Page 80 of The Tower

He didn’t bother answering, just pulled her up with a speed that made her gasp, one hand tangling in her hair as he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was damn sure more intense than anything she’d felt in Elysium.

This was raw. Demanding. Real.

Her moan of pleasure went straight to his cock, and when her arms slid around his neck and she arched against him, it was all he could do not to come right then.

There was no hesitation in her, no caution. Only a hunger that matched his own, desire burning as hot and bright as a newly forged blade.

He pushed her back onto the bed, following her down, his weight pinning her to the mattress. His hands were everywhere—tangled in her hair, skimming down her sides, opening the robe so he could feel the heat of her skin.

She gasped when he dragged his teeth over her breast, and the sound sent a surge of primal satisfaction arrowing straight to his cock. This was what he wanted—what he needed. Her response. Her desire. Her surrender to him. To his every whim, his every pleasure.

Everything.

She was his to take, to claim, to use. The princess he’d craved for so long was truly his—no longer torn between him and a version borne of pixels and code.

He sat up, straddling her, wanting to watch her face as he touched her. Claimed her.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her lips swollen from his kisses, her breathing rapid and shallow. He twisted a strand of that magnificent hair around his finger. “So beautiful,” he whispered. Not just her golden tresses, but her. Sasha. She was stunning, incredible. Not the carefully curated beauty her father had demanded, but something wilder, more primal. Something real.

“Beg for it,” he demanded, his voice rough with need, his cock hard against his sweats as his thighs held her hips in place. “Beg for what you want.”

“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Please, please, fuck me.”

“Is that any way for a pretty little princess to talk?”

Fire lit her eyes, and she pushed herself up on one elbow, then slapped his face.

And there it was.

His cheek stung like fire, but he still had to fight his smile. This wasn’t Reed’s little princess playing another role because she had to. This was a woman who craved him.

“Say it again,” he demanded. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” she said. “Inside me.” One hand twined in his hair, pulling him down to her. The other shoved at the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down just enough to free his cock.

For a moment he considered fucking her mouth, watching as she took him all the way in, then coming all over that beautiful face.

But no. That was for another time. This was a claiming. The exorcising of her prince. He was her goddamn king now.

And with that, his fingers dipped into her slick heat, opening her up. He rubbed the head of his cock over her clit, growing harder as she writhed and begged. Then he thrust himself balls-deep into her slick little cunt, the air filling with her cry, that delicious sound of pain mixing with pleasure.

He rode her, memorizing the way she looked as pleasure built. The way her lower lip trembled when he hit those sweet spots, the whispers of please and yes, along with her screams of oh, god, and harder.

He took her close, right to the precipice, then slowed down, pulled out, and smiled when she begged him not to stop.

"Not stopping," he said. "Just a little friendly sexual torment."

"Bastard."

"As a matter of fact, I am," he said, making her laugh.

It was too damn easy being with this woman.

And that made her dangerous. He wasn't a man who committed. He wasn't even a man who dated. He was a man who fucked when he wanted. A man more than willing to trade sex for what he needed. He was a bastard by all definitions of the term. And Sasha Reed—with her vulnerability and fire—was becoming something more than a bargaining chip or revenge tool.

That hadn't been part of the plan.

For a moment, he considered pulling back. Telling her the deal had changed. That they'd still take down her father, but he needed distance. Space. Clarity.