Guarding His Royal Bride. C.J. Miller
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and made the room flow. It was charming and distinctly Demetrius.
She sat on the bed and gave it a few test bounces. “Harder than I like.”
“I’ll have it replaced,” he said.
He was nothing if not confident. “I don’t plan to sleep here,” she said.
“I don’t plan for you to sleep there, either, but I do intend to have you in my bed,” he said.
His words made her hot and excited. Her insides clutched with yearning. “Come here. Please.”
He strode to her and knelt on the floor in front of her. He took both her hands in his and kissed her palms. To have a powerful man like Demetrius acquiesce to her made her, in turn, feel powerful.
He watched her with such absolute focus that she felt like the only person in the world who mattered to him in that moment. Maybe she was. “I’ve fantasized about having you in my bedroom and about what I would do to you when I finally got you here.”
They had flirted, they’d had long conversations, but they hadn’t allowed their relationship to cross over into a physical one. Their attraction was the one part of their relationship that had been consistent. Consistent and persistently drawing her to him. She had daydreamed about him, about this moment, and now she couldn’t think about anything except him. “Then, do it to me. Show me.” He would be confident and talented in bed. She knew it.
His eyes blazed sex. Taking the relationship from zero to sixty was rash, but Iliana didn’t know how long this would last. She had kept his attention, and he had pursued her. They were alone together in his room. Why fight it? Iliana knew the difference between sex and intimacy, and while she preferred the latter, in this blistering moment, she wanted the former with Demetrius.
“When I’ve thought of you at night, when I’m alone, I’ve imagined you touching me and I know you will be very, very good,” she said.
He grinned. “You know right, but I will show you.”
She expected him to pounce on her, but instead he stood and drew her to her feet. He walked her to the large window overlooking the gardens.
He stood behind her and moved her hair to the side. He pressed his lips to her neck and ran his hands down her sides. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation. He had been restrained every other time they were alone, and it made her want him that much more.
When he reached her waist, he unsnapped her pants. She had a moment of panic. What underwear was she wearing? She couldn’t recall what she had slipped on that morning. She hadn’t been anticipating taking a lover that day.
“Relax. What are you worried about?” he asked.
“I think I’m wearing green underwear.”
Demetrius laughed and plucked the back of her pants. “Yes. It seems you are.”
She felt a flush over her cheeks. Normally sleeping with a man for the first time required careful preparation—manicure, a facial and some primping. No special arrangements had been made today. But she had the feeling with Demetrius, this could be now or never. He had said the word marriage to her, but Iliana couldn’t process that on any real level. Achy, needy desire swelled inside her. She couldn’t slow the build of lust and wanting in her body. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“There is nothing you could do now to disappoint me. Except maybe leave.” He slid her pants down her legs and let them fall to the floor around her feet. She stepped out of them. He tugged her shirt over her head.
Demetrius spun her around. He growled as he swept his eyes down her body. “You are glorious and perfectly feminine.” He touched the side of her face gently, tracing his thumb down her cheek.
Then he moved quickly and deliberately, bringing her against his body and kissing her. His lips seared her to the core. She moved against him, feeling his hardness through his pants, and had the intense urge to drop to her knees and take him in her mouth. The kisses turned carnal, tongues tasting, teeth clicking.
Demetrius reached between her legs and ran a finger across the V of her thighs. “Wet. Already. I like that.”
She was dripping. Hungry. His hands cupped her breasts, and he squeezed lightly.
He was wearing entirely too many clothes for this to be fair. She tugged his shirt from his pants, pulling at the buttons and grappling with his belt. When his shirt was unfastened, he shrugged it off, and it joined her clothes on the floor.
His pants came next, then his boxers, and she could see everything. Every bronzed, roped muscle, his impressive arousal, long and thick, the ripple of his abdominals and a collection of scars.
She set her hand over the circular scars, one near his heart, two at his sides, one on his thigh. “What happened?”
“Gunshot wounds.” He sounded indifferent.
“All of them?” He had been shot four times?
“Different occurrences. Do they bother you?” For the first time, he sounded unsure, and that warmed her. He was human. He was sweet. He had a soft side that she guessed he revealed to few people.
“Not at all. You are a warrior.” To prove it, she kissed each one, tracing them and the other scars that marred his body.
“Enough,” he said, and swept her into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her down. She let her legs fall open because she wanted him now and didn’t feel the need to be coy about it.
He removed her bra with the snap of his fingers and kissed each of her breasts, laving them with attention, making her feel loved and cherished. He reached for her feet, removing her shoes and letting them hit the floor.
“Demetrius, please hurry.” Her body ached for his, longed to feel his weight on top of her.
Other sexual encounters with boyfriends had been brief, a quick pounding, leaving her unsatisfied. Demetrius seemed in no hurry and intent on leaving her satisfied. She was so turned on, if she moved the right way against him, she might come from his touch.
He kissed a trail down her body and tugged her green—ugh—panties down her legs. “I’m throwing those out,” she said.
“Keep them. I’ll think of you like this every time I see them,” he said.
He brought his mouth between her legs, and she involuntarily bucked against him. He set his hand on her hip to settle her. Excitement and pleasure pulsed between her legs. He took his time, licking, sucking, caressing her until she was frantic with need. He knew what he was doing, and she tried to stay calm. Watching him in that intimate position, she felt affection and warmth flood over her.
“I need you inside me,” she said. “Please, Demetrius.”
He moved over her and reached into his bedside table. Donning a condom, he positioned himself at her opening. With almost no effort, he pushed inside her. She was hot and wet and so ready for this. The sensation of him filling her, of him reaching deep inside her, was utterly amazing.
He moved with hard, insistent thrusts, seeming to enjoy the thump of his body delving into hers. She ran her fingernails down his back, digging them into his buttocks, and lifted to meet him.
She felt pressure building between her legs. Everything inside her spun with pleasure and desire, pushing her higher and higher until she was plummeting over the edge of ecstasy. Their eyes locked, and she felt a shudder go through his body as he spilled his essence.
As her body relaxed beneath his, he collapsed on top of her. She welcomed the weight of him. She kissed his shoulder and rubbed his calf with her foot. The words I love you were on her tongue, but she refused to speak them, scared of what they could mean, fearful they were coming too soon or may be an excited utterance.
Most of all, she was scared they were true and she had fallen for a ruthless dictator who would hurt her all over again.