Page 89 of The Artist and the Dragon

Bronwyn glanced over one shoulder just in time to see him pull a thin blade from one boot. “What—”

“You said rip it, and these buttons might take me all night.” He gestured to the back of the ridiculous dress. “I’m afraid I’m not that patient.”

Good. Neither was she.

Bronwyn held still while Malik used his sharp little blade to carefully slice off the long line of buttons. In moments, the dress loosened and fell to a puddle at her feet, leaving her in a corset and shift. He raised the blade again, but this time she stopped him. “These I like”—she gestured to herself—“and can get out of myself.”

He chuckled but stepped back.

Getting undressed in front of a man was … different. New. No matter how she ached for him and longed to have his body pressed against hers, revealing herself made her feel vulnerable in an entirely new way. And where she often wasn’t modest with her words and scorned some of society’s prudishness, in this, she was a blushing girl suddenly unsure of herself.

Malik had no such qualms and shed his own clothing with fervor.

With her shift still in place, Bronwyn halted. Her hands gripped the fabric, but she found herself unable to raise them.

“Look at me,” Malik ordered, voice low and gravelly.

She did, her heart skipping a beat, her gaze dipping to the proud erection between his legs. All thoughts vanished at the sight of him, everything but the desire to memorize every line of his body. He was a work of art himself—lean but muscular torso, narrow waist, a trail of dark hair that travelled down his abdomen to his cock. He stood with his legs spread, confident, secure in the powerful form he presented and happy to let her take in the sight.

“You don’t need to hide from me.” He advanced slowly, like a wolf stalking its prey. She let him, refusing to retreat even as his legs pressed up against hers and trapped her against the edge of the bed.

“I’m not hiding.” Yet, her voice held a little quiver.

His lips found the crook of her neck. “Have you done this before?” he asked against her skin.

She wanted to be bold, to say that of course she had, she was no mewling girl. But the truth was she hadn’t, and in the silence that followed, he seemed to settle into that knowledge. He licked at her pulse, then retreated, pupils flaring as he took her in.

“I’m honored that you are mine. All mine.” He cupped her cheek, smoothing his thumb along it. “I will endeavor to be worthy of you.” His hand dropped to grab a fistful of her shift. “But I would see you, all of you, if you will.”

The hunger in his gaze bolstered her confidence. She batted his hand away, grabbed her undergarment, and pulled it over her head before she could second-guess herself again. The air against her heated skin caused gooseflesh to break out and her nipples to pebble.

A groan rumbled deep in his throat. As his palm settled on her bare waist, the contact sent a new surge of heat straight to her core. He tugged her against him, and she let out a breathy whimper, her body tingling with unmet desire.

“I’m yours,” she promised. “All yours.”

They tumbled back onto the bed. No sooner had her back landed on the soft coverings than Malik rose up on his knees between her legs. He grabbed her hand and placed her palm against his pounding chest. “This is yours.” He led it down, across his sculpted abdomen to the rod between his legs. He wrapped her fingers gently around its silken length. The feel of it, ofhim, in her hands made her mouth go dry. “This is yours. All of me belongs only to you.”

She marveled at the feel of him, his flesh hard and soft all at once. A little bead of moisture gathered at the tip, and she slid her thumb over it, earning a hiss of pleasure from the man above her. He was glorious. But how in the name of the Goddess was she supposed to take all of him? The thought terrified and excited in equal measure.

“What was it you said?” she asked, looking into his eyes. “I shall endeavor to be worthy of you?”

A chuckle filled the air between them. Slipping from her grip, he leaned down over her, propped on his forearms. “You already are.”

Then his mouth collided with hers. This kiss wasn’t delicate or tentative, not like the press of his weight against her. This was hungry, ravenous. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, and she opened for him, relishing the flick of his tongue against hers.

Though she wound her arms around him, hands in his hair tugging him close, the weight and warmth of him lifted. With his lips still on hers, she loosed a small sound of frustration.

Bronwyn wiggled her hips and met the firm warmth of his hand as he palmed her mound. A gasp slipped from her as one finger slid down her seam.

“So wet for me,” Malik whispered against her lips.

She was. Embarrassingly so. Much more than any time she’d touched herself. Even more than after the night of Griffith’s party, when Malik had kissed her twice, once in the study and then in the carriage. She’d had to bring herself to climax twice to finally settle herself to sleep.

One finger slipped inside, stroking her within. That steady thrust and rub made something deep in her stomach blossom, a spiral sucking her down, down, down into the whirlpool of Malik. Finally, she was ready to dive in headfirst. A second finger joined the first, and she bucked against him, whimpering at the pleasure he wrung from her. His calloused thumb teased the nub between her legs and sent a jolt of lightning through her body. “Malik!”

He groaned, sucking her bottom lip between his. “Let go. Come for me.”

It wasn’t fair, to be so undone when they’d only just begun, but if Bronwyn had learned anything, it was that Malik never played fair.

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