her slit.
“Holy… Oh, God… Christian? Do you play the guitar?”
His lips opened, tongue coming out to lick at them before giving her a smug, knowing smile. “I play you, Mallory.”
It was hard to keep her head up to look at him in the mirror. But nothing in this world could make her look away, either. Because he’d picked up the pace.
Every stroke was so fast and hard that it swung her hair forward. And now a vein stood out on his temple, right at the edge of his golden crown of hair. His jaw jutted forward slightly, and all his neck and shoulder muscles corded. Her prince was close.
So was she.
Christian ground the heel of his hand against her, while his other hand squeezed her nipple. It pushed her over the edge, every inch of her body going impossibly tight before dissolving into quivers of pulsating bliss.
Christian pumped fast, once more, before his jaw dropped all the way open to release a long groan.
And still they stared into each other’s eyes in that mirror.
Watching him fall apart was one of the most intimate things she’d ever seen.
Mallory wondered just how much her eyes had betrayed to him of how she felt.
“You make me happy, Mallory. I can—and will—wax on at length, much more poetically. But do you see this smile?” He took her hand in his and patted his cheek. “You put it there. All the time. All day and all night, even when I’m knee-deep in a shitstorm. The simple truth is often the most powerful. You. Make. Me. Happy.”
Mallory believed him. Here. Now.
She didn’t believe it could last once the entire kingdom knew about them. Or that it would be allowed to last.
Chapter Fourteen
Christian crouched down to be at the same height as the young girl in front of him. Bit back a wince as the leather of his boots bit into the back of his knees. Hopefully the leatherworkers of the seventeenth century had been more skilled than whoever created this “authentic traditional dress” get-up. He was ready to rip everything off after only two hours at the Harvest Festival. How had people tromped for miles, swung swords, plowed fields in above-the-knee boots and a vest and a tie?
“Congratulations, Your Highness. Your trophy is beautiful,” said the girl as she dropped three fast curtsies in a row.
“Thank you. What’s your name?”
“Ana.” She started to curtsy again, but Christian shot a hand to her arm to stop her. The tip of the bow slung over her back hit the dirt every time she dipped down. Ana was adorable. Probably not more than nine, with long braids wound around her head like a crown with berries and leaves decorating it.
“The judges tell me that you missed qualifying for the competition by one point. And that you were very sad and asked for a do-over.”
Her lower lip quivered. “I did! They wouldn’t let me. But I’ve done better before. If I’d tried again, I know I would’ve qualified.”
Everyone had days like that. One judge had told him that Ana had trained diligently, and often bested the boy who had beaten her for a spot. “You know how you learned the proper stance, and how to draw the bow?”
“Yes.” She beamed at him and swished the bright-red skirt and its layers of petticoats. “I’m very good at lessons. I always listen.”
He got a kick out of her confidence. Hoped it never wavered. “Today you learned that you don’t always get a second chance. It’s a hard lesson. Believe me, nobody likes it. But now that you know, you’ll try even harder the first time at things, won’t you?”
“I will, Your Highness. I promise.”
Christian handed over the carved wooden cup he’d been bestowed after winning the adult archery competition. “Take this. Let it remind you to keep trying, keep working. Bring it back to the festival next year and give it to the judges. They’ll find me. Then you can show me how much you’ve improved.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You and I have a date in exactly one year, Ana.” He stood and bowed formally to her.
“Thank you, Your Highness!” One last bob of a curtsy before she hurtled away toward her family, waving the trophy above her head.
Elias handed back the hat he’d tossed in the air when he won. Christian took it with a grimace. He wasn’t a fan of the wide-brimmed black hat, either. Basically, he was damn content with living in the twenty-first century with zippers. Sneakers. Baseball caps.
He was particularly