Page 28 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

“All of it is off-limits,” I managed, though part of me screamed in protest.

“And you onme?” he murmured, leaning in. “Do you likewise forbid yourself from ever putting those clever hands anywhere I might enjoy them?”

The question made my skin burn. “I have no intention of touching you more than necessary.”

He lounged back, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. “We’ll see.”

Gods, his arrogance was maddening. I tried to refocus. “So you agree to these terms?”

“I do,” he said, “but with one condition of my own.” His gaze went dark.

My stomach knotted. “And that is?”

“A kiss.”

I blinked. “A kiss? You just had one at the ceremony.”

“That was for the crowd,” he murmured, eyes roving over me with undisguised hunger. “I want one forme. To seal our new arrangement.”

Heat flooded my face. “That’s hardly necessary.”

“All’s fair in love and war, or whatnot.”

“This is neither.” I tried to ignore how my heart hammered against my ribs.

“How do you know?”

I weighed my options. I could refuse and potentially lose the other concessions I’d negotiated, or I could agree to one kiss—just one—and secure the rest of my demands. It was a simple calculation.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

“Fine,” I said, lifting my chin. “Then we’re done negotiating.”

His pupils dilated, amusement tugging at his mouth. “Agreed.”

For a moment, nothing happened. The tension built until I thought my knees would give out. “Well?” I demanded. “Get it over with.”

He slid a hand along my face with disarming gentleness, and a quick flutter in my chest robbed me of breath. The touch was so unlike the rough claiming I’d expected that I leaned into it before I could stop myself. Then he brushed his mouth against mine, once… twice. Teasing, testing. The tenderness disarmed me more than any aggression could have.

His hand slipped around my waist, pulling me against him. The kiss deepened, turning from a question into an undeniable demand. Where our wedding kiss had sparked, this one ignited. I gasped, letting him part my lips. His tongue teased mine, and I tasted wine and heat, my head swimming. I found myself responding before common sense could reassert itself, my hands fisting in his coat.

A soft noise rumbled in his chest when I returned his kiss, and his body pressed mine to the curving stairwell wall. I was too aware of my own heartbeat, throbbing everywhere we touched. This kiss felt…devouring, as if he was promising me he’d claim far more than my mouth one day.

AnI’m-going-to-fuck-you-one-daykiss that left no room for misinterpretation.

At last, he pulled back. We were both breathing raggedly. His eyes were dark and fierce, and color tinted his sharp cheekbones. “There,” he said, his voice hoarse. “That seals it.”

I struggled to keep my face stoic, hating how my body hummed with unfulfilled desire. “Completely unnecessary,” I managed.

“Maybe.” His thumb brushed my lower lip, but I turned my head to the side, fighting the urge to pull him back to me. Aftera beat, he stepped back, though I still felt the hot press of his gaze. “You asked for distance. I’ll respect it.” He paused, letting the promise hang. “But if you everrequestmy touch again… I’ll deliver it with interest.”

My pulse pounded, and I cursed the traitorous wave of heat between my thighs. “I truly hate you,” I whispered, voice still unsteady.

Kazimir actually smiled then—brief, brilliant, transforming his features in a way that stole my next breath. “Good. Hate is a potent form of passion, Lady Blackrose. I look forward to where it might lead.”

We continued our ascent in oppressive silence, my stomach twisting with each step. I tried not to let even my sleeve brush him, unwilling to concede any more ground. At the top, we reached a heavy wooden door pressed into the stone. Kazimir laid his palm against it, and I felt a pulse of magic dissolve the wards. The door swung open into his chambers.

I half expected a throne of skulls or a bloodstained altar. Instead, it was all polished stone, dark drapes, an ornately carved bed, comfortable seating near a large fireplace, and musty books piled everywhere. One meager flourish of villainy caught my eye: a weight that looked suspiciously like finger bones holding down a scroll on his desk.

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