Chapter 4
four
. . .
Lachlan
She stands before me, hatred and fear warring in her eyes, and I've never wanted anything more in my life.
The gold of her hair catches the firelight, turning it to living flame around her face.
Her lips—still red from my earlier kiss—tremble slightly, though she tries to hide it.
My wife. The word sits strange in my mind, foreign after years of taking what I need from women without promises or vows.
But Fiona is different. She's not just a body to sate my lust. She's my claim to this kingdom, yes, but she's becoming something more with every defiant glance, every sharp word.
Something I never expected to find. Something I never knew I wanted until it stood before me, wrapped in a white gown and fury.
"You're shaking," I observe, circling her slowly, taking in every detail of her appearance. The curve of her neck, the rise and fall of her chest with each quick breath, the way the gown clings to hips I'll soon be gripping.
"I'm cold," she lies, her chin lifting in that proud way that makes me want to devour her.
"No. You're afraid." I complete my circle, stopping in front of her again. "But not just of me. You're afraid of yourself too. Of what you might feel."
Color floods her cheeks. "Don't flatter yourself."
"It's not flattery, Princess. It's truth." I reach for her, sliding my hand around the nape of her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingers. "I saw how you responded to my touch. How you're responding now."
She tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her of my strength. "Let me go."
"Never." I draw her closer, until I can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her gown. "You're mine now. In name. In law." I lower my head until my lips brush her ear. "And soon, in every way that matters."
A shudder runs through her, and I can't tell if it's revulsion or desire.
Perhaps both. The complexity of her reaction intrigues me.
Women have always been simple creatures in my experience—eager to please me for coin or favor, transparent in their motives.
But Fiona... Fiona is a puzzle I suddenly need to solve.
I could take her roughly. Assert my dominance. Show her exactly who holds the power between us. It would be easier that way, cleaner. A simple claiming, like planting my flag on conquered land.
But something in me rebels against that simplicity. I want more than her body. I want her surrender. Her willing participation in her own conquest.
"Do you know what happens between a man and a woman on their wedding night?" I ask, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
Her throat works as she swallows. "I'm not ignorant."
"Knowledge and experience are different things." I let my hand drift lower, skimming the column of her throat, feeling her swallow again beneath my touch. "Have you ever been kissed before today?"
Her silence is answer enough.
"Touched?" I continue, my fingers trailing along her collarbone.
She shakes her head, a tiny movement betrayed only by the slight shift of her hair.
"Then you are ignorant, Princess. But I'll teach you."
"I don't want your lessons," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.
I smile. "We'll see."
My hand slides lower, cupping her breast through the fabric of her gown. She gasps, her body instinctively arching into my touch before she can stop herself.
"Your body disagrees," I murmur, my thumb circling her nipple, feeling it harden beneath the cloth.
"My body is a traitor," she whispers, eyes closing as if she can block out what's happening.
"No. It's honest. Unlike your words."
I bend my head and capture her mouth with mine, no longer gentle as I was during the ceremony.
This kiss is a claiming, deep and thorough.
She stands rigid at first, lips sealed against mine, but I'm patient.
I coax rather than force, my hand continuing its exploration of her breast while my other arm wraps around her waist, drawing her flush against me.
Slowly, like ice melting in the sun, she begins to yield. Her lips soften, her body relaxing incrementally against mine. When my tongue teases the seam of her mouth, she gasps, and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
The first touch of my tongue against hers draws a sound from her throat—part protest, part moan. Her hands, which have been hanging uselessly at her sides, rise to push against my chest. But they don't push hard. They just rest there, caught between resistance and surrender.
I pull back, studying her flushed face, her dazed eyes. "Tell me again how much you hate me," I challenge softly.
She blinks, as if waking from a dream. "I do hate you."
"And yet you respond to my touch." I slide my hand from her breast to the laces at the back of her gown. "Let's see how much more you respond when there's nothing between us."
Panic flares in her eyes. "Wait—"
"We've waited long enough." One by one, I undo the laces, feeling her tremble as the gown loosens around her body. "I've shown you more patience than I've shown anyone in a very long time. But my patience has limits, Princess."
The gown falls away, pooling at her feet in a whisper of fabric. Beneath it, she wears only a thin shift that does little to conceal the curves of her body. I can see the dark shadows of her nipples, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. My mouth goes dry at the sight.
"Beautiful," I murmur, and I mean it. She's exquisite, more tempting than any woman I've ever seen. "Turn around."
She hesitates, then slowly turns, presenting her back to me. It's a small surrender, but it feels monumental. I slide my hands over her shoulders, down her back, feeling her shiver beneath my touch.
"I'm going to remove your shift now," I tell her, my voice rough with barely restrained desire. "And then I'm going to lay you on that bed and make you mine in every way."
Her breath hitches, but she doesn't protest. Another small victory.
I gather the hem of the shift and slowly lift it up her body, revealing inch by inch of creamy skin. When I pull it over her head, she automatically crosses her arms over her chest, a futile attempt at modesty.
"No." I capture her wrists, gently but firmly pulling her arms away. "Don't hide from me."
She stands before me, completely naked, vulnerability and defiance warring in her posture.
I take my time looking at her, committing every curve, every freckle, every shadow to memory.
Her breasts are perfect—small, high, tipped with rosy nipples that have tightened under my gaze.
Her waist is narrow, her hips flaring gracefully to meet long, slender legs.
Between those legs, a thatch of golden curls hides her most secret place—the place I'll soon claim.
"My turn," I say, releasing her wrists to remove my own clothing.
I watch her face as I strip, noting the widening of her eyes as more of my body is revealed.
When I stand fully naked before her, her gaze drops involuntarily to my cock, already hard and ready for her. She pales slightly at the sight.
"It will fit," I assure her, unable to keep a note of amusement from my voice. "But it might hurt at first."
"Everything about you hurts," she whispers, but there's a new quality to her voice—a breathless quality that tells me she's not as repulsed as she wants to be.
I close the distance between us, feeling her naked skin against mine for the first time. It's intoxicating—her softness against my hardness, her coolness against my heat. I lift her easily, carrying her to the bed and laying her down among the furs.
She watches me with wide eyes as I come down beside her, my weight making the bed dip. I don't cover her body with mine immediately. Instead, I prop myself on one elbow and let my free hand wander, exploring the landscape of her body with deliberate slowness.
"Tell me something true," I say, my fingers trailing from her collarbone to the valley between her breasts.
She frowns. "What?"
"Something true. About you. Something no one else knows."
It's an impulse I don't fully understand—this sudden desire to know her beyond the physical. But I wait, watching emotions chase across her face as she considers my request.
"I..." She hesitates, then says quietly, "I always wanted to learn swordsmanship, but my father forbade it. Said it wasn't ladylike."
The admission surprises me—both in its content and the fact that she offered it at all. "I could teach you," I find myself saying. "You should know how to defend yourself."
Now it's her turn to look surprised. "You would do that?"
"You're my queen now. Your skills reflect on me." It's not the whole truth, but it's easier than examining why the thought of teaching her to fight appeals to me so much.
Before she can respond, I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth, effectively ending the conversation. Her gasp turns into a moan as I suck gently, my hand sliding down to caress her stomach, her hip, her thigh.
"Lachlan—" My name on her lips sends a surge of possessive pleasure through me, even though she likely meant it as a protest.
I move to her other breast, giving it the same attention while my hand continues its journey, nudging her thighs apart.
She resists briefly, then yields, allowing me to settle between her legs.
I can feel the heat of her against my cock, the slight dampness that tells me she's not as unwilling as she pretends.
My fingers find her center, exploring gently. She's wet—not enough yet, but getting there. I circle the small bud at the apex of her thighs, and her hips jerk in response.
"What—" she gasps, eyes flying open.
"Pleasure," I tell her, continuing the motion. "The first of many I'll give you tonight."