You say the naughtiest things for a duke.” He arched a brow. “How many dukes have you known?” She glanced up as if trying to remember. “None but you.

I am not afraid of death.” He pressed a kiss into her palm, the slow, sensual act weakening her knees. “I am afraid of losing you.

As you wish, sweetheart.

There is no place far enough that you can run. If a doe flees into the forest as far as her legs will carry her, does not the wolf simply follow?

You know, I once had a little boy in Hiddleston come up to me and ask if I conjured up the hartsstone.”“What did you tell him?” he asked.She spoke in her scratchy, witchy voice, “Why of course I do. Every full moon, my boy. And the wolves howl. And the fairies rise from their bowers, then we dance in a round, breathing in the powerful magic of the hartstone.

He was too big, too dark, too strong, too seductive… simply too much for her to resist.

His jaw clenched tight. “I could not resist you last night if the world itself was on fire.

I want to tear these clothes off of you and taste every inch of your skin. I want to lick you between your thighs till you slide away into oblivion. I want to drive my cock inside you and mark you so deep that you know you are mine. I want to make you come so hard that you beg me to do it again. And again. And again.

There is nothing else. No one else,” he grated low and deep. “There is only us.