Page 25 of Sweet Briar


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“Would you watch him for a few minutes, Rose? I want to order a decent meal for us. I haven’t eaten properly in days.” He frowns. “It isn’t appropriate for the two of you to be alone together, but under the circumstances…”

“Your knight is in no condition to ravish me, Your Highness.”

His frown deepens into a scowl.

“Alistair. I want you to call me by my name.” He slides one arm around my waist and tugs me close. “It’s more intimate.”

His lips brush mine. I accept the kiss reluctantly. His hand slides down over my hip. At least he’s being transparent about his expectations for our wedding, an event I intend to delay for as long as possible.

“Alistair.” I ease out of his grasp, enduring a quick squeeze of my bottom on the way. “Go on. I’m famished, too.”

Once he’s gone, I exhale.

Killian twitches in the tangle of sheets. I edge closer to the bed and cock my hip to perch gingerly beside him.

“You poor thing.”

His dark hair has escaped its messy knot to fan out on the pillow. Damp strands stick to his temple.

Surprise nearly jolts me off when he shifts, and I realize he’s naked.

Not only shirtless.

Completely naked.

I stare helplessly at his hard planes of muscle, crisscrossed with scars, leading down into the twisted sheet. A ladder of ridges frames his navel, with two grooves on either side near his hips. Below that?—

I gasp and sit up, pressing one hand to the place where my heart pounds behind my ribs. One corner of the coverlet obscures the essentials. Barely. The sheet is thin enough for me to make out a dark patch above a rise that disappears beneath the blanket.

I shouldn’t. Taking advantage of him this way is reprehensible, but my curiosity gets the better of my good sense. I cast a wary glance at the door. No sign of the prince. I can pretend I was adjusting the blanket if he walks in.

Screwing up my courage, I pinch the fabric and lift it just enough to see an outline of his private parts.

My mouth goes dry.

I have seen precisely one penis in my entire life, belonging to a toddler. Killian’s is completely different. For one thing, it’s much, much bigger. For another, it moves. I swallow a yelp and drop the sheet, my pulse racing.

The only thing worse than being caught by the prince would be Killian waking up to discover me examining him like a complete pervert.

He kicks. The blanket slides down his thigh, the sheet clinging to his modesty for dear life. I gasp, but I don’t leap off the bed. He’s clearly uncomfortable. I lean across his chest to examine the wrappings on the arm that’s swaddled in bandages.

Slate-gray eyes flash to mine, pupils dilated, and before I can move away, a hand clamps down on the back of my neck. Killian drags me down into a domineering kiss. Startled, I brace both hands against his chest.

Though my pulse pounds in my throat, its thundering beat only enhances the needy twinge between my thighs.

His is the kiss of a man who believes it will be his last, and is determined to make the most of the experience.

I let him.

I part my lips to allow his seeking tongue past my teeth. Slide my palms fractionally higher on his chest, seeking purchase and reveling in the crisp texture of hair on too-warm skin. He’s still feverish. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

But I do.

I relish giving him everything he desires. Taking what I want, for once, instead of being told what I can or cannot have.

Once I stop resisting, he gentles, his hold loosening until he’s cradling the back of my head. A low groan tears from his throat.

“Take me,” he whispers.