Page 68 of Prize of the Warlord
“His father the king sent your parents an apology of sorts,” the Warlord says. “You are not the first ally the Third Prince has offended. And apparently their kingdom is currently dealing with another threat. They have no desire to avenge Havil’s wounded pride.”
“And why didn’t my parents tell me of this?”
“You were indisposed for most of the day.”
“Oh. Of course.” As usual, my poor health made me miss out on something important.
“Are you better now?” There’s a heated roughness to the Warlord’s tone that sends tingly quivers along the crevice between my legs. His hips roll forward, pressing his hardness to my rear.
“I am much better,” I say, breathless.
“Well enough to play a game?”
I can barely inhale enough air to say, “Is it the game I’ve been wanting to play?”
“It is.” His face dips to the curve of my neck, and he inhales deeply. “What better way to celebrate peace between our peoples?” His thick lips press my skin, and I shiver with anticipation.
“I know this has been hard for you, all this talking and compromise,” I say. “Giving up your dream of conquest can’t have been easy.”
“It was easier than I expected.” He kisses along my skin, pushing my dress aside, off my shoulder. “Remember, I took you because I wanted a more peaceful route to my goals. Yes, I was ready to shed blood, but only because I saw no other way.” He cups my shoulders in both his huge hands, pulling me to his chest. “You showed me another way.”
The immensity of his hulking form behind me makes my heart stutter. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen, yet I crave it, too.
“The game,” the Warlord says, his tone husky with desire. “Are you ready?”
“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask, an echo of the day he took me out to the woods for “punishment.”
The Warlord turns me to face him, clutching my chin in his hand. His thumb pulls at my lower lip, sweeping along the inner edge, dragging against my teeth.
“Yes.” In the dark his eyes glitter, green and feral. “I am going to hurt you.”
“Good,” I whisper. “It’s about time.”
His fingers sweep around my hair, gathering it together. He wraps it around his hand once and gives my head a brief tug so that my face tips back, turned up to his. But he doesn’t kiss me—he only bends his huge frame, his lips hovering a scant finger’s-breadth from mine.
“Faen,” I hiss. “Kiss me, you bastard.”
His tongue flicks out, teasing my lips; but when they part for him, he withdraws, grinning. With his free hand he bunches up my skirts, reaching beneath them. Thick fingers dive into my underclothes, straight between my folds without warning.
“You’re soaked,” he murmurs. “Needy little mouse.” I lunge for his lips, but he tugs sharply on my hair. “Not yet.”
He dips a finger inside me, and I yelp. We’re outside, where anyone could see if they walk down the road. My heart rate speeds up, and my body inflames, tortured and trembling.
The Warlord takes his hand out of my clothing and pulls me along the path to the door of the cottage. He kicks it open and hustles me inside. There’s a low fire in the front room, but we don’t pause there. He drags me straight to a bedroom and flings me face-down onto a bed that smells like him.
I lie there on my stomach, frozen with eager shock. Behind me I can hear the Warlord unlacing his pants.
“I’ll pull out,” he promises me. “I won’t risk your health with a pregnancy.”
“I’ve been taking an herbal tonic for two weeks, just in case,” I tell him. “You can come inside me.”
He releases a long, shaky breath. Then, “Lift your sweet little rump for me, mouse.”
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Hot blood rushes to my cheeks as I lift my rear high for the Warlord. He pushes the skirts up around my waist and pulls down my underthings, exposing my naked bottom fully to him. A thick finger traces my folds, and he gives a deep, satisfied hum. “I have never seen a woman so wet for me.”
“How many have you been with?” I manage.
