Page 81 of To Charm a Dark Prince

She did.

But she’d never felt anything like that before. Never once in her life. Her boyfriend had always been sweet and gentle, not…not like this. Not a literal force of nature. Mordred snarled in his throat at the sound she made, his tongue flicking at her lips.

She parted them. She let him in. She let him devour her. His hands released her wrists to let her drape her arms over his shoulders, no longer trying to push him away.

When he pressed his hips to hers, miming what he clearly wished to do to her, she gasped.

He finally broke the kiss, his lips wandering to her ear. “I will not take you. I want you to climb into my bed by your own choice. I want your own need to consume you. But once you do, my sweet firefly…I want you to understand what will be waiting for you.” He pressed his hips to her again, harder than before.

It drew another quiet, shy moan from her lips. Her eyes were shut, lost in the sensation of him. She wanted it—wanted him. Wanted the feeling of being entirelydestroyedby someone of his size and strength. She didn’t know what that said about her. Probably nothing good. It certainly was all new information to her.

He chuckled, and kissed her cheek close to her earlobe. He stepped away. Once he put her down and her feet were once more on the dirt, he turned and walked away, his armor melding back into his normal clothing.

Wait. He was justleaving?After all that?

“What about the—” She was still on fire, after all.

“I believe I have proven my point that the necklace is for your comfort, not mine.” And he was gone.

She slid down to the ground, sitting against the stone wall. Her legs felt like jelly. Burny jelly, but still jelly. Struggling to slow down her heart and steady her breathing, she leaned her head against the wall and tried to process what had just happened.

It was another ten minutes before she managed to calm down long enough to put out her fire. It was probably another five before she could stand up. And holyshitshe was bruised up again. She cringed and looked down at the cut on her arm. A line of blood had reached her elbow. It wasn’t bad—it didn’t need stitches—but it definitely should get bandaged up.

That gave her something to focus on that wasn’t, well, Mordred. And the fact that he was an enormous asshole. And the fact that if he had tried to go all the way with her right there, she’d have absolutely let him.

Nope. She was not going to think about that. She was not going to think about that at all. Nope, she was going to focus on the fact that she needed to find some rubbing alcohol—if they even had that kind of thing in Avalon—and a bandage.

She knew where she had to go to probably find both of those things. And with a long-suffering sigh, she knew what she had to do. She had to go to the kitchen. And deal with the fussing of Maewenn, the cook, for how battered up she was again.

Fuck my life.

* * *

Mordred had made a mistake. He knew he had. In fact, he knew he had made several. But it had not stopped him. Nor would it likely deter him from following this new path wherever it might lead.

He sat in his study, his elbows on his steel table, his head in his hands. This was all going to get him into a great deal of trouble. He was inviting the girl to betray him—to work with the others to destroy the Crystal and set the magic of Avalon free again.

He had opened the door for her and was leaving it up to her whether or not she walked through it. Why?Why?This had now become self-destructive to the verge of madness. Perhaps Percival was right. Perhaps he had decided to end it all at the hands of a young woman with power she was only scratching at the surface of.

But by the Ancients. Watching her scramble away from him. The fear in those blazing eyes. The feeling of her body against his, the heat of it—the taste of the fire as he had kissed her. As she hadsurrenderedto him.

He had been helpless. Utterly helpless. She might be his prisoner, but he did not think she understood that he was the one on the leash, not she. What had started off as an attempt to teach the lady her place had ended with him nearly ready to rip off her chainmail skirt and show her precisely how little her fire could injure him.

Would he risk letting her destroy all that he had worked for, just for the chance for her to climb into his bed?

Yes.

It seemed he would.

And he wondered if she had not suddenly burned the brain from out his head during their brawl. Why could he not bring himself to do what needed to be done? Why could he not just have his way with her—which would be willing, if her reticent and uncertain reactions to him were anything to judge—and be done with it? Or put her in the Crystal and leave her there with all the others?

Why?

Why was he being such a fool?

There was only one answer. Only one.

Standing with a shout of rage, he threw his steel table, sending the object hurtling through the air and crashing against the wall. The answer would spell his downfall. It would spell the downfall of all Avalon. It made no sense. It should notbe.But there it was. Staring at him in the face.

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