“Please . . .”
He didn’t let up when my legs began to tremble or when I begged for mercy. His unrelenting torment didn’t cease until I burst into flames, leaving me ravaged. Gasping. Crying out.
The bonds fell away.
I ended up flat on the cold floor littered with hay.
I didn’t care that the stones scraped my back.
Didn’t care about anything as I worked the buttons free on his shirt, raking my nails down the broad expanse of his chest to his abdomen.
He freed himself, and I pulled him closer, so ready and yet so unprepared for him to sheath himself in one thrust so devastatingly slow I thought it would never end.
The tense muscles in his arms trembled, holding his weight.
I raised my hips, urging him to move.
“I thought I was the one torturing you,” he groaned against my neck.
“And I thought I told you to do your worst.”
Those black eyes blazed as he withdrew only to return again. Harder. Deeper.
Filling, rocking.
Making it impossible to catch my breath.
To find my thoughts.
To do anything but be consumed.
“Scream for me,” he pleaded, eyes growing heavy and unfocused. Hips losing rhythm yet picking up speed.
His name wrenched from my throat, he buried his head in the crook of my neck, coming unraveled with a curse. Sweat-slick skin slipped against mine. My arms fell around him, holding tight as he shuddered.
Who would’ve thought, all those months ago, that this beautiful, wicked man would be my undoing? That I would be held captive in his dungeon, begging for torture.
Rían collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving. “I’ve never felt so alive,” he whispered, between ragged gasps.
With my racing heart and a delicious ache between my thighs, my lips tugged into a smile. I knew exactly what he meant.
What if we stayed down here forever, hiding away from the world? What if he was this person all the time instead of the other one?
He glanced toward the door, and his smile faded.
Just like that, the rose-tinted haze evaporated.
I sat up to collect my dress from the floor. Bits of hay stuck to the ripped bodice. Dirt stained the skirt. “You need to stop ruining my dresses.”
“You need to stop wearing dresses with so many feckin’ buttons,” he shot back. He flicked his wrist, and a new dress appeared.
Once I’d changed and he’d shifted himself some clean clothes, he used magic to unlock the door. Before I reached the steps, he caught my elbow, pulling me into him.
“Don’t you dare walk out of here with a smile on those lovely lips. Between Anwen and this, the whole feckin’ country will think I’ve gone soft.”
I gave him a peck on the cheek. “Now that I understand your game, I’m ready to play.”
27