Yet I lie there, my legs parted.

He cocks an eyebrow—and I know the question he is asking is not just part of his game. He is asking permission. If I play along, he will take this even further. How far, I do not know.

All I can think of is more.

“No,” I whimper. “Gentleman do not do that.”

He smiles, but his eyes darken. He slides down my underwear and tosses it aside, and my heartbeat hammers in my chest as he exposes me fully to him. His breathing becomes ragged, his shoulders hardening.

“Fuck. You’re beautiful,” he mutters, as he looks at me where no man has ever looked at me before. His eyes lift to mine once more. “Do they do this?”

He lowers his head and lightly kisses the sensitive bundle of nerves. I cry out as heat and surprise surge through my veins. Before I can process what he has just done, his mouth is on me, fully, completely. Hot and wet and hungry. He devours me. My back arches. My hips buck, and he grabs them, growling like a wild animal being disturbed from his prey, as he plants them firmly against the mattress.

He slides his tongue along my center, and I moan. I have never felt anything like it. He flicks, and licks, and sucks as though he cannot get enough of me, and the storm inside me becomes frantic. I want to lose myself to it. To this feeling. To him.

I reach for him, threading my fingers into his hair, pulling his mouth closer to me. I rock, shamelessly, against his face. He growls, sliding his hand up the shirt to roughly palm my breast.

“Fuck,” he groans against me, and I shiver.

I do not feel like a human or a princess. I feel primal. That wildness builds with each lap of his tongue, each squeeze of my breast, each time he rubs my nipple with his thumb. I am writhing beneath him, my legs spread fully for him, my fingers clenched in his hair.

He moves his hand away, and I’m about to protest when he slides a finger inside me.

I cry out at the pressure of it, at the friction. He moves his hand at the same pace as his tongue—deep and fast and rough. It builds, and I rock harder, needing more. Needing him.

He groans, the noise vibrating through me, then he slides in another finger, spreading me wider, opening me up even more to him. It is too much to bear.

“Callum. . . I’m going to. . . It feels. . . I. . .”

I cry out, my breathing fast, as release crashes over me, through me. The world blurs. There is only this feeling, wild and raw, pumping through my veins. I feel like the wind that tears through the Northlands, and the animals that rage through the forests. He growls, his mouth clamping over the bundle of nerves, tasting me as I come undone beneath him.

When I finally settle back into my body, I’m panting, splayed out on the bed.

Callum kisses me gently between my legs, his eyes on mine—the wolf is prominent behind them. When he pulls away, his lips are moist. He drags his teeth over them, a low growl scraping against his throat. He climbs back over me, and gently kisses my mouth.

I moan against his lips, brushing my fingertips down the side of his face.

I am aware of his hard length, pressing against my bare thigh.

I should feel embarrassed, yet I do not think I have ever felt so relaxed in all of my life.

He looks down at me, and smiles softly.

“Well?” he asks, mischief in his expression. “Does a gentleman do that?”

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Chapter Forty-Four

“I do not believe that gentlemen do that,” I whisper.

Callum grins.

The wolf is still in his eyes. His irises are forest-green and glint in the flickering light coming from the hearth. I feel warm and soft and weightless. It makes me even more aware of the solidity of his body, which hovers over mine, and the hard length that presses against my bare thigh.

Another lick of heat pulses through me.

What would it be like to make him lose control in the way that he just did to me?

I do not know much about men, but I know if I touched him. . .

His eyes darken as if he knows the direction of my thoughts.

I try to slip my hand between us, but his body is flush with mine. So, I nudge his big shoulder. Conflict mingled with something else crosses his features before, warily, he lets me push him onto his back.

I prop myself up on my elbow. I am transfixed by his body. I take in his large biceps and the dusting of hair on his chest. I cannot help but recall the first moment I laid eyes on him, when I found the size and strength of him threatening.

Now it stirs something very different to fear inside me. How can a male be built this way? His sculpted frame rivals that of the marble statues of the gods that line the King’s Approach to the palace. Hard and powerful and commanding attention.

Only, his cheeks are flushed, and his lips are swollen, and his chest moves up and down quickly. I have done that to him. Despite coming undone beneath him just moments ago, letting him have total control of my body, I feel powerful. What else can I do to him?

I touch his chest. He watches my hand as I run my fingertips down the ridges of his torso. I reach the hard V of his hips, and cast my gaze downward.

His arousal is obvious, visible through the thin material of his breeches. I hover my hand above it, my heart hammering in my chest. Callum seems to stop breathing. I think I have as well.

I have never done this before. Never touched a man. I have never wanted to until now. Will he finally lose control around me? Will he bend me over and take me in the way Wolves take their women?

Before, that frightened me. Now, heat pools between my legs in the place that is already slick and wet.

Tentatively, I move my hand down.

Callum lets out a low growl of frustration and grabs my wrist before I can touch him. In a sudden movement, he pulls me back to the pillow, turns me onto my side, and pulls me against his chest. His whole body is tense, flush against mine. His heart hammers against my back.

“What are you doing?” I growl.

“We have a big day tomorrow.” His voice is strained. “You’ll meet with the king. You should get some rest.”

A swell of disappointment grows in my chest. “You don’t want me to touch you?”

“More than anything, I want you to touch me.” He swallows. “But it wouldn’t be right. I’ll give to you, but I won’t take from you. That’s where I draw the line.”

I huff. “You are a gentleman, after all, then?”

“I’m a wolf and an alpha. I must have my honor.”

His hard length presses against my behind.

I shift slightly. He hisses through his teeth and puts his hand flat on my stomach, fingers splayed. He holds me still against him. “Princess, that’s not a good idea.”

“If you don’t like it, do something about it.”

“Speak to me like that again, and I shall bend you over my knee,” he growls in my ear.

Indignation spreads through my body, heating and pooling between my legs. He chuckles and kisses the back of my neck, causing another thrill to surge through me.

“And I do like it,” he says. “I like it very much.”

“Then, why?”

“One day,” he promises darkly. “One day, I will show you what happens when you touch a wolf.”

He strokes my bare stomach, his hand beneath my shirt.

“Now, go to sleep,” he says.

The movement of his hand is gentle and soothing, and—weightless as I am—I soon find my eyelids drooping and my body relaxing into his.

“The Wolf King is truly back?” I ask.

“Aye. He’ll address everyone tomorrow morning. We’ll speak with him then.”

“Are you worried?”

“No,” he says, but I catch a hint of hesitation.