Page 93 of To Charm a Dark Prince

She wondered how much she’d like them.

I’m learning so much about myself in Avalon.

His eyes flicked to her at her approach, but he said nothing. Reaching out, she ran her fingers through his hair, combing the strands, loving the feel of it in between her fingers.

His hand snapped around her wrist, the metal cinching tight as he squeezed.

She gasped.

Rusted, molten eyes met hers. What started off as anger, turned to confusion. She didn’t pull back. She didn’t fight. She simply stood there and watched him in return, in the flickering light of a fire that was too pale.

He didn’t speak. She didn’t either. She supposed neither of them needed to say a word. He let go of her hand, slowly, as if not believing she was really there. It was mutual.

Carefully, she moved closer, straddling his legs. She knelt on either side of him on the chair, and settled back to sit on his lap. Those burnished eyes of his flicked between hers, searchingly—wonderingly—almost in awe.

Running her hands through his hair again, she began to explore him. To touch him. God, he was so strong. The muscles of his shoulders as she stroked her hands over his chest felt like velvet over stone. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to sleep with a man like him—but damn it if there wasn’t only one way to find out.

Leaning in, she kissed him. Timid at first, unsure of herself, hoping he didn’t lash out suddenly and gut her like a fish. He sat there, unmoving. And for a moment she worried she had made a mistake. That maybe she had been wrong.

But then he was cradling her head in his hand, pulling her in closer to him, deepening the kiss. What had started off as her naive exploration had turned suddenly passionate—suddenlystarving.

She moaned against his lips, a little unsure of herself. Slowly, he broke away, and leaned his head back to put a few inches between them. He wanted her to see what he was doing as he began to unlace the bodice of her dress.

And God—plot or not, betrayal or not—she needed this so badly, she knew she couldn’t stop now. She’d go mad.

She sat back a little and let him use both hands to unlace her dress. She had opted not to wear the bloomers they wore for underwear. And now she was very glad she hadn’t. He pulled the dress and the chemise off over her head and tossed them aside, leaving her naked on his lap.

He exhaled as though she had punched him in the gut. She wanted to tease him, tell him that he’d already seen her naked—but the expression on his face left her silent. Something she didn’t dare name. Something she didn’t dare think about. Or else she knew she wouldn’t have the heart to betray him.

Watching her, waiting for her reaction, he trailed his gauntleted hands up her sides, stroking her.

She shivered, her skin breaking out in goosebumps. She shut her eyes, lost in the sensation of those pointed tips of his claws as they grazed over her.

He placed one hand against her back, supporting her weight as he leaned her back far enough that he could capture one of her nipples in his mouth. She bit back another moan, louder that time, as he teased the tender flesh.

Her hand tangled in his hair, she held onto him, needing to feel him. When he bit down on her—just enough to sting—she swallowed back a cry.

Chuckling, he kissed his way back up to her collarbone, along her throat, and then to her ear.

His hands fell to her waist and pulled her hips to his. That time, there was no holding back the noise she made as she felt the extent of his desire for her. Oh, no. Oh, hell.

He kissed her throat, running his tongue along her skin, before nibbling at the flesh there as he ran his hands over her back, up and down, caressing her ass and squeezing it before returning to wandering her. “This will be gentle.”

She shifted, unable to take her mind off what she felt pressing against her with only his pants between them. “What if I don’t want it to be?”

This wasn’t like her. This wasn’t what a good girl from Kansas did. And she honestly couldn’t care less. With him, even as his prisoner…she felt free.

Mordred growled. Her words were enough to seemingly send him over the edge. He stood, picking her up, and carried her in his arms to his bed. He placed her down on the sheets before pulling his shirt off over his head.

She watched, feeling nervous excitement twisting in her stomach as he kicked off his boots. When he stepped out of his pants, she knew she was in for it. The man was proportional. And way more than she had ever tangled with, in more ways than one. She pushed up onto her hands as he climbed onto the bed over her, seeking his lips with hers.

He kissed her like a starving man would devour a feast, his claws tangling in her hair as he suddenly fisted the strands and yanked her head back, stinging her scalp. When she gasped, he invaded her mouth with his tongue, conquering her.

He was a prince. He was a warlord.

No. She didn’t want it to be gentle.

She wanted tofeelthis.

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