“You have the most beautiful nipples, Sarani.” Goodness, she loved it when he called her by her real name and not Sara as she insisted. It made her think that his affection hadn’t all been burned away by betrayal. “Your skin is like velvet, and I want to gobble you up.” He tossed away the night rail and lowered her to the bed before turning his attention to her other breast. She whimpered as his teeth grazed the sensitive peak. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” she said breathlessly.

His hands slid down to cup between her legs, and Sarani arched beneath him, a shock of hot need blooming beneath his palm. “You need to be more specific,” he said, kissing up her throat. “I need to be certain.”

His grinning mouth captured hers in a drugging kiss. Goodness, he was ruthless. She squirmed under him, knowing exactly what he wanted her to say and shying away from it. She couldn’t possibly be so crude. “I…I want you to take me.”

“Take you where? To the theater? The opera?”

“Brute!”

Sarani would have shoved him away if what he was doing with his tongue wasn’t so heady. He was back to her breasts, alternating between her pebbled nipples, and as it was, she was hard-pressed not to have her eyes roll back in her head from the pleasure streaking through her.

“Tell me, Sarani, what do you want?” He pressed one finger between her slippery folds. “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” she gasped, rolling her hips to increase the delicious friction.

He withdrew his finger, the cruel wretch, caging her against the mattress with his big, heavy body. “Then say it. Say the dirty, filthy, vulgar word.”

“Fine. I want you to…fuck me. Happy?” Her cheeks flamed, but strangely, the crass demand made her feel powerful, especially when she saw the answering flare of his irises. That she could reduce the dominant, formidable man above her to a mass of want and desire made her feel bold. “I need you inside me, Rhystan. Now.”

Her smug-faced lover rewarded her with a deep kiss and then positioned himself on top of her, his hips in the cradle of hers. “As my princess wishes.”

“I’m not a princess.”

Sarani stared at him, seeing nothing but hunger for her in those beautiful storm-ridden eyes. There was no judgment there, only need. A need that was deeply, fiercely reciprocated.

“No,” he whispered, notching himself at her entrance. “You’re a queen.”

And then he slid into her body.

Sarani nearly screamed, clutching at his shoulders. The fit was distressingly tight, the friction almost impossible to bear as her untried body adjusted to his size.

“Sarani? Are you all right?” Rhystan’s face was strained, a muscle flexing in his cheek.

“Yes,” she said. “But go slowly. Are you in pain?”

He shook his head. “No. You feel so good. So tight.”