His fingers slid free of her, and she moaned a protest.
“Wait,” he said fiercely before he kissed her again. Kissed her like he meant to brand the taste of his lips and the feel of his mouth on her forever. Somewhere far off she heard the swish of fabric as he pulled her skirt farther up and then another rustle before his hand was on her thigh, pressing her legs farther apart. Then she felt something hard and hot press against her, slide the length of her, hitting all those good places again before it nudged her entrance.
He paused a moment, and she tugged him closer, wrapping her legs around him and arching her hips by instinct so that he groaned and then pushed and slid inside her.
There was one bright burst of pain, but then it disintegrated against the sheer pleasure of the sensation of him deep inside her.
“Yes,” she said. “Goddess, yes.” She arched her hips again, and he began to move. Slow at first. Slow but not overly gentle. Each move strong and sure, burying himself deeper inside. And then not slow either. She caught the rhythm of it, the dance that it became. Retreat and advance and push and slide. All the time with those kisses stealing her breath and the humming pulse of the ley line burning through her, making her want more and more.
In the end it felt more like a war—or an annexation, perhaps. A hard-fought alliance, each wild thrust a welcome attack, one she answered with her own offense until at last the thin edge of control snapped completely and she tumbled over into someplace beyond sensation. Where there was only the two of them and what they had become.
She lay back, trying to gather herself, basking in the pleasure still washing through her.
Until Cameron wrenched himself away from her with another muttered oath.
Her eyes snapped open, and she reached for him.
He lifted a hand to hold her off. “No!” He rolled to his feet and staggered back several paces, chest heaving as he fastened his breeches again with jerky movements.
He might as well have slapped her. The pain of his rejection was sharp and hot. But that didn’t stop the overpowering need to go to him again. She scrambled to stand, pushing her skirts down as she did so. She stepped toward him, felt a twinge between her legs, hesitated, then moved again as the hunger for him rose again despite the other emotions twisting through her.
“No!” It was practically a shout, his face twisted with tension, and she halted. “Milady . . .” He hesitated, swallowed, softened his tone. “Sophie, please. Stay there.”
“But—”
“But nothing, milady. That was wrong.” He shook his head, face set.
“It didn’t feel wrong.” She watched him as she said the words, and the chagrin on his face made her think that he agreed with her. That he had liked it. Which was both satisfying and frustrating when he made no move to come any closer. But then he straightened his shoulders and his expression turned grim once more.
“Milady—”
“It’s Sophie.” They’d just—well, she wasn’t sure what you called that. The romantic poetry the ladies favored spoke of things like the sweet delights of the marriage bed, her mother had used words like “marital relations,” and there were coarser terms she wasn’t supposed know. “Bedded.” “Fucked.” But this didn’t feel like any of that. He’d been inside her. He’d been joined with her. He could at least use her name.
“I think we’re safer sticking to ‘milady’ for now. Goddess, what we just did—”
She scowled at him. “It felt good.”
“It was wrong. I should have—” He stopped, face twisting. “Milady, you just stepped straight onto a ley line without any preparation or knowing what you’re doing. You might as well have just drunk a liter of Iska. Anything would feel good.”
That struck her as a particularly stupid thing to say. “I’m fairly certain that if I’d kissed one of the horses, it wouldn’t have felt the same.”
“No. It wouldn’t. And this is my fault, not yours. I should have realized. Shouldn’t have touched you when you were in that state.”
“You didn’t like it?” How could he have not liked it? She’d never felt anything better in her entire life.
“I did,” he said.
“Then—”
“It was wrong of me.” He looked almost . . . wretched. “The power caught us both. And I apologize. So please, milady. Can you just listen to me and trust me that I know what I’m saying? Magic takes some people this way. Particularly the first few times. It feels good. Makes you want to be reckless. Makes you think you can do anything.”
“Maybe I can.”
“No. You can’t. You’re a royal witch. And right now, for all we know, you could be the only surviving royal witch. You’re supposed to be a virgin. Goddess. You cannot do—” He broke off, mouth twisting as if he didn’t know what to say. “That,” he continued eventually. “Have sex. With anybody. Except your husband.”
His words were like cold water poured down her spine. Husband. She had power. She would be married. Soon. “It’s not like anyone will ever know.” Though she wasn’t feeling so certain now. The haze of pleasure was retreating, and in its place a tide of confusion swarmed in. She’d had . . . sex with Cameron. It was as good a term as any, she supposed. She was no longer virgin. And an unmarried royal witch. If it was discovered, there would be hell to pay.