Page 27 of Princess Bride Swap

“You would be surprised,” he said, each word a scrape against the thinnest wall of control he maintained. “The things I want. The things I like. Not suitable for the prince I am, but there all the same.”

He managed to unclench his hands, detangle them from her hair. He meant to step back. Surely she’d learned her lesson now.

But she reached out, fisted her own hands in his shirt, and held him close.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BEAUHADNOTmeant to call him an idiot. She had not meant to fight with him. That was not the way a dutiful princess acted.

But if this was the punishment, perhaps she’d fight with him all the time. If the way he kissed her was unsuitable but made her feel alive—for perhaps the first timeever—then maybe she wanted all that unsuitable punishment.

She looked at him, hands fisted in his shirt so he did not walk away, and saw something in his eyes she didn’t understand, but wanted to. Something in his expression she wanted to soothe. But not with sweet words or gentle touches. She wanted this wild thing he offered.

Because she’d never had wild. She’d never been able to follow an impulse. She had lived in shadows and corners and locked rooms.

Now she had...freedom, and she wanted the recklessness that came with it.

She pulled him closer, so that he had to bend down, then she put her mouth to his ear. “Show me.”

He made a sound, something she could only describe as a growl. An electric thrill went through her bloodstream at it. At him reaching out once more. With one hard yank, he pulled her pants over her hips, let them fall to the ground. Then he reached out and simplyrippedthe underwear from her body.

Her breath came out in a gasp. A wild thrill swept through her. This,thiswas that wildness she’d seen in him. A hint of it.Leashedas he said. And maybe she should be afraid of that beingunleashed. Certainly she should be.

Instead, she was intrigued.

Instead, she wanted to see where it all led.

Then he cupped her. His big, rough hand on the most sensitive, vulnerable part of her. With no warning, no preamble, his finger slid deep inside.

She wasn’t sure of the sound she made, some kind of keening whimper, while he hissed out a breath that seemed to explode inside of her, like a match to friction. He stroked her, slow but seeming to unerringly find just the spot to turn everything into flame.

“Little Beaugonia, so ripe and sweet.” He was touching her, doing miraculous things that made pleasure wave through her, build into something tense and needy. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. But you want it, don’t you?”

She couldn’t form words. Her blood seemed to run hot in her veins, her breasts heavy and sensitive. She wanted to fidget, but he didn’t let her. She wanted whatever her body was building itself up to, but he didn’t let her.

He pulled away. Not the way he had before though. No, instead of that detached, cold look in his eyes, they were alight with fire. His mouth a sensuous curve, full of dark amusement.

He pulled the sweater off of her, then his hands were on her waist and he lifted her, set her on the counter island.

The wild pirate she’d always known was lurking under all those chains. And now he was hers. He would behers.

He jerked her bra down, not off. So her breasts were bared, but not free. He brushed a thumb across her nipple, eliciting another gasp from her, the pleasure shocking because how could there be more? His expression went wicked, and he brushed his thumb, back and forth. Until she was squirming. Until she felt...mindless, desperate. She wanted his hands back on her. She wantedhiminside of her because it felt like that would only ever be the cure to all this need.

“Lyon,” she said breathlessly. Needing...needing...

“Yes, I like the way you say my name. Like you’re begging. I’d like to hear you beg, Beaugonia. Beg and beg and beg.”

Beg. She did not beg. She didnot...and yet. All those old determinations she’d always believed of herself seemed so weak in the face of how close she was to some unknown pleasure, some great, big feelingjustout of reach. The kind of thing she couldn’t have brought herself.

It could only come from him.

“Lyon, please.”

His laugh was dark, cutting.Perfect, because it rumbled through her like its own touch. Then his big hands slid up her thighs, then pulled her legs apart. So she was completely bared to him. On the kitchen counter. He pulled her to the edge, his expression dark and feral.

“My banquet. My feast. Do you taste as sweet as you look?” They were shocking words. Everything about this wasshocking, and yet... She liked it. The wild rush of it. How she knew she should feel some kind of shame, but she only wanted more.

Then she had it, when he dipped his head between her legs. His big hands holding her thighs wide. His dark head at the most sensitive part of her. The chaotic thrall of sensation whirling through her as he tasted her, devoured her like a feast. She could scarcely catch her breath.

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