He half-laughed, half-growled as he lifted his head. “I know what you want, but…”
Heart racing out of control, I squirmed under his weight. “But what?”
“I want you to say my name.”
“What?”
His hips continued moving in maddeningly slow circles. “I want you to say my real name.”
My lips parted on a sharp inhale.
He stilled once more, his eyes luminous. “That’s all I ask.”
All he asked? It was a lot.
“It’s acknowledgement,” he said, his thumb swirling and tugging. “It’s you admitting you are fully aware of who is inside you, who you want so badly, even though you know you shouldn’t. Even though you want nothing more than to not feel what you do. I want to hear you say my real name.”
“You’re a bastard,” I whispered.
One side of his lips curled. “Some call me that, yes, but that’s not the name I’m waiting to hear, Princess.”
I wanted to deny him. Gods, did I ever.
“How bad do you want it, Poppy?” he asked.
My grip tightened on his hair as I yanked his head down. There was a flash of surprise in those glowing eyes. “Bad,” I snarled. “Your Highness.”
His mouth opened, but I lifted my legs, curling them around his hips. Taking advantage of his surprise and tapping into my own anger, I rolled him onto his back, fully intending to leave him there, but I hadn’t foreseen what the move would do when I rocked back—
I sank down on his length, my body shockingly flush with his. My shout ended in his groan as I planted my hands on his chest. Gods. The fullness was almost too much.
“Oh,” I whispered, taking ragged breaths.
His chest was moving just as unevenly under my hands. “You know what?”
“What?” My toes curled inside my boots.
“I don’t need you to say my name,” he said, his eyes half closed. “I just need you to do that again, but if you don’t start moving, you might actually kill me.
A startled giggle burst from me. “I…I don’t know what to do.”
Something about his features softened even though stark need shone through the thin slits of his eyes. “Just move.” His hands went to my hips. He lifted me up a few inches and brought me back down. A deep sound radiated from him. “Like that. You can’t do anything wrong. How have you not learned that yet?”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I mirrored his movement, moving up and down as snow fell across his shirt. My palm slipped, angling me forward. A spot deep in me was touched, sending out bolts of intense pleasure in waves. “Like that?” I breathed.
His hands tightened on my hips. “Just like that.”
With each move of my hips, that spot was touched, and more streaks of bliss shot through me. Before I knew it, I was moving faster above him, and I knew he was watching me as my eyes drifted closed, and my head fell back. I knew his gaze was fastened on my breasts and where we were joined, and that knowledge was too much.
The tension whipped out, shattering me. I cried out as I shuddered, body spasming as intense shards of ecstasy sliced through me.
He moved then, rolling me back under him and thrusting his hips against mine. His mouth claimed mine as his body did the same, pounding against me, into me until the pleasure seemed to crest once more, the fierceness shocking as he seemed to lose all sense of control. His large body moved over mine, in me until he pressed hard against me, his shout swallowed in our kisses as he shuddered.
I didn’t know how long we lay there in the falling snow, our hearts and breaths slow to steady, my grip still tight on his shoulders, his forehead pressed to mine. After some time, I became aware of his thumb moving along my waist in idle up and down sweeps.
The heat of passion cooled and, in its wake, was confusion. Not regret. Not shame. Just…confusion. “I don’t…I don’t understand,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.
“Don’t understand what?” He shifted above me.
“Any of this. Like how did this even happen?” I winced as he started to ease out.
He halted, brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yes.” I closed my eyes as he remained still for several moments before moving to my side.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Look at me and tell me you’re not hurt.”
My eyes opened, and I looked at him. He was raised on one elbow, seemingly unaware of the snow falling around us. “I’m fine.”
“You winced. I saw you.”
I shook my head in disbelief. My gift was utterly useless since I was feeling too much to concentrate, so I couldn’t even…cheat. “That’s what I don’t understand. Unless I completely imagined the last couple of days.”
“No, you didn’t imagine anything.” His gaze roamed over my face as I blinked snow off my lashes. “Do you wish that this, right here, hadn’t happened?”
I could lie, but I didn’t. “No. Do…do you?”
“No, Poppy. I hate that you even have to ask that.” He looked away, jaw flexing. “When we first met, it was like…I don’t know. I was drawn to you. I could’ve taken you then, Poppy. I could’ve prevented a lot of what has happened, but I…I lost sight of a lot of things. Each time I was near you, I couldn’t help but feel as if I knew you. I think I know why it’s been like that.”
He said this like it was the answer to how we had gone from me stabbing him in the heart to tearing off each other’s clothes. I shivered in the cold, damp air as I shook my head again.
Being drawn to one another explained none of that.
“You’re cold.” Rolling to his feet in one smooth movement, he fastened his pants with the one lone button that remained and then extended his hand. “We need to get out of this weather.”
We did. Well, I did. He probably didn’t, considering he could be stabbed in the chest and be all right minutes later.
I placed my hand in his and stated what I felt he needed to be reminded of. “I tried to kill you.”
“I know.” He pulled me up onto my feet. “I can’t really blame you.”
I stared, dumbfounded as he swooped down, tugging up my breeches as he rose. “You don’t?”
“No. I lied to you. I betrayed you and played a role in the deaths of people you love,” he said, listing the reasons as if it were a shopping list. “I’m surprised that was the first time you tried.”
I continued to stare.
“And I doubt it will be the last time you try.” The corners of his lips turned down as he tried to secure the pants but discovered that the buttons were somewhere on the snowy ground. “Dammit,” he muttered, reaching for my shirt. It was torn straight down the middle. He gripped the sides and pulled them together as if that would repair the material. He cursed again, giving up. He reached up, pulling his other shirt off over his head. “Here.”
I stood there, wondering if I was suffering from blood loss or post-orgasmic bliss. Maybe a combination of both because I couldn’t believe this. “You’re…not mad?”
He lifted a brow as his gaze met mine. “Are you not still mad at me?”