Elara's pov
Still trying to give orders, Your Majesty?" he murmured, but the heat in his gaze belied the teasing tone. He reached the edge of the bed where I sat, his legs brushing against my knees. "But if we're doing this, if we're truly sealing this... I don't want the queen. I want my wife."
He didn't give me time to respond. His hands tangled in my hair, tilting my head back, and his mouth claimed mine. It wasn't the gentle, chaste kiss from the altar. This was a ravaging. His lips were demanding, his tongue thrusting deep, tasting me, owning me.
I moaned into his mouth, my hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders. The fabric of his tunic was rough against my palms, an irritation I couldn't stand. I tugged at the laces, needing to feel his skin, needing the barrier gone. He understood immediately. He broke the kiss just long enough to yank the heavy tunic over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Then his hands were on me, urgent and possessive.
