Like she could deny him anything now. She thought back to that fateful day, and the quiver in her stomach became a needy ache. Well, another needy ache. She was consumed with them. He’d been moving boxes into this very house. She and her sisters had walked here to welcome him to town. When he spotted them, he’d frozen. Introductions had been made, and he’d smiled coolly but politely at Evie and Godiva. Glory, he’d simply nodded at before looking hastily away.
“I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. The sun was shining over you lovingly, and you were sweating. Glistening. You’d taken off your shirt, and dirt smudged your chest.”
His lips twitched. “I’ve noticed you have a thing for manly sweat.”
“I do not.”
“You placed me in a gladiator cell straight from battle, woman. You like men who do physical labor. Admit it.”
“So what! There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No, there isn’t. It’s cute.” He didn’t give her time to respond. “So why did you want to place me in chains tonight?”
She fought for breath. “You know why.”
“Tell me. Say the words aloud.”
“I—I’d decided to be with you. Just once. You know, to purge myself of you like you suggested before.”
“And you thought you needed chains for that?”
“No. I just . . . I wanted to be in control of everything.”
“I don’t think so,” he said with a shake of his head. “In the forest, you almost came when I pinned your wrists over your head and took control
Her mouth dried as the realization settled inside her. He was right. She loved where she was. She loved that he could do anything he wanted with her, and she couldn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him.
Would one night be enough? She couldn’t possibly learn all there was to know about his body, his pleasure . . . her own.
Oh, damn. Already she was doing what she’d sworn she wouldn’t: falling deeper, wanting more. Fear dug sharp claws inside her. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she said, squirming. “Maybe we should stop here and now and part. As friends. I won’t hurt you again. You have my word. And you even can keep the pen.”
“Oh, I’m keeping the pen,” he said darkly, “but I’m not letting you go.” He pushed to his feet. He was scowling.
“You’re angry. Why? I’m setting you free from our war.”
“I hate the thought of you walking out of this house—ever—and I don’t understand it.” The robe fell from his shoulders and onto the floor, pooling at his feet. She sucked in a breath and simply drank in his magnificence. He was harder than before, his erection so long it stretched higher than his navel.
He grabbed the pen and notebook and started writing. Before she could ask what he was doing, the chains fell away from her. Tentative, she eased up. But she didn’t leave; she couldn’t make herself, though common sense was screaming that she do so inside her mind. This was what she’d asked for.
“Thank you.”
“Not yet.” He continued writing.
Quick as a snap, her weight returned, her bra and panty set nearly unraveling from the sudden excess. She gasped. Falon finally paused, his electric violet eyes all over her, eating her up.
Never taking his gaze from her, he locked the pen and paper inside a drawer on the nightstand, and then he was on the bed, crawling his way toward her.
Eight
Falon had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Glory.
What was it about her that kept him coming back for more, despite her origins? Despite her actions and her words? She was exquisite, yes. Lush and soft, panting with arousal. She smelled of jasmine and magic, which was a feast to his senses. She was vulnerable yet courageous, daring and volatile. She had never and would never bow to him. She would fight him if he wronged her and always demand the very best from him.
He liked that. Liked who he was when he was with her. She made him be a better person. Honest and giving. Hopeful. And now that he thought about it, everything she’d done to him with that pen hadn’t been malicious, it had been . . . foreplay.
His skin was nearly too tight for his bones as he stopped, his palms flattened beside Glory’s knees. “Still want to leave?”
“No,” she said breathlessly. She leaned back, propping her weight on her elbows. The plump mounds of her breasts strained beyond the bra. God, her curves were lovely.
“Want me?” He barely managed to work the words past the lump in his throat.
“Yes.” No hesitation. “Maybe I’m crazy, but yes.”
“Good, because I want you. All of you, this time.” Fingers sliding under her knee, he lifted. His lips met the inside of her thigh, the cool stone of his necklace brushing against her, and she gasped.
He kissed again, his tongue stroking closer . . . closer . . .
Another gasp from her, followed by a shiver. “Hot,” she said, trembling.
“Good?”
“Very.”
“Hunter told me you write romance novels.”
“Sometimes. Kiss again.”
Grinning, he obeyed, running his tongue to the edge of her emerald panties.
“Oh, Goddess.” She fisted the sheets. He wanted those hands in his hair, holding on, holding forever.
She was perfect for this bed—his bed—he thought, staring down at her. A bright flame against black silk. “Have you ever thought of me when writing a love scene?”
“Yes.” As though she’d read his mind, she gripped his head and pulled him down for another intimate kiss.
His cock throbbed at the thought, at the sight of her, at the taste of her, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Never had a woman appealed to so many of his senses. “What did you fantasize? What did I do to you?”
“Consumed every inch of me,” she said, back arching, silently begging for more.
The best kind of answer.
Then she added, “We have one night together. I want everything I fantasized about.”
“Yes.” Reaching up, she thrummed her nipples. “Like this.”
“No. Between your legs. Show me.”
She lifted her head, her eyes wide and focused on him. Her hands ceased moving on her breasts. “Wh- what?”
“Show me.” Desperate for another taste of her, he kissed the center of her panties. They were wonderfully damp. He groaned, his mouth watered. “I want to see what
“Oh.” Slowly, so slowly, her hand slid down her stomach. “Like this?”
Licking around the seam of her panties, he fisted his cock. “More.”
Slowly, so slowly, her hand circled the apex of her thighs, teasing. “Better?”
Down, he stroked. Up, squeezing tight. “Not yet.”
He straightened; their gazes met again and held. “How about this?” Her fingers delved under the emerald lace. Her knees fell apart, and her lashes lowered. She cried out, hips undulating.
Shit. She
