Page 114 of The Prince's Curse

His head snapped up, and he rose up, lips glistening. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” she said, sliding back to watch him undress. Her world had turned upside down, and she no longer had a firm grasp on reality. Perhaps all of this was an elaborate masquerade, and perhaps she was doomed to die in the next week. Perhaps it was all a dream.

And since she could no longer be certain of anything, she trusted what was in front of her, what was pounding in her chest, pulsing between her legs, screaming his name.

She wanted Julian Alcott. She wanted him to fuck her into oblivion. She wanted to do nothing but feel for once, to experience nothing but pleasure. And she wanted him to feel it too; she didn’t want to be a weapon or a tool. She wanted to give him something that wasn’t pain or suffering.

He shucked off his pants, revealing those broad, powerful legs. That body was a warrior’s body, somehow incongruent with his tailored suits and sharp colors. He looked ancient somehow; not in his face, which was as smooth as a man of thirty-five if even that. But he reminded her of something old, sculpted by time, something that was unmoved by the forces moving against it, but rather a testament to his own strength. He was a marvel to look at, and she knew she would never find another man pleasing after seeing him.

His body slid along hers, so warm and solid, and she shivered when his hips rested against hers, his cock sliding against the slick flesh between her legs. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. “I think so,” she said. As he eased up, she caught his arm. “I don’t want to get pregnant. Do we need?—”

He laughed, cupping her cheek gently. “Not a concern for vampires. We can’t,” he said.

She nodded, heart thumping as he guided himself down to her. Fingers grazing over her skin sent shivers dancing up her spine, and she was nearly stunned by the realization that she had become so comfortable with him touching her this way, when just weeks ago she’d planned to kill him.

Slowly, he eased in, and she tensed. His big hand slid over her belly, up her thigh in a gentle caress.

“Just breathe. We’ll go slow,” he said. His eyebrows arched in a silent question, and she nodded, inhaling sharply as he slid into her, achingly unhurried. Her body tensed, and fear crept up in her mind as a burning pain ignited in her core.

She gasped, more in surprise, but he froze. “Did I hurt you?”

“I just need a second,” she breathed, shifting her hips beneath him. “I’ve just never felt this before.”

He lowered himself to kiss her neck, then teased across her lips. “Just tell me when you’re ready.” It seemed as if a light had ignited behind those lovely green eyes, wide and concerned. And he was smiling, his expression so soft and vulnerable. It was the way she had seen him in her dreams, when things were easy and gentle.

Her mind threatened to gallop away from her, thoughts racing. What if I die what if he hurts me what if this is all pointless what if?—

Deep breath. She traced the curve of his cheek, savoring the way he smiled, that stubbled plane fitting into her cupped hand. Mine, she thought, as he lowered his head to kiss her again, soft and tender.

Could this be hers? Not just the man, but the affection and the devotion? The family that surrounded him in a tangled, messy web of love and loyalty? She’d never dreamed of such a thing, and she wanted it, more than anything she’d ever wanted.

The pain had eased, and she was hungry for him. She gently pushed against his chest and said,“I’m ready.”

Ever so slowly and painstakingly gentle, he eased in. Her mind grew flooded with sensation, her nerves alight with the strange new experience. He met her gaze. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, claiming his mouth in a kiss. Slowly, he pulled back, then thrust into her slowly. The friction sent a shiver of heat through her, and she lifted her hips to meet him. “Oh, God,” she blurted. “Oh.”

“That’s it,” he said softly. He shifted, and suddenly his fingers moved to her clit, stroking expertly as he thrust into her. “I have a rule. You come first.”

“I’m not…I’m not complaining,” she bit out, hips surging toward him. As she gazed up at him, some distant part of her thought, Are you really doing this? Are you fucking the vampire?

But now, that part of her felt foreign and strange. She stared up at him, and despite the unfamiliar—if delightful—sensation of him inside her, she felt as if she had been here before. Her dreams slammed into her fantasies and crashed into reality, and she felt as if she was curled up in front of a fire with the man she’d loved for years.She was finally in the one place that made sense.

He didn’t speak, but she heard his voice. I love you. You, Scarlett Ward.

He didn’t say it, but she heard this too: Not her. I love you for who you are.

Her eyes stung, and she held him tight, driving her hips up to him as the pleasure wound tighter and tighter. The pressure grew, demanding a release, and when he sealed his lips to hers, she inhaled sharply and crested, her body tensing. She clenched around him, that girth filling the void between her thighs, and she let out a cry of pleasure, back arching, rising up.

And he did not stop, did not relent. With a low, dark chuckle, he said, “That’s it. That’s my girl. Ride it out, love.” And he drove into her still, drawing out the pleasure, which did not stop with that crystalline moment like before, but stretched out until her chest ached, until she remembered that she had to breathe.

And still, he did not stop. When her legs trembled out of her control, he sat back, hiked her thighs up around his waist, and said, “I’ve got you. I promise.”

I promise.

It was not the promise I’ll save you, not the one she wanted. But somehow, it was better. It was real. His promise was I will never give up on you. I am here and I am real. I am yours and only yours.

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