Page 61 of Kings of Sherwood

A chuckle escapes my throat. Because in two seconds—core tight, feet flat, trap her left arm and hook her foot—I’m the one on top, pinning her wrists down.

“No,” I say. “But I’ll concede.”

She gasps when I kiss her, like she’s been in pain, waiting for it, and all I can think isyou have no fucking idea, Princess.The taste of her is so sweet and the feel of her just-damp body is so warm that it takes every ounce of my self-control not to come in my jeans like a fucking teenager. I fist up her hair, drag her into me.

The patio’s rough, scrapes against her legs, and I stop when she winces, but she pulls me back.

“It’ll heal,” she murmurs, eyes on mine. “I’m not made of glass, okay?”

By way of answer, I wrap a hand around her throat.

Her eyelashes flutter as I feel the skittering pace of her pulse against my fingers, the gentle wave of her swallow.

“You like that,” I say. Asking more than telling.

She nods, lip between her teeth. Just that makes my cock twitch, and I’m already uncomfortably hard. I flex my grip only barely tighter, and lean in so I’m right by her ear, my beard grazing her cheek. She smells like honeysuckle body wash and salt.

“You’re a good fighter, Princess,” I mutter in her ear. “But I need you to give up now.”

She nods, chin light against the crook of my thumb, and all at once I drop her from my grip as my other hand finds her shorts and rips them down her legs.

“Bend over.”

I pull back to see her looking at me, wanting but nervous, that perfect combination of vulnerable and bold that puts me right at my own edge.

“Bend over,” I repeat, teeth clenched. My hands are at my belt buckle, zipper, freeing myself.

“They’ll hear us,” she pants. Not an objection. More a warning.

I don’t answer. Just grab her shoulder, push her to the ground, and spin her so her back’s to me and I can wind my fingers deep into the silk of her hair. “Good,” I say, and pull.

I take her like an animal, because that’s what I am—that’s what she is, beautiful and wild and all pure fucking instinct as she grinds her hips against mine.

I want to fuck her until the day I die. Hell, I want to die fucking her.

My Princess.

A moan rips out of her her, and I know I’m not going to make it long.

“Come for me,” I mutter. “Now.”

She keens as she comes, a gorgeous fucking cry as her body pumps, rhythmic, around my cock, and it feels and sounds so primal she almost sends me with her. But I pull back, slow down. Teeth in her shoulder, fingertips rubbing her tits rosy and raw, just my slick tip inside her. And I’m almost, almost back in command of myself when I feel the brush of her touch at the base of my cock, her fingers feather-light where I’m grazing her entrance.

Then she moans again, and the last thread of my self-control snaps.

I roar into her, the force of my body slamming her almost flat to the ground and hot pulses firing so hard and fast I damn near pass out.

When the storm subsides and it’s quiet again, just a summer night and her sticky body clutched to mine, I draw back, panting.

Breathless.

And I don’t get out of breath easy.

She turns around, a little shaky, pushes hair behind her ear, and smiles.

“I. Win.”

I grunt a laugh. Grab her by the back of her neck and kiss her temple. “Beginner’s luck.”

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