Page 16 of Pregnant at the Palace Altar

But he hadn’t looked twice at another woman since and had not allowed himself to ask why that might be. Why she was not interchangeable with any other woman who might share his bed. Why he missed her voice crisply correcting him on something or another.

Or moaning out his name.

He stood and she looked up at him, flushed and dazed and so wholly perfect in every way. “But...how...”

He did not carehow, only that he was inside her. He got onto the bed with her, then maneuvered her on top of him, naked and wanton, while he still wore his pants, though she’d disposed of his shirt.

She fumbled with the button on his slacks but did not make it to the zipper because he needed something from her first. He did not seek to understand why. He just wanted it, so he would demand it.

He was the king.

The whys did not matter.

He clamped his hands over her wrists before she could succeed in unzipping his pants. “Say it.”

Misty green eyes met his. “Say what?” she returned, breathless and flushed.

“You know what I want to hear, Katerina.”

She swallowed. She was straddling him, needy for him, and yet there was hesitation in her eyes. Not over the act, no. She wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. And he was so lost he might capitulate without getting what he desired.

Impossible.

“Please,” she said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. “My king.”

He freed himself from his pants, not waiting for her to do it. Not waiting for her to sheath herself on him. The position, the place did not matter—the need was the same and all-encompassing. He took control and moved inside her, enjoying the exquisite, inexorable fit.

She was his perfection. She was meant for this and for him. He could not give her or himself everything, but he would give them this.

His hands slid up her thighs, to rest at her hips. He guided her in the rhythm he wanted, needed. Her head fell back as she lost herself in the pleasure of their bodies meeting.

She sobbed his name as she shattered around him, over and over again, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her skin flushed with exertion and pleasure. She was art, and everything centered on her. Even as his blood roared in his ears, as the spiking flame of need threatened to explode, he waited. He moved, he absorbed, and hewaitedfor that one thing he desired.

“My king,” she rasped once more, sending him over the edge with her.

Katerina did not know what had come over her, but this was not a new feeling. She’d felt the same that night months ago, in the aftermath of reckless pleasure—she did not know who that woman was. It was a stranger who’d taken over her body, who had enjoyed a man she knew would never give her what she wanted.

She should hate that stranger who was so weak, but she felt too good. Warm and sated. Comfortable and content. A future did not matter in the present of satisfied need. Oh, this was very bad. Because Diamandis no doubt saw this as a win, but...

Well, she’d won too. If only temporarily.

She turned her head to look at him, expecting to see the same sort of reaction she’d seen on him in his office—a slow, dawning horror at his loss of control, a stiff, detached mask as he withdrew, which made it very clear what a mistake they’d made.

But he did not look stiff in the here and now. He did not move to straighten his clothes or make a careful, dignified retreat.

He lounged there in her bed, looking quite content, arms thrown back behind his head, showcasing all that muscle she’d just enjoyed. But it wasn’t the sleek lines, the rangy body, the way every masculine part of him made her heart beat triple-time. It was the expression on his face.

She could not call anything about Diamandis soft, but there was a relaxed air to him that went deeper than just sexual satisfaction. He looked...content.

Her heart ached. When had she ever seen him enjoy any sliver of contentment? It was very rare. She could count the times on one hand, and those moments never lasted more than a few seconds because he felt he was under constant scrutiny, and any hint at enjoyment sent thewrongmessage.

She still remembered the first time he’d truly smiled in her presence. She had been frustrated with another one of his diatribes on tradition and propriety. She had picked up a dark, shriveled pebble from the grounds and handed it to him.

Here. I think you lost your soul.

He had looked at the rock, and then his mouth had curved. For a moment, true humor had danced there.

This was the problem with Diamandis. Even as he was taking over her life, threatening everything she wanted for her children, she found herself incapable of ruining this moment. She was glad he seemed content. A joke about his black soul was one of the few things that had ever made him laugh in her presence. It was clear that reality and Diamandis’s many responsibilities and duties would crash down upon them soon enough.

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