blond hairs on his bare chest.

He couldn’t have her all the ways he wanted to, not like this, not in the library on her ever-shortening break, and the thought infuriated him. Made him want to steal her away for as long as it took to exorcise this strange demon she’d freed.

Her hair was magnificent. Long, flowing down to her waist at its longest point, it was so dark brown it was nearly black and shined like an heirloom sable. There was a wave to it, and standing there before him, her hair flowing around her, breasts free, nude but for her white lace panties, framed on both sides by the enormous stained-glass rose, he knew how man had felt upon his first sight of woman.

And at that moment, he realized he would be willing to follow this woman out of paradise and into the very depths of hell if she wanted him to.

She had the power of a destroyer.

It was his duty to worship her.

Dropping to his knees in front of her, he pulled the panties down over her hips and began to pray.

She tasted like peaches and fresh cream, slick, sweet and addictive.

In answering the question of how she tasted, instead of satisfaction, he only found the knowledge that hers was a flavor he wanted more of. Perhaps an endless supply.

On either side of him, her knees buckled, and he steadied her, his long, strong fingers digging into her firm thighs to the chorus of her stifled gasps and moans, her fist clenched in her mouth to muffle the noise she couldn’t quell.

In no time at all, she was cresting, tipping, falling into the abyss, her body desperate to melt, her legs full of electric jitters, her breathing ragged, even around her fist. But she remained upright, steadfast even in the face of the most pleasurable death.

His grin was wide. He would bring her to her knees.

But first, he would lift her up.

Coming to his feet, he tugged her left leg up his side, enjoying the silk caress of her thigh sliding along his body. He lifted her other leg quickly, carrying her weight easily, impatient now that he’d tasted her.

He wouldn’t have her standing, though.

He carried her to the scarlet settee and laid her down, captivated by her utter refusal to look away.

Eye to eye, she let him see her every response. Such openness, such intense vulnerability, made his skin feel stretched and tight.

Without words, her eyes told him that she trusted him.

A raw, rejected thing in him snarled in the face of that trust, was tempted to warn her away, even as he laid her back with the utmost care. That was the kind of naivete that got one in trouble.

She believed in him. She accepted the unfamiliar and overwhelming energy that flared between them every time his skin made contact with hers, trusted it to keep her safe.

He, at least, now knew enough to recognize the energy for what it was—folly.

He had been wrong about seducing her.

He realized it as his hand fisted in her hair, releasing its aroma as if he’d crushed the petals of a bouquet instead of angled her chin upward to feast on her neck, covering her with his kiss.

They were where they were, and there was no going back, but he should never have tried to taste her. He realized that now.

He should have excused himself from the king’s presence and left the gala immediately.

Like with every great tragedy, hubris had led him to this downfall. Rather than sating his curiosity, his sample of her had him addicted.

But it was too late to turn back now.

Too late, as his hand trailed down her neck and chest, stopping only to cradle and adore the full globe of her breast before continuing on its silken exploration, destined for the sensitive bud at the top of her center.

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