Roark held my gaze. One palm roved up the side of my waist, his long fingers touching every divot of my ribs. The other hand glided down until he reached the ruffled hem of my skirt gathered around my bent legs.

I hooked my arm around his neck, my fingers playing with the ends of his hair, and I watched as his hands disappeared beneath the folds of my skirt.

Everything slowed. His palm on my bare thigh drifted slower, drifted higher. My blood was molten. I couldn’t think.

For a man enrobed in darkness, he touched with a scorching gentility that drew out ragged breaths and embarrassing moans I could not stop if I tried.

Roark gripped my jaw in his palm, drawing my eyes back to him. He released me only long enough to say, Tell me to stop.

“We should.”

He nodded, but his hand remained under my skirt, his thumb drawing small circles on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. This would not be accepted. King Damir’s prize with the prince’s personal guard would be seen as a distraction the king would not allow.

“We should stop.” My lips hovered over his. I adjusted my position on his lap, settling my core over his hardness. Roark hissed through his teeth, and his fingers dug into the flesh of my leg. I tilted my head, drawing my lips to his ear, and whispered, “But don’t you dare.”

A breathy sort of groan was all I was given before Roark kissed me. Where his touch had been gentle, his kiss was desperate. Fingers tangled in my hair, he pulled me closer. I clawed at his shoulders, gripped his tunic in fistfuls, circled his neck to allow me to lose myself in the feeling of his hard body.

His domineering mouth parted my lips and gave me the warmth of his tongue. He tasted like mint and heat. A fierce collision that tilted the ground beneath me.

A shudder of a gasp fell against his mouth when Roark’s fingers teased the line of the thin undergarments over my core. His eyes spoke a thousand words, a dark declaration to stop him was there, but underneath was a hope, a plea that I wouldn’t.

I clasped a hand around his wrist, guiding his palm to the slick heat of my center.

Roark breathed heavily against my skin, one finger touched me, teased me, then slipped inside me.

I bared my throat, wishing I could bite back the mortifying sounds. His hips bucked gently and the Sentry added a second finger.

I kissed him. The movement of his mouth spun my head in as much delirium as the curl of his wicked fingers. Roark’s mouth claimed my jaw, my throat, his teeth scraped over my skin. With his other hand, he tugged the sleeve of my dress off my shoulder and kissed me there.