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He watched my face with those intense blue eyes as he slowly pushed one finger inside me.

My back arched involuntarily, a gasp tearing from my throat.

He took immediate advantage, claiming my parted lips with his own, his tongue pushing into my mouth in a rhythm that matched the slow, torturous movement of his finger.

It wasn’t enough—not nearly enough. I moved my hips against his hand, silently begging for more, faster. And for a blissful moment, he obliged, his finger pumping into me at a pace that had me clawing at his shoulders, teetering on the edge of something magnificent.

And then he slowed down. Deliberately.

I broke away from his kiss with a frustrated gasp, looking up to find his eyes gleaming with playful wickedness. “Why did you…stop?” I demanded, my voice a mixture of breathlessness and indignation.

“Stop?” His finger moved lazily inside me, a teasing reminder of what he was withholding. “I haven’t stopped, Princess.”

“You know what I mean,” I said, trying to sound imperious despite my compromised position.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear. “Tell me what you need… or should I keep guessing?” He demanded, his voice a silky command that made me shiver. “Say the words.”

I turned my face away, suddenly shy despite the intimacy of our position. “You know what I want.”

Without warning, his finger moved faster, curling inside me to hit a spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. Just as quickly, he slowed again, leaving me gasping.

“That’s not how this works,” he said, his voice thick with arousal and amusement. “Tell me, or I’ll keep you right here—” his finger slowed to an agonizing crawl, “—all night long.”

My brain had turned to mush, coherent thought impossible with his touch reducing me to pure sensation. “Please,” I whispered, the word escaping before I could stop it.

“Please, what?” His finger moved torturously slow, circling inside me. “Be specific, Ilyana.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, desire warring with pride. “Please don’t—don’t stop. I need…”

“You need what?” His voice was low, demanding, and impossibly arousing. “Tell me.”

“I need you to—to make me—”

Before I could finish my stammered plea, Anderic pushed a second finger inside me. My words dissolved into a cry of pleasure as my eyes flew open in surprise. He was watching me intently, cataloging every reaction, every flush of my skin, and every helpless sound that escaped me.

“Like this?” he asked, his voice rough with want.

I could only nod, words beyond me now. His fingers began to move again, slowly at first, then building to a rhythm that had me writhing beneath him.

His thumb found my clit again, circling it in counterpoint to the thrust of his fingers.

The pressure built inside me, a coiling tension that wound tighter and tighter with each skilled movement of his hand.

When his fingers curled, finding some secret, perfect spot inside me, the tension shattered. Waves of pleasure crashed through me, each one stronger than the last. I caught his face between my hands as the orgasm tore through me, his name a broken cry on my lips.

For one heart-stopping moment, words I hadn’t meant to think formed on my tongue: I love you .

They hovered there, dangerous and true, nearly spilling out in my moment of vulnerability.

But some deeper instinct made me hesitate.

If I spoke those words now, it would change everything—and not all change was for the better. I’d learned that the hard way.

There was a part of me that felt I might somehow doom us if I said it aloud. If there were unspoken words between us, then perhaps tomorrow would come without the universe noticing what we’d done.

Instead of speaking, I pulled him down and kissed him deeply, pouring everything I couldn’t say into that kiss. I love you , my lips said against his. I love you , my hands whispered as they cupped his face.

I broke the kiss to look up at him, finding his eyes dark with desire and something softer I wasn’t ready to name. Instead of words that might break us, I simply smiled.

I woke to a strange warmth pressed against my back and the gentle sound of birdsong echoing through the cave. Sunlight streamed through the entrance in golden shafts, picking out dust motes that danced in the morning air.

What? A cave? Am I dead again?

For a moment, I simply lay there, disoriented, until memories of the previous night flooded back in vivid, heated flashes. The storm. The cave. Anderic. What we’d done.

Oh God!

His arm was wrapped possessively around my ribs, his steady breathing warm against my nape.

Each breath he took pressed his chest against my back, a slow, steady rhythm that reminded me just how close we were.

Though we weren’t naked—my slip still clung to me and he remained in his trousers—the thin barrier of fabric did little to dull the heat radiating between us.

His cloak, now half-tangled around us, had become our makeshift blanket during the night.

How exactly does one extricate oneself from the embrace of a sleeping prince without waking him? Especially when said prince had, just hours before, reduced me to a trembling, pleading mess with nothing but his fingers and that wicked, wicked mouth?

I’d slept with the prince. Well, not slept with in the traditional sense, but we’d certainly done enough to qualify as scandalous.

With painstaking slowness, I attempted to extract myself from his grip without waking him. His grip tightened reflexively, and I froze. Caught in his hold, I turned slightly to look at him and—

Oh.

Sleep had transformed him. Gone was the calculating prince, the shrewd diplomat, the dangerous royal who made nobles tremble with a single glance.

In slumber, his face lost all its sharp edges and careful masks.

Long golden lashes rested against his cheeks, his lips slightly parted, looking softer than they had any right to.

A curl had fallen across his forehead, giving him a boyish quality I’d never seen before.

He looked younger. Much younger. And suddenly, I realized he was—we both were. Young. Burdened with responsibilities that had aged us beyond our years. How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to simply be young? To be carefree? To want something—someone—purely for himself?

My fingers hovered above his cheek, resisting the urge to trace the line of his jaw.

“Are you finished staring, or would you like to continue cataloguing my features? Should I pretend to sleep a bit longer?” His eyes remained closed, but a small smile played on his lips.

My heart hammered against my ribs. “I wasn’t—”

His eyes opened then, and I lost my train of thought entirely.

His eyes were the impossible blue of summer skies—the kind that started pale at dawn and deepened through the day until they matched the midnight shade at dusk.

They fixed on me with an intensity that made my stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the memory of his hands on my body.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep, “we won’t be leaving this cave anytime soon.”

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine—a gentle caress that contrasted with last night’s hunger. When he pulled back, those impossible eyes searched mine, as if looking for regret or hesitation.

“Good morning,” I managed, my voice embarrassingly breathless.

“Good morning indeed,” he replied, his lips curving into a smile that promised sin. Then he closed the distance between us again, but this time there was nothing gentle about his kiss.

His lips moved against mine with an urgency that set my blood on fire.

His hands were everywhere at once—trailing up my thigh, sliding beneath my slip to trace the curve of my hip, and palming my breast through the thin fabric.

I arched into his touch, my body remembering exactly how those fingers had felt inside me last night.

He shifted, rolling me onto my back, his weight a delicious pressure as he settled between my legs. I gasped as he nipped at my lower lip, then soothed the sting with his tongue. My hands found his bare shoulders, marveling at the play of muscles beneath my fingertips as I pulled him closer.

His lips left mine to trail hot kisses down my neck, finding that spot beneath my ear that made my toes curl.

I tilted my head to give him better access, a soft moan escaping me as he sucked gently on the sensitive skin.

Through the thin slip, I could feel every hard inch of him pressed against my core, and I instinctively rocked my hips, seeking friction.

My hands found their way into his hair, those golden curls wrapped around my fingers as I guided his mouth to where I wanted it.

When his lips closed around my nipple through the thin silk of my slip, I couldn’t hold back a moan.

“Ah, hello there.”

The voice—decidedly not Anderic’s—shattered the moment like ice water down my spine.

I yelped, shoving Anderic away with enough force that he nearly rolled off me.

But with that supernatural grace of his, he was on his feet in an instant, positioning himself protectively in front of me.

I scrambled to grab his leather cloak from the ground, yanking it over my barely covered body as I peered around Anderic’s protective stance.