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She doesn’t move.

A muscle twitches in her jaw. “No.”

I exhale, shaking my head in mock disappointment. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

She scoffs. “Oh, I’m so sorry if my lack of enthusiasm is ruining the moment, my lord.”

That sharp, bitter tongue of hers—I should punish her for it.

Instead, I let my gaze drag over her body, lingering a bit longer to make her uncomfortable. The rise and fall of her chest, the way the flickering torchlight catches on the sweat at her collarbone.

She’s still running hot from our earlier fight.

“Drink,” I murmur again, softer this time.

She narrows her eyes. “You first.”

I chuckle. “Oh, little fox. I don’t need insurance.”

She still doesn’t move. Still defies me.

I love that about her.

But I’m done playing.

I move faster than she expects, closing the distance before she can react. My hand fists in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to expose the vulnerable stretch of her throat.

She snarls. Thrashes. Fights.

But I have her now.

She can’t escape me.

I press the goblet to her lips, tilting it just enough for the wine to lap against her mouth. She clenches her jaw shut, stubborn little beast that she is, her breath hot against my wrist.

“I can do this the easy way, or I can do it the hard way,” I murmur against her ear.

She growls, but she’s pinned. My grip in her hair keeps her still, my other hand firm against the curve of her hip.

She hates this.

And gods, I’m so into it.

She tries to wrench free, but I push harder, pressing the goblet more insistently against her lips. “Drink,” I command.

“No,” she spits.

Fine.

I tip the cup.

The wine spills over her mouth, over her lips, down the column of her throat.

She chokes, gasping as it pours past her teeth, forcing its way into her mouth. Her fingers dig into my chest, nails scraping.

Her body thrashes against mine, but I hold her still.

She swallows.