Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

B EAU THOUGHT HE might stop her, but he only looked down at her with arrested desire. Nerves battled in her chest, but she wanted... She wanted.

For the first time in her life she was getting things she wanted. So she would take until it was all gone. Was she pushing too hard? Maybe. But she had never been good at stepping back when she should.

Why start now?

She reached out and put her palms on his thighs, watching his reaction to her every move. His nostrils flared, his jaw clenched, and those dark, dreamy eyes flashed.

"I also understand this in theory," she said, her heart hammering against her chest. Not nerves. Just want. "But I'd like to know in practice." Because even if he'd ended the kiss, even if he was worried about respectability , she could see the thick, hard line of his erection against his pants.

He wanted her. She wanted him. And she couldn't understand why he didn't want to indulge. She just had to get through to him, that nothing they did together felt wrong. Was wrong. She would take that shame away from him. Bit by bit.

Because it sounded like everyone held him to too high standards. She wouldn't do the same. She wouldn't heap unfair responsibility on him. Not when they were alone. Not when they were newly married and had every reason and right to explore this explosive desire between them.

So she pulled his pants down, freeing the hard, heavy length of him. She used one hand against his thigh for balance, then used the other to touch. Explore. Grasp and stroke.

She leaned forward, her eyes on his. And then she used her mouth. Slow, steady. Watching his face. His gaze hard and hot on where she tasted him. Tension wound through his body, and into his clenched fists. Each gentle glide of her tongue made it harder for him to catch a breath, and it spurred her own.

She was throbbing everywhere. No longer cold at all. Just heat. Just need. And a pulsing, skittering feeling of power, when she'd never had any power before. When every act she'd ever engaged in had been hidden.

But this wasn't. Her need for him. His for her. It was theirs and it was everything. Surely he'd see that. Surely—

With no warning, he jerked her back, and then up to her feet. She did not know if he was angry. She did not know what this was, as he held her there, his eyes a series of dark storms. She wanted to find a way to calm them, to ease them.

"Lyon."

"Go into the bedroom," he said, his voice a rough growl that sent a shower of sparks over her body. "Then and only then, you will remove every last article of clothing."

Relief nearly made her sag, but she swallowed and mustered her strength to do as he said as he released her. Turn. Walk away from him and into the bedroom. A tremor went through her hands as she began to get the rest of her clothes off, but it was not panic shakes.

It was all anticipation.

She carefully divested herself of the rest of her clothes. She heard him enter behind her, but before she could turn, he spoke in low, authoritative tones. The kind that made her feel alight with incandescent pleasure.

She could not be wrong if he was telling her what to do.

"Put your hands on the edge of the bed, and then bend over."

She hesitated though, not because she did not want to, but because...

"Now."

There was something about the order, the dominating way he was speaking to her that made every lick of pleasure in her body leap higher, twist deeper. She wanted to do everything he demanded.

So she did. Clutched the edge of the bed and bent over. She didn't know what he would do. Time seemed to stretch out, hazy and lost to anticipation. She tried to hold her breath, but still he did not do anything. So she was forced to let out a shuddering exhale.

She was about to look over her shoulder, to see where he was. How far away. Just what was keeping him from touching her, but before she could finish the move, he spoke.

"Keep your eyes ahead, Beaugonia."

She swallowed. Her full name in that deep scrape of a voice made a tremor run through her, then center in reverberations at her core. Her entire body was like a throb, and the dark presence of him lurking behind her like a portent only made the waiting more and more impossible.

"Lyon." She wanted to beg. If he didn't touch her soon, she might simply shake apart. She needed an anchor. She needed him. She needed a focal point for all this sensation to go.

"I did not tell you to speak, tesoruccia . You would do well to keep that dangerous mouth of yours shut."

But then she felt his hand. His palm slid up her leg, over the curve of her backside, and then his fingers curled at her hip. He stood behind her, so close she could feel the heat emanating off of him.

His free hand slid up her spine, to her shoulder. And then finally, finally, she felt the blunt edge of him enter her, a slow, perfect glide. His grip on her hip, her shoulder. Being filled while her fingers clasped her bedsheets.

Finally, everything had a point, a reason. Lyon moving inside of her, so there was only this. Them. The beautiful passion they created when they came together. A joy that had her falling over that first wonderful edge with a little gasp of pleasure on a particularly slow, deep stroke, her forehead pressed against the mattress.

Then his hand moved. From her shoulder to her neck, to her hair. His fingers tangled, fisted, until he pulled, so her chin had to come up off the bed. Sparks of something just at the edge of pain twisting even deeper into the pleasure of it all. Until she was falling apart, shuddering into a million pieces all over again. And still he did not stop. He only increased the pace, the madness of it all. Wilder. More out of control. She was only sensation. Only moans and fevered words of begging . For more, for him, for all he was and had.

He let out a wild, savage growl on one last, thunderous thrust, collapsing on top of her, his hands still tangled in her hair.

She struggled to find her breath, to find center and the real world again. She wanted to laugh. She had never believed in fairy tales for her , happy endings for her , but she was beginning to believe in one.

Finally.

She was his downfall. Everything he'd built himself into being. A strong prince with impeccable morals and control.

She'd stripped them away so easily he now realized he was no better than anyone who'd come before. Because he kept making the same mistake. And it got worse every time. Maybe they'd made it to the bedroom this time, but not before he'd let her kneel before him and take him in her mouth at the doorway .

Not before he'd spoken to her in ways he never let himself speak to anyone. Not before he'd taken her rough and harsh with that unquenchable need roaring through him like a disease.

He knew how this ended. It spiraled out. Got wilder and wilder until it became a whisper . And then a story . Maybe it wasn't as bad as stealing palace funds or wreaking havoc with an affair, but it wasn't good .

So, fix it.

He carefully withdrew from her, pushing himself away from the bed. For a moment he just stood there, and she didn't move either. Still gripping the edge of the bed, in this deplorable state he'd put her in.

All for an orgasm .

She finally sighed heavily, then pushed herself into a standing position. She shoved her hair out of the way and then had the gall to smile at him. She held out a hand. "Let's lay in bed for a while."

He turned away from her hand, gathered his clothes and put them on. Then he turned to face her. She'd arranged herself on the bed, sheet drawn up. Her expression unreadable.

"Do I have to suffer through another lecture?"

It enraged him, this...haughty disdain for all that he was. But he did not explode. He iced it all out. "You clearly did not understand the first one."

Her eyebrows drew together, and she leaned forward. "Lyon, I do not understand this. You are making the strangest problem out of a quite enjoyable thing. A thing we kind of have to do if you want all those heirs."

"When we return to the castle, we must behave with respectability," he returned, locking all of those dangerous wants and needs away. He was only the crown. Only a leader. Not a man, not really.

Hadn't he always been reminded of that when something he wanted did not align with what his grandmother had envisioned for the crown?

You are the crown.

And he would be. "We must, at all times, put forward a royal face. Decorum in every step. No outward displays of affection. No hint that anything means more to us than our roles as crown prince and princess."

"So, I can't do what we did out there in public. Got it." She didn't roll her eyes, but somehow gave the impression of it anyway.

"You do not understand the precarious position we are in, though I've explained it to you. You do not understand how rumors and whispers turn into demands. These hedonistic desires will not rule me. I cannot let them control me. I need you to understand that. Because if you cannot..." He trailed off, no threat coming to his mind.

Because she was beautiful and naked in his bed and looking at him with some unreadable expression. Or maybe he didn't want to read it.

But he would find an appropriate punishment. He would have control, and he would not allow her to keep...undermining it.

"So, we must be polite in our own bed?" she asked, each word delivered carefully and devoid of emotion. As though she were asking a real question, not trying to make some point . "Just in case someone is listening in?"

"We must behave in any potentially public space with respectability, Beaugonia. Perhaps it will be a moot point. Perhaps you are pregnant even now and we will not have to worry ourselves with these...mistakes."

She blinked at that, then looked down at her stomach as if it hadn't occurred to her.

"Would that make you happy?" she asked quietly.

"Of course. That is the entire point of all this. Enough heirs to ensure stability for centuries to come."

She nodded, though she did not meet his gaze. "Of course," she agreed. Agreed.

So he didn't know why her agreement felt sour.

"I apologize then," she said at last. "I will endeavor to be as hands-off and respectable as you." She smiled thinly at him. "Despite the fact two married people enjoying sex should hardly be some proof that you're as foolish as your uncles and cousins."

Proving she refused to understand. "When you give in to your own selfish wants and desires, you begin a downward spiral. Until you'll excuse anything. All for the sake of a little fleeting pleasure."

"I see." But he could tell from her tone that she didn't see at all.

"I hope this is a lesson you can learn, Beaugonia. Because if you can't..." He hated the words before they were even out of his mouth. Felt them twist like regret deep in his gut. But he had to say them. Drastic desires called for drastic measures. "...we may have to have an arrangement more like you had back in Lille."

"Are you threatening to lock me in a room, Lyon?" she returned, all haughty fire that threatened to stir up that which should be satiated. Damn her.

"I am simply telling you that you will obey my wishes, or you will not have access to me at all," he said through gritted teeth.

"And if I'm not pregnant? If there are, in fact, no heirs yet in the making? What then?"

"I suppose there are more scientific ways to go about the impregnation process. We do not actually have to have sex for you to conceive."

Her mouth fell open. "You cannot be serious."

"It isn't ideal, but if it becomes necessary, we will do it. I will always, always do what is necessary. I suggest you accept that before we return to the palace."

And because he did not trust himself to say more without this...devolving into all those wants and desires he had to shove aside, he turned on a heel and left.