LITMIR.BIZ

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what must be the most foreign place she’s ever been—a strange man’s home.

      I stride up behind her. “The only thing better than Italian velvet against your skin, Highness...is me.” I brush a soft kiss on the nape of her neck, and she shudders. Then she spins to face me.

      “Damien?” she says, demure and shy.

      “Princess?”

      She licks her lips, then reaches behind and unzips her dress. It drops to the floor.

      “God in heaven,” I say, my strangled voice unrecognizable.

      That same flush from before creeps up her neck to her cheeks, and she grins. “Do you—like what you see?”

      I take my time drinking her in, ignoring my cock’s urgency to free itself from my jeans and plunge between those lithe legs.

      Her full breasts are milk white, her pale pink nipples pebbling at their tips. Beneath the left one is a constellation of birthmarks that, if connected, would draw an arrow straight to her heart. I trace the shape with my index finger.

      “You should be allowed to love,” I say, not knowing where the words are coming from.

      Her breasts rise and fall as she breathes in and out.

      “I will learn to love my husband,” she says flatly. “It is my duty.”

      I brush my thumb over her nipple, and she bucks into my hand.

      “I want to see you,” she says, her voice barely more than breath. “Before you do any more, I want to see you while I still have my wits about me.”

      I nod, but because I am a greedy bastard, I dip my head quickly and swirl my tongue around that perfect, hardened peak.

      She cries out, and I step away, grinning.

      She narrows her eyes at me, then takes a bold step forward as she starts to unbutton my shirt. She opens it, running her palms over my chest, and pushes it off my shoulders until it falls to the floor.

      Her hands skim over my biceps and my forearms. They slow as her fingers run over the raised scars I’ve made invisible beneath the ink.

      She looks up at me, wide-eyed.

      “There was a lot of shattered glass in the—accident.” That last word tastes so bitter on my tongue I wish I could spit it out. Or take it back. Because I was behind the wheel. I was the one responsible for taking the life of another. Accident is far too kind a word for what I did. The Royal Police blamed the weather and absolved me of any technical crime. But I know the truth, as does my brother Nikolai, the man who loved Victoria too. If we hadn’t run, she’d still be alive.

      She reaches for my face, and I flinch. But she is not deterred. Her gentle hand traces my most visible scar, the one that runs from my left temple to the line of my jaw. The one no one ever talks about anymore because what is left to say? Every time I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of the monster I truly am.

      “You punish yourself,” she says.

      “Stop,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.

      “Maybe you aren’t as free as I thought you were. Maybe,” she continues, unbuttoning my jeans, “we’re more alike than I ever could have imagined.”

      I step out of my shoes and let her lower my pants and briefs to the floor. Then I step out of those as well.

      “Oh!” she says, staring at my erection. Then, “Oh.” This time with less shock and something more like reverence. “Can I...touch it?”

      I chuckle, grateful for her act of levity, even if she didn’t mean it.

      “Here,” I say, taking her hand and wrapping it around my shaft. I growl at the feel of her gripping me, and her mouth falls open in a perfect O.

      “What now?” she asks, her voice cracking on the second word.

      “Stroke it,” I demand. “From the root all the way to the top, keeping the pressure firm.”

      She obeys, teasing me as she moves achingly slow until she reaches the tip, precome leaking onto my sensitive skin. As if she’s done it a hundred times before, she swirls her thumb over my slick skin.

      “Fucking hell, Princess,” I grind out over gritted teeth. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

      She lets out a nervous laugh, and her dark eyes meet mine. “It’s instinct, I guess. And something about you makes me feel at ease.” She slides down over my length and repeats the movement again. Then again. And Christ if I don’t think my knees are about to buckle.

      “Me?” I say, my voice rough. “I make you feel at ease? The monster of a prince who isn’t even welcome in his own country? You want me to take the most precious gift you have to give?”

      Because suddenly this isn’t a game anymore. It’s real. So fucking real my chest hurts. Because this woman deserves better than I could ever give.

      Pleasure, yes. I have plenty of that in store. But how can that be enough for her when she knows what her future holds beyond this night?

      She tugs me toward her, and before I know what is happening, I’m between her legs, my tip stroking her folds as she sucks in a series of sharp breaths.

      I groan. She’s wet, warm and soft as silk. “What the fuck are you doing?”

      She presses her chest to mine, squeezing my cock between her thighs.

      “There’s no such thing as love at first sight,” she says, echoing her words from the Lovers’ Leap. “Take me, Damien. However you want.”

      Before I can say anything in response, she tangles her fingers in my hair and pulls me to her, crushing her lips against mine.

       You’re right, Princess. There’s no such thing.

      Juliet

      Damien feasts on me like a man possessed. Moaning, I surrender to his tongue’s wicked assault, savoring each possessive glide. His mouth is everywhere as he treats my body like a triple-scoop chocolate fudge sundae with a cherry on top. I am reduced to making halting, mewling whimpers like a lost kitten.

      My entire life I have felt alone, but in this moment, I am found.

      “What happens next?” I gasp as he licks up the side of my belly. “You insert your penis in my vagina and we commence procreation?”

      “Procreation?” he barks out a laugh. “Jesus, Princess. Imagine taking the Nightgardin throne with an Edenvale bastard in your belly.”

      I flush, reality returning for an unwelcome moment. “I’m sorry. Growing up I was never allowed to call sexual congress by any other word than procreation.”

      He stands and tilts my chin so I am staring up at him dead-on with no escape. No shame either. I’m utterly naked and at his mercy, and yet feel safer than I have in years.

      “We’re not having sexual congress either, my lady.”

      “No?” My voice is husky.

      He shakes his head and leans in, his lips pressing to my ear, nipping my sensitive skin until an enticing heat spreads down my neck, radiating to my breasts. “This is the part where you say, ‘Fuck me, Damien.’”

      The word surges through my core like a jolt of electricity. “I... I don’t say such things.”

      He smugly arches a single brow. “Too bad then. Because you don’t get my cock unless you ask. No, scratch that. Unless you demand it. Because tonight’s lesson is this...” He strokes the ruddy erection standing at attention between his muscular legs. “This isn’t a penis. It’s a cock. My cock. And I don’t just put it in you.”

      I press my hip bones against him. “What...do you do?”

      He feigns a solemn expression,

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