Page 43 of Caroline the Cruel
The way she followed his movements as he stood to tend the fire sent satisfied waves of warmth to his stomach which clenched in response as if it had been her fingers to touch him. He was aware of his body, its robustness, health, and vigor, which wasn’t average to put it mildly. It was a Gift from the Gods. The young queen appreciated the male form. He’d use his physique to his advantage. Allowing the tie on his jacket to slip open, Breicher turned to her and he felt the warm firelight dance across his exposed muscle, which he flexed under the heat of her gaze. He was adept at the art of seduction as well and knew how to make a woman feel good.
He gulped down the rest of the wine, savoring it as it warmed the back of his throat in the most delicious way on the way down. Walking over to the decanter, Breicher refilled his glass. Caroline tracked his every move—calculating, her pupils enlarging at the sight of his stalking form. He was a prince, not a peasant like Felix. His mind was as sharp as his body, and he could play the game and find out whatever punishment she had planned. Maybe even get out of this thing alive if he played his hand right.
Ever so slowly, he approached her, leaning down to set his glass on the table. Her breathing caught as he pivoted, putting his hands on the couch on either side of her head. Eighty-five days in prison and she hadn’t executed him. He’d seen her kill a man for far less than the crime he committed. Breicher was beginning to understand that he was this Cruel Queen’s weakness as much as she was his. But he was an assassin and a warrior. He could hone his emotions like a blade which would be so much easier now that his identity was revealed.
Caroline leaned back as Breicher lowered himself over her, bringing them inches apart. Leaning on one arm, he brought the other to run his fingertips along her jawline. The queen had all but stopped breathing. “You still want me,” he said, in a low whisper.
She sucked in a quick breath. “Get off.”
He waited for a stab of compulsion, but he got nothing from her except her refusal. The chill of her words prickling across his skin shattered the moment even as an unfamiliar wave of rejection struck him. It had to be another taunt. He wanted to bury himself deeper under her skin.
“I tried to kill you and you still want me.” His voice was a husky tease as he moved off the queen obediently.
She snorted. “You’re the last thing I could possibly want.”
Caroline pushed to her feet, tugging her robe up on her shoulders, and stormed toward the door. Had he read the situation wrong?No. She claimed she always told the truth, but Caroline Dallimore was lying.
“Why haven’t you killed me?” It was the question which had been gnawing at him. There was no doubt in his mind that his brother would have executed any would be assassin with haste. He couldn’t figure her out.
She stopped her charge forward. “Is that what you want?” she asked, voice shaking. Her shoulders were rising and falling in swift movements.
“You couldn’t do it,” he blurted before he could stop himself.
Breicher barely tracked her as she spun in a blur of movement. He caught the rosenwood dagger a split second before it pierced his throat. The woman before him was fury unbound, and the force of her struck him like an anvil and he wanted it to. Wanted her. The traitor that he was.
“You don’t want to die,” she whispered, noting the dagger clasped in his hand.
She was right. It could have been over then if his self-preservation instincts hadn’t kicked in. They stared at each other for long moments, their chests rising and falling in unison.
Control, that’s what she needed. The corner of his mouth kicked up, and he looked at her from lowered lashes. “You’ve never wanted anything more.” He didn’t know if it was her truth or his, and he hated himself for it.
Caroline stepped back, and he threw the dagger so it sank deep in the wooden door right behind the queen. Incensed, she darted forward as if she wanted to choke him, but he picked her up mid-stride and crushed her against the door. If it hurt, she didn’t cry out. The wood creaked, however, and whatever horrible, invincible thing she’d become was unaffected. She only seemed hungrier, shifting, and writhing against his excitement. “I hate you,” Caroline growled, as she dug her nails into his biceps.
He lowered her to the floor, communicating all the darkness he felt back through their connected gaze. Breicher fell to his knees before the queen and ripped the slit of her nightgown wide open.Gods, she was bare before him. He pressed a hand to her stomach, holding her back against the door.
She might hate him, but she wanted him, too. He was certain. All he needed to do was confirm the truth of it. Breicher grabbed one of her thighs and swung it over his shoulder, and she let him.
“Liar,” he growled, then lapped at the moisture pooling between her thighs.
So much for foreplay, though Caroline supposed their banter had been foreplay enough for tonight.Dead Gods, nothing had ever felt like the warmth her would-be murderer was delivering her. Caroline rocked her head back against the door as Prince Breicher Ivanslohe worked her, using his greedy mouth and hand to send peaks and valleys of pleasure cascading through her body.
Right when she didn’t think she could take anymore, he’d give it to her with renewed enthusiasm, thrusting his tongue inside her and thumbing her most sensitive spot with perfect rhythm. All her pent-up frustration combined with the man’s skill released much too soon and the most glorious rapture cracked through her. Her fingers wound through his chestnut hair, holding him in place as the last of it ebbed. She tugged his head back, so he was looking up at her from his knees. There was nothing more beautiful. Her moisture glistened across his lips in the firelight, and he looked ready to pounce right then and take her.And part of her wanted him to.
It would be so easy to give into the swamp of thick emotions they were wading through. But she wouldn’t. They both needed time if this were to turn into something real.
His hair, which had been threatening to fall over his eyes, wasn’t the only thing different about him. The ocean of gleaming sapphire which lit his eyes from within stared up at her, beating in time with her heart. Love had been right. They were the opposite side of the same coin, and if they strayed too close to the forge, she was sure they would melt.
She’d played to his warrior nature. His male urge to dominate. To win after he’d lost. He must be aching with the need to take her. Dominate her.
Caroline would give him that chance, eventually. But not until she’d fully bent him to her will. “You want me?” she asked, pulling her full lower lip between her teeth.
“Yes,” he breathed.
“Good.” She chuckled. “You’ll make a fine king, Breicher.”
The grin shriveled off his face, as if she’d dunked him into a pool of icy water. Caroline released his hair and shimmied out from between him and the splintered door.
“What did you just say?” he seethed, face reddening. Veins in his neck popped, not due to pleasure she suspected, but because of the complicated emotions she was prodding along. The first stage of her punishment.
