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He let himself look at her finally. Taking his time as he scanned every inch of her lovely body. She was so very, very pretty.
She is yours. Claim her.
Perhaps he would. Perhaps he’d claim her completely, permanently. He needed a wife anyway, to provide heirs, and any children they had would be the ultimate union of Benedictus and Accorsi. So why not this woman he already knew he wanted?
Of course they might not suit sexually, but he didn’t think that would be the case. Even now he knew that one night wouldn’t be enough for him, and a king couldn’t be seen to be taking new lovers every couple of weeks. No, it was better to have one woman, and to have that woman be his wife.
‘If you want this,’ he said—because these would be his terms and she had to agree to them—‘then understand that if we sleep together I will not give you a divorce later. You will remain my queen and carry my heirs.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I—’
‘I will not have a parade of lovers going in and out of my bedroom. That won’t set the example I want for my rule or for my people. Also…’ He paused so she would see his intention clearly in his face, so there would be no mistake. ‘Now I have the throne, I will not give it up. The same goes for my queen. I keep what is mine, Guinevere Accorsi. So if you want me to be a husband to you, that is what you’ll have to accept.’
She stared at him for a long moment and he watched in fascination as goosebumps rose on her skin. He wanted to touch her, stroke her, lick her all over like an ice cream. It felt almost impossible to hold himself back. But he wasn’t going to touch her unless she accepted this. Because he had the feeling that if he did he wouldn’t be able to give her up.
Slowly Guinevere nodded, and he could see fire in her blue gaze now, building higher and hotter. Little lioness. She was brave—he’d already seen evidence of that—but now he knew it to be true. Brave and passionate.
‘I accept it,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘But I want something in return. For the duration of our marriage there will be no other women for you but me.’
As if he would want another woman. Looking at her, he couldn’t even remember what other women looked like, and it satisfied him that she was asking for fidelity. He didn’t want a doormat for a wife. He wanted a woman who demanded the same things of him that he did of her. A match for him. A meeting of equals. A queen had to be as strong as a king.
‘I accept,’ he said. ‘There will no other women but you.’
She nodded, then slowly held out her arms to him. ‘Then come to me, my king.’
My king…
The blood pumped hard in his veins at the husk in her voice, and at the way she held her arms out to him, welcoming him.
He came to the edge of the bed, looking down at her, kneeling before him, naked except for the veil of her hair.
His wife.
Lifting a hand, he threaded his fingers through her curls. Soft, like silk against his skin. ‘You are mine,’ he murmured. ‘You are my war prize, little Accorsi, and so you must do whatever I tell you.’
She was trembling now, but it wasn’t with fear—he could see that. No, there was nothing but hungry anticipation in her wide blue eyes.
‘I will,’ she whispered. ‘What do want you me to do?’
He tightened his grip in her hair and then bent, answering her by taking her mouth in a hot, deep kiss. She tasted of oranges and sunshine and something else sweet, a flavour that he found the more he tasted, the more he wanted.
He kissed her deeper, hotter, and she made a small sound of hunger in the back of her throat that went straight to his groin. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d pushed her onto her back across the mattress and he was over her, tracking hot kisses down her neck and the delicate architecture of her throat, his hands tracing her curves as he went.
He lingered over her breasts, stroking, squeezing, weighing them in his hands, before tracing the shape of them with his tongue, flicking over one hard little nipple before drawing it into his mouth. She cried out, her body arching against his, making him grit his teeth against the need to sink inside her straight away. He didn’t want to do that yet. She was a virgin, and she was sheltered, and she’d been ill-treated. And despite all of that she’d chosen him to give herself to. And even though he’d told her he liked it rough, she deserved better from him than that. Certainly this first time. And besides, it was the perfect opportunity to drive her as mad as she’d driven him all day.
He licked and kissed and nipped her sensitive nipples, then worked his way down further, gripping her shuddering hips in his hands as he kissed his way over her stomach and finally down between her thighs.
Guinevere gave another hoarse cry as he tasted her, sweet yet tart at the same time, holding her writhing body as he explored. She panted and moaned, her hands in his hair, holding on to him as if she was drowning and he was the only thing keeping her afloat. He kept her there, exploring her deeper, drawing more and more desperate sounds from her as she moved restlessly beneath him, the grip she had in his hair almost painful.
She was as soft as he’d thought she’d be, and as hot, and she tasted like the sweetest treat. It felt as if he’d been years without a woman, years since he’d had anyone this responsive, this passionate. She’d abandoned herself to him without self-consciousness, not hiding her pleasure or holding back. It made him feel like a god that he could do this to her.
His little lioness.
She called his name in the end, as he brought her to the peak and held her there, making her plead, making her beg, and then he took her over it, her screams of release echoing in his ears.
Guinevere lay on her back in Tiberius’s bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to remember what her actual name was. It came back to her slowly as the aftershocks of that incredible climax faded, leaving her heavy and sated and yet strangely still hungry.
Guinevere. That was right. That was what her name was. And she was here in Tiberius’s bed because she’d had the brilliant idea of giving herself to him in a way that would make it very difficult for him to refuse.