Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“I… I know,” I whisper. He laughs then, really laughs, and god, my heart can hardly stand it. It’s so rare to see his face light up like that.
“You’re wondering why I haven’t taken you to bed,” he says, his words thick with something unnamable. “Because I saw the way you looked. I saw the fear in your eyes.”
He pauses. That shadow returns. “And I don’t want you to fear me.”
A beat.
“Unless you disobey me. Then? It’s appropriate.”
The heat that swells inside me is terrifying in its own way. It’s not just fear.
It’s something deeper. Darker. Something I’ve never felt before.
“Don’t you want me?” I whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate. Turns me to face him, sits on the edge of the bed, spreads his knees, and pulls me into the space between them.
“My sweet,” he says, so gently it shatters me.
And that’s when I feel it. The strain of his arousal pressing against his trousers. The hard, undeniable truth of what I do to him.
He’s big. God, so big. And I can see now, see it in his restraint, in the tightness of his jaw, that he’s holding himself back.
“Don’t you understand?” he says. “It’s because of the way I feel about you that I’m exercising self-control. You’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel like I might lose all of it, all my control. Every damn thread of it. Understand?”
I nod. Swallow. “Yes.”
“Good,” he says. “I don’t want our first night to be anything but perfect. And by my logic, we’ve got at least a day before anyone comes looking. I’ve got surveillance on every entrance. No one’s getting in.”
He cups the back of my head, presses his mouth to my cheek.
“So tonight, we sleep. I get to fall asleep with you beside me. And when I wake, you’ll still be here.”
He kisses me, warm and tender.
“Tomorrow, we’ll consummate our marriage.”
I nod. “All right.”
And suddenly, all the tension leaks out of me. I’m so tired I can barely stand.
But I’ve never felt safer.
My eyes feel heavy. My limbs feel heavy. I can barely move.
“Now lie down in bed,” he says gently before he turns me around and lands a smack to my ass, not soft, not playful. It’s affectionate, yes, but it still stings in that possessive way only he can manage. The heat rises in my cheeks, crawling up my neck. I swallow hard. Because I know there’s more where that came from. More heat. More claim. More Seamus.
“Get up in bed. I want you next to me,” he murmurs. “I want to feel you when I roll over in the middle of the night.”
His voice is almost a growl now, like he’s been starving for this, starving for me. His eyes darken, clouded with that storm I know lives in him, that pain he’s always carried.
“I’ve dreamt of this,” he admits.
And there’s weight behind those words. Heavy, thick weight. Pain and longing twisted together. “Every time I wanted to escape that prison,” he says. “Every time they tortured me… hurt me… I thought of this. I thought of you. Knowing you were out here. Knowing I was going to come for you. That no matter what they did to me, after everything settled, you were mine.”
His. He says it like a vow, like a possession, like a prayer.
“Now, love, I want you to rest. Close your eyes.” He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing along my skin like he’s memorizing it. “I’m going to tell you a story, see?”
I nod.
He’s going to tell me a story. Seamus. My Seamus. Telling stories in the dark like this? Is this… cute? Does Seamus even do cute? I have a feeling I’m the only one who’ll ever witness this side of him. And I like it. I love it, actually.
“Okay,” I say. “But give me a kiss first.”
He chuckles softly, low in his chest. “Love,” he murmurs, “always a goodnight kiss, aye?”
I tilt my face toward him, and he looks at me like I’m the most sacred thing he’s ever held. His thumb sweeps over my cheekbone again, so slow, so reverent, and then he leans in and brushes his lips against mine, a soft, sweet, easy kiss that still manages to steal my breath.
It’s our wedding night. And we’re not making love. I’m tired. He’s tired. And it’s okay. It’s more than okay.
I rest my head against his chest, and he starts.
“Once upon a time in a land far, far away… there was a man who was a prince.”
I close my eyes. Let myself fall into his voice.
“He was in line for the throne,” Seamus says, “but while he waited, his father’s most trusted advisor betrayed him. Did terrible, wicked things in the name of power. All while pretending to serve the crown. The king trusted him, blindly. The prince tried to warn his father, but he wouldn’t listen because he was younger, less experienced, and the king valued his advisor’s word. But the prince knew,” he continues.