This has already gone too far. I know it has. I meant to seduce Basten into helping me escape, but I didn’t expect to elicit such exquisite need in myself, too. It’s not too late to stop it, and yet every time I think about turning my back to him and losing his hot touch, my body forcefully objects. My skin’s never felt a man’s touch like this before. My lungs are hungry, my breath shallow with the same fierce exhilaration as when I rode Myst at breakneck speed through the forest.
Suddenly, it isn’t about seduction anymore. I’m not sure it ever was. It isn’t about using Basten for some distant gain.
It’s about me.
It’s about that feeling I had while riding Myst. I feel that same yearning for freedom now. Whether it’s riding free on a horse, or choosing the man I want to take my virginity, it’s all the same—determining my own fate instead of letting others do it for me.
And I want to choose Basten.
So, so badly.
He gazes down at me with a challenge. We’re both waiting for the other to stop this. But neither of us does. I can feel the moment tip on its side until it’s out of control, and I know there’s no going back now. I roll my hips beneath his open hand on my belly. With my free hand, I trail my fingers along my neckline.
Meeting his questioning look head-on, I murmur, “Don’t stop now. Then what would you do?”
His eyes glaze over with raw desire. Not breaking eye contact, he begins to bunch up my chemise’s fabric around my hips, inch by inch, in painfully tantalizing slowness. His voice takes on a wicked velvet rumble. “You’ve ridden horseback often, so you’re probably already torn. That’s good, because it will hurt less when a man fills you with his cock for the first time. Regardless, I would ensure it’s the pleasure you’d remember, not the pain.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My skin begs for Basten to touch everywhere at once. To do each and every one of the filthy things he inventoried. I squeeze my thighs together, but it’s impossible to tame the writhing heat at the base of my stomach. Like a flood, it spreads through every nerve until I feel as fragile as glass, begging to be shattered.
I moan his name. “Basten.”
He ghosts my ear with his lips as he says huskily, breathing harder now, “And then I’d toy with your pretty cunt to get you ready to take me.” His hand finds the chemise’s hem bunched around my hips. “First with my fingers. Then with my tongue.”
I moan louder.
His fingers fondle the inside of my thigh. Back and forth in slow, long, torturous strokes from my knee up to my groin and back. My hips writhe, hungry for more spoils, urging him to move his hand higher, to the tight little knot that so badly needs his attention.
I grip the back of his bicep so hard that it must leave bruises. His breath teases my neck, his lips so damn close to mine that I think I’ll burst if he doesn’t kiss me.
“If I were Lord Rian,” he says, his breath coming hard and fast, “I would make damn sure you came your first time. Not once, but again, and again, until your body shuddered in my arms with its last ounce of strength, and I could smell the slickness sliding down your thigh.”
Holy gods. My fingernails curl deeper into his arm. I might even be breaking the skin. I don’t care. This game we’ve played has been fun, but I want my prize, now. No one has ever spiked my emotions as much as Basten, and I can’t fathom any man but him taking me.
Not Adan.
Not Lord Rian.
Basten is the man my heart wants and my body craves. Basten is my freedom. Basten is how I will change my mantra after years of the same desperate plea: It’s no longer “They can have my body, but my mind is my own.” It’s now “My body and my mind are mine.” No one can use my body anymore unless it’s my choice to give it to them.
And I want—I need—to give it to Basten.
I tilt my head so my lips skirt the stubble along his jaw’s edge. Breathy against his skin, I say, “What if I don’t want you to be gentle the first time you fuck me?”
I wait with bated breath to see what reaction this gets.
The last ounce of Basten’s resolve vanishes as thoroughly as though it never existed in the first place. After one long, covetous look, he pounces on me with all the energy of a huntsman who doesn’t intend to let his quarry get away. He curls one big hand around the back of my neck to tilt my chin toward him, as his other hand gropes down my hip to grab an entire handful of my ass cheek.
No more games, no more waiting. His lips are achingly close to mine. Heat prickles along each ridge of my spine, setting my nerves on fire. I need to hold onto something. My hands go around his neck, fingers weaving through his hair like clinging onto Myst’s mane.
But he still doesn’t kiss me.
He won’t break the vow.
Damn him. Damn him!
I tug on the back of his neck, whimpering as I try to pull his lips to mine, rolling my hips under him.
His voice is hoarse. “You have no idea how much I want—”
His voice cuts off mid-thought as his head jerks to the side, like he heard something. His eyes are suddenly clear, alert. His body goes perfectly rigid overtop me.
Blinking hard, dizzy from desire, I push up to one elbow. “What is it?”
“Smoke.” His eyes zero in on a spot on the wall while focusing on his sense of smell. He says tightly, “The common room is on fire.”
This is such a stark turn of events that my brain can’t switch back on fast enough. I shake my head. I don’t want this to end!
Helplessly, I object, “I don’t smell anything . . . ”
But my words trail off. Of course Basten, with his godkissed senses, would smell smoke long before I would.
He sits upright, gazing down at me with dilated pupils, his breathing still fast. It’s clear there is only one thing in this world he wants right now more than to fuck me—and that’s to protect me. He drags a hand over his face. Instantly, he switches into guard mode. “I have to get you out of here.”
He grabs my wrists.
My body is still slick with desire. My pebbled nipples haven’t gotten the message about the danger. The dull throb between my legs demands attention, and frustration swells in my chest as he drags me out of bed.
“Basten, wait!”
I lick my lips, trying to find words. But my brain is blank. I don’t know how to tell him how much I wanted him, how much I still want him. That now that I have a taste of freedom, I don’t intend ever to go back to the way things were before.
His expression softens in understanding. Briefly, he cups the curve of my jaw. “This . . . You . . . ” He starts again. “We have to go, Sabine. Get dressed.”
Finally, I snap out of my haze and realize how dangerous it is to stay in a burning building. Dragging a hand over my scalp, I take quick stock of where I left the overdress on the bottom bed rail. I tug it over my chemise, then crouch to look for my shoes under the table.
Without warning, my heel pushes down on a loose nail sticking up from one of the floorboards. Pain stabs through my foot. My knees buckle. Dropping to all fours, I let out a cry.
Basten is by my side in an instant. “Sabine?”
“My foot!” I gasp.
He makes quick work of inspecting the puncture wound that’s oozing blood. Acting fast, he swings his rucksack over one shoulder, and then picks me up off the floor. Carrying me in his arms, he tromps across the room and kicks the door open.