Page 52 of Crown of Roses
“Yes.” She prayed to the goddess she hadn’t made a mistake. “But don’t be cruel.”
“Never.” He let his palms trail up over her hips and along her ribs. “Can I kiss you?”
“Now?” He wanted to kiss her. Maeve’s stomach flipped when he nodded and she shivered in his arms. “Here?”
He bent down so his forehead barely pressed against hers. His mouth was so close, she could almost taste it. “Say yes, Princess.”
“Yes.”
When he kissed her, it was a sweet press of the lips. Testing. Tasting. He was cautious. Careful. Deliberately taking his time. But she didn’t want to be treated like she was a fragile piece of crystal, like she would shatter at any moment. She raked her fingers through his silky hair and held on. They fused together, and their tongues clashed, deepening the kiss. Bolts of heat exploded inside her, until every muscle quivered and hummed with electric energy. Her blood pulsed, and the magic in her veins ebbed and flowed like some intoxicating dance. Everywhere he touched set her skin aflame, until she realized needing him, wanting him, was like trying to catch wildfire. Reckless and impossible.
She let her hands wander over his chest, and when she touched the rugged, harsh edges and lines of his scars, he froze.
“It’s okay.” Her breathy whisper filled the thin space between them. It lingered in the air like an unanswered question. An unspoken request. The admission of trust.
Rowan hitched one arm around her waist and shoved all the books onto the floor. He eased her back, cradling her head with his hand, and she arched up to greet him, desperate for him. Liquid heat pooled between her legs and she locked her ankles tighter around him, urging him closer until she swallowed his groan of desire with her mouth. His free hand glided up and over her thigh, over the sheath holding her Aurastone, and higher still until the pads of his fingers hesitated. She squirmed beneath him and angled her hips up, but he refused to move, and kept his fingers pressed against the heated skin of her thigh. Teasing. Tormenting.
Maeve opened her mouth to speak, to say something, perhaps even beg, but then his mouth swept over hers. Back and forth. Testing. Tasting. He was velvet, dark and delicious, and all the things she shouldn’t want. Every nerve inside of her sparked to life, fueled by his touch, by the smooth caress of his hand. Cautiously, she wove her arms around his neck, stifling the space between them. He stilled. Waited for her, to see what she would do next. She drew him closer to her, and when their mouths met again, she sucked on his bottom lip, letting her teeth scrape lightly across his flesh. He crashed into her, drowning her like the frenzied sea. His tongue slid out, traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him. Her body spasmed against him, desperate for more, for everything he offered.
He cupped her ass through the fabric of her gown, and dragged her to the edge of the table.
Rowan nudged his knee in between her thighs, gathered her against him, swallowing her gasp with a groan. Heat burned through her and her skin caught fire. She sank into him, into his arms, and into his kiss. His mouth moved to her neck, where he licked and left a trail of heat with his tongue, and a surge of tension swelled at her center. Waves of arousal washed over her and she arched again, exposing her throat, and the way her densely beaded gown rubbed against her was a torment to her pebbled nipples. Every brush sent another rush of desire crashing into her. She squeezed her thighs together, squeezed his leg between hers, and that was when she felt the hard, full length of him press into her. She wanted to reach for him. To grab him and take him in her hand. Her skin was hot, and prickling with need.
“Please, Rowan.” Maeve’s head fell back and his hot tongue swirled along her neck, then he lightly blew against the trail. She shuddered against him.
“Please what?” he murmured.
“Please touch me.” Her voice was a whimper, a pathetic plea to her own ears. But she didn’t care. She was lost in an otherworldly haze, a mesmerizing fog of finally knowing what it was like to be touched, to be coveted, to no longer be alone.
Rowan nuzzled her neck. “Where?”
“Anywhere.” She clenched her legs around him, dug her heels into his back. “Everywhere.”
His confident hands slid over her thighs, then higher still. She writhed against him, panting. He swiped his thumb over the bundle of nerves at her core and she nearly bucked off the table. Rowan reared back. “You’re not wearing any intimates.”
Maeve’s mouth twisted in distaste. “They were all lacy and silky bits of fabric. Honestly there was hardly anything to them, and they looked terribly uncomfortable.”
“Divine. Absolutely divine.” He grinned, then plunged two fingers into her wet heat and Maeve yelped. Her entire body spasmed and clenched around the intrusion.
Rowan jerked back. He soaked in her expression. “Fuck.” He withdrew his fingers and Maeve sucked in a gasp. “Fuck. You’re pure.”
“Yes, but I’m not a prude.” She latched onto his shoulders, fearful he’d stop whatever kind of pleasuring he’d been about to pursue. “I know how it works. I’ve read books, and some of the pictures were fairly graphic. I’m fully aware of what goes where, and how reproduction happens when you—”
He quieted her incessant talking with a kiss. “I should’ve been gentler.”
“Please don’t stop.” She was begging him. But for the first time she was experiencing something raw and wonderful, and it didn’t involve daggers and swords. “I just, I just need…”
“What do you need, Princess?”
“You. I need you, Rowan.”
“Let me make it all better for you.” He laid her back against the table, and lifted her knees, spreading her wide before him. He pebbled her inner thighs with kisses so hot, they scorched and seared. But when he lowered his head, Maeve bolted upright.
“What are you doing?” She propped herself up on her elbows and sucked in a breath.
He looked up from between her legs, one dark brow arched. “I’m making it all better.”
“With your mouth?”
