Page 11

And then he kisses me again, his lips trailing lower, his hands steady and sure. He doesn’t just touch me—he heals me, piece by piece, until the bruises and scars fade. I’m left with the feel of him, the weight of him, the love in every caress.

“You’re beautiful,” he says again, his voice soft against my skin. “You always will be.”

I watch as his hands move to the buttons on his shirt. His eyes are on me, apologetic and questioning at the same time. He's rushing, fumbling slightly, like he wants this moment to be perfect and knows it can't be.

"I'm sorry," he whispers softly, as the first button gives way, then another. Each undone button reveals more of him to me, inch by precious inch.

I've never seen him like this. Never seen anyone like this. My breath catches in my throat. Warmth blooms deep inside me as the shirt slips away from his shoulders. My eyes widen, tracing lines I never imagined existed—muscles rippling beneath his skin, each movement a beautiful discovery.

He's so careful. So gentle, even now.

"I wish we had more time," he whispers, voice soft as a secret, tinged with regret as he moves quickly, torn between wanting to be slow and needing to be fast.

"I don't want more time," I say, surprising myself with my own boldness. "I just want this. Now."

He pauses, eyes serious, shadowed with worry. "Paigelynn, I want this to be?—"

"Perfect?" I finish softly, my voice trembling. "I think it's perfect already. Because it's you. I didn't think I'd get to choose. But now I do. I choose you. And not just to foil them. I choose you because I want you and only you."

My cheeks burn, but his slow, sweet smile eases the embarrassment away. With an almost reverent touch, he reaches for my hand, guiding it to his chest. My fingers brush warm skin, smooth and firm, feeling the quiet, steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. He's hard and soft. Warm and big.

A world inside a single body.

"I’ve dreamed of this," he whispers. "But not here, not rushed like this. Not with?—"

"I know," I whisper, my heart thumping so loud I wonder if he hears it. "But I don't care about anything except right now."

He nods, eyes bright with something fragile—longing, sadness, love—everything tangled into one.

His hands move lower, unbuckling his belt, each movement slow but purposeful.

My eyes follow, curiosity mixing with a shiver of anticipation.

I’ve never seen a man like this, never felt these emotions surge through me so strongly.

When he finally shows himself to me, vulnerable and open and half naked, I feel my cheeks flush even deeper. He lets me look, unashamed, patient. My heart pounds wildly. So much newness, so much to discover, all while knowing every moment might be our last.

He reaches out, fingers threading through my hair, drawing me close. Our foreheads touch, breathing each other in, steadying nerves that race and flutter like hummingbird wings.

"I’m sorry we can’t take our time," he whispers, lips brushing my ear. "You deserve better."

I shake my head, my heart swelling with emotion I can't put into words. "You're my everything," I whisper, meaning it more deeply than I've ever meant anything before.

With careful movements, he guides me down to the bed, the softness beneath me a contrast to his firm touch.

My heart quickens as he leans over me, his eyes searching mine for signs of doubt or fear, but there's none.

Only the certainty that comes with surrendering completely, trusting him in ways I never knew possible.

As I undress, he devours me with his eyes, his hands on me fast, fingers tracing hot spots that tingle as I revel in the fire between us.

For years, I've imagined my first night with my husband, my king.

It never involved losing my virginity so we could fool a band of evil billionaires, and certainly didn't involve my future mother-in-law wanting my heart, but nothing about who I am seems to be normal anyhow, so. ..

Every sensation is new and startling, his touch gentle, yet confident, stirring feelings that shimmer across my skin, inside my chest, between breaths and heartbeats.

When Cam cups my breast, I inhale so sharply I feel a blade of lust shoot through me.

He moves carefully, every caress healing, making every bruise, every fear fade until all I can feel is him, strong and steady, holding me as if I'm made of something precious.

His eyes close, his breathing unsteady, and I reach up to trace the line of his jaw, memorizing him.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice strained, fighting an inner battle I don't fully understand.

"Yes," I whisper, feeling shy again, but determined. "Don't stop. I want to be yours."

His exhale is ragged, his smile softening into something heartbreaking. "You always have been."

Time slips away. The world outside disappears until it's only us—my heart and his, beating in rhythm, our breath mingling in quiet, secret sighs. His touch, though careful, ignites something deep inside me, a need that grows with every careful movement.

Lowering me onto my back, he nudges one knee between mine and I open for him, eager and wet. I've been trained to know the dry, technical details of what to do, of course. I've even been given skills designed to please my future king.

He centers the crown of his cock and slowly pushes in, just enough to make me gasp.

It’s not painful, but it’s a new feeling, one my body seeks to integrate.

He kisses me then, a sweet, full kiss that halts the world, drowning out everything but us, a kiss designed to make me feel everything at the same time I know nothing else.

As we hear scuttles and sounds in the hall, I pause. Nothing about this is romantic or demure, passionate or warm. It's a calculated maneuver designed to ruin me to buy us time.

But it's all I have.

Cam whispers my name, softly, like a prayer as he enters me, a slow process that lets me blossom open.

“Does it hurt?” he murmurs against my ear.

“No. It’s just – a lot.”

“I’m going slow. You can stop me any time.”

“I know.” The urge to thank him fills me, bringing tears to my eyes. I don’t know whether to be grateful or furious, to take vengeance out on him or to be obedient. My mind can’t keep up with what it’s supposed to think, and my body can’t relax enough to find what Cam’s giving me.

My pulse races, my hands trembling as I cling to him, needing him to anchor me in this unfamiliar, thrilling space we've entered together. Every touch, every kiss is a gentle reassurance, each moment more intimate than the last.

Once he’s fully in me, he drops his head to kiss my nipple, then uses his tongue against it, warm and soft, hard and intense. It’s like a drawstring straight down my body to my clitoris and it makes me arch my back, the sensation sending tingles everywhere.

Ah, this. This is pleasure. I’m beginning to understand.

Suddenly, a sound outside—a distant voice, hurried footsteps—and Cam freezes. Tension floods his body, eyes darting toward the door, protective instincts immediately surging back. Fear grips me, tearing me from our private world and throwing me back into reality.

"Cam?" My voice trembles, innocence and trust mingling with panic.

He shakes his head slowly, pressing one finger gently against my lips. "Shh. It's okay," he whispers, though we both know it might not be true. "I'll keep you safe."

I nod, believing him, clinging to the memory of his touch, even as the fear returns. But nothing—not even fear—can take away the beauty of this moment.

Or the hope that somehow, despite the chaos around us, we'll have more moments just like this.

Someday.

If I make it out of here alive.