Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) Rebecca Grey (first e reader txt) 📖

"You know the magic they used pulled information from me. What the other versions of myself said had some truth to them."

"Are you trying to tell me that you do love me?" I hold his gaze even as I reach for the slice of bread he offers me. I take a bite, eager to keep myself busy with something. Crumbs flake from the bread and scatter across my lap. "I'm afraid I do not return the sentiment. It would take more than what I've received for me to find some way to love an Elf."

Marcello chuckles. "All I need to make you fall in love with me is ten minutes in private, clothing optional."

"You are so sure of yourself. Before, what did you say? Oh yes, you said that you were going to be gentle with me, make me purr. How sure are you that that is what I need or even so much as like?"

"Well, what do you like?" His teeth sink into his own piece of bread. His tongue quickly darting out over his lips to steal away the crumbs.

A nervous excitement washes a heat over me. Maybe I should not be so picky about how he may or may not touch me. Finishing my slice of bread, I stare into his eyes.

"You make me feel so..."

"Horny? Turned on? Magical? I can think of a lot of words that could help describe the ways I probably make you feel."

His accent curls around each word. Horny. Turned on. Magical. Yes, all those things and more.

"Try frustrated, angry, or even fearful." In my head my response sounds more playful than anything, but spoken out loud it's absolutely pitiful.

Marcello's jaw slows as he finishes his own slice. He nods his head, thinking as he puts the lid back on the jam and slowly moves all the items off the bed and to the tent floor. Now there's nothing between us but the crackling static of the air and the space that begs to be closed.

Springs creak as Marcello scoots himself forward until our knees touch. I don't dare move. If I do anything, I'll sprint from this tent. Even the air around us feels shallow, like I'll drink it all down in a few moments and there will be none left for us to survive on.

"You do not need to be fearful with me." He lifts his hand, but does not touch my face. "May I?"

"Yes." I whisper so softly I'm not sure that he catches the word at all.

The pads of his fingers brush over my cheekbone, following the curve of my face. His touch stops for a moment, then he traces the scar that slices through my lips. The caress keeps moving, chasing a tremble across my skin.

"I don't know what it is about you, Nilsa Windsor. I don't know what draws me to you so fiercely I can hardly think, but I intend to find out."

He can't think? I can't think. Ever. Every time he comes near my mind is a boggle of confusing thoughts and demanding desires that I don't give heed to. I want to give heed to them now. Perhaps I'm just feeding a different sort of demon now.

"Has anyone ever taken their time with you?"

My heartbeat races but it's for a much different reason than minutes before this conversation was even started. Marcello draws little circles down my neck and around the neckline of my shirt. Heat pools between my legs with every sweeping touch.

"What do you mean?" I rasp, my voice suddenly raw.

"Has anyone kissed you like they meant it? Or touched you with a passion that seems to have no end? I'm not talking about whatever sort of fast pace fuckery you typically dally in. I'm talking about lovemaking. Sex that last hours upon hours just because you can't quit falling back into each other’s arms."

I've had sex with Joss for hours. Though some of it others may consider more akin to torture than sex. But has anyone been gentle with me? No, not really.

"Maybe I won't like lovemaking. Maybe I like to be fucked." I lean in toward him. The small motion presses his hand gently against the base of my throat. I smile at the pressure.

Marcello's half smile falls. His eyes search my face. "Not when I'm through with you, you won't."

"Such promises you make."

He huffs the smallest laugh before he's closing the space between us entirely. Somehow I know that if I kiss him, I'll never be the same again. Some part of the hate that lives inside of me might very well die. Because this isn't anything like sex with Joss or even fucking Jefferson. This is intimate. This is powerful.

My pulse races faster and faster as Marcello brushes his lips against mine. With his kiss comes the helpless feeling of vulnerability. I open my mouth to taste the sweet candy scent of his lips on my tongue. Every nervous thought is squandered away, lost in a haze where only sensations live. Touch and tension and taste.

Marcello pulls away slowly from our kiss, his hand running up my neck and tilting my head for better access. He presses a kiss against my jaw. A shuddering breath passes my lips, but I'm too lost in the feeling of his eager touch to feel embarrassed about such a noise.

He kisses me, softly at first, but when his teeth scrape against my skin and everything in me feels like I'm free falling all over again, the kisses turn more needy. My eyes flutter closed. I wrap my hands around his shoulders, finally entangling my fingers into his hair. The curls are soft, catching against the roughness of my calloused hands. Some of the strands remain damp from sweat. Even his sweat smells sweet.

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