“That was a very passionate speech, so please forgive my interruption, but I’d like to clarify something. I don’t believe you’ve begged. You’ve asked for money. You’ve demanded money. You’ve explained why you needed money. But there’s been very little pleading, and absolutely no begging, at all.”

A pulse beat wildly in her throat. She could feel the same wild flutter in her wrists and behind her ears. Everything in her was racing, raging. “Is that what you want? You’d like for me to beg you to help me?”

His head cocked, and he studied her, his gaze penetrating. “It’d certainly be a little more conciliatory, and far less antagonistic.”

“Conciliatory.” She repeated the word, rolling it over in her mouth, finding it sharp and bitter.

He said nothing, just watched her, and she felt almost breathless at the scrutiny, remembering how it had been between them during their four weeks here on their honeymoon. It was in this villa she’d learned about love and lust, sex and pleasure, as well as pain and control, and the loss of control.

Drakon never lost control. But he’d made sure she did at least once a day, sometimes two or three times.

Their sex life had been hot. Explosive. Erotic. She’d been a virgin when she’d married him and their first time together had been uncomfortable. He was large and it had hurt when he entered her fully. He’d tried to make it pleasurable for her but she’d been so overwhelmed and emotional, as well as let down. She couldn’t respond properly, couldn’t climax, and she knew she was supposed to. Knew he wanted her to.

He’d showered with her afterward, and kissed her, and beneath the pulsing spray of the shower, he lavished attention on her breasts and nipples, the curve of her buttocks and the cleft between her thighs, lightly playing with her clit until he finally accomplished what he hadn’t in bed—she came. One of his arms held her up since her legs were too weak to do the job, and then he’d kissed her deeply, possessively, and when she could catch her breath, he’d assured her that the next time he entered her, it wouldn’t hurt. That sex would never hurt again.

It hadn’t.

But that didn’t mean sex was always easy or comfortable.

Drakon liked it hot. Intense. Sensual. Raw. Unpredictable.

He loved to stand across the room from her—just as he was doing now—and he’d tell her what to do. Tell her what he wanted. Sometimes he wanted her to strip and then walk naked to him. Sometimes he wanted her to strip to just her panties and crawl to him. Sometimes he wanted her to wear nothing but her elegant heels and bend over … or put a foot on a chair and he’d tell her where to touch herself.

Each time Morgan would protest, but he’d look at her from beneath his black lashes, his amber gaze lazy, his full mouth curved, and he’d tell her how beautiful she was and how much he enjoyed looking at her, that it gave him so much pleasure to see her, and to have her trust him….