Royal Weddings: The Reluctant Princess / Princess Dottie / The Royal MacAllister

He raised his head from her breast and moved up a little, so his face loomed above hers. A blaze of lightning cut the night and she saw the feral gleam in his pale-blue eyes.

Thunder rolled and the room was dim again. Still, his eyes shone at her through the shadows. ‘‘I want to bring you pleasure, Elli.’’

‘‘Oh, Hauk. You do. You are.’’

He brushed a kiss on her brow.

And below, very gently, he eased the curls aside, finding the slick groove of her sex. She gripped his big shoulders and whispered his name.

His finger moved. One long, shockingly intimate stroke and no more—right then. He took his touch elsewhere, sliding his rough and tender palm down the vulnerable inner surfaces of each of her thighs.

She sighed and let her legs ease open.

He was kissing her again. Kissing his way down the center of her. Elli lay beneath him, awash in pleasure, a willing victim of his mouth and his seeking tongue that dipped into her navel and played there. She gasped as she felt his teeth, lightly nipping. She moaned with the wonder of it—moaned and then moaned again.

Lower and lower, down over the tender skin below her navel. He put his lips there, against her mound, not delving in, just pressing his mouth, open, upon her.

And he let out a long, warm, focused breath of air.

Several bolts of lightning struck in quick succession, each followed by that rolling, booming sound. Elli was tossing her head on the pillow, muttering words she hardly knew the meaning of.

‘‘Yes’’ and ‘‘Oh’’ and ‘‘Please’’ and ‘‘There…’’

Gently, he moved her thighs wide apart and positioned himself between them. She dared to open her eyes, to gaze dreamily down the length of her own yearning body. His mouth was on her, now. And his tongue was…

His tongue was…

Elli groaned and the room lit up with wild stormy light. There was the thunder. And the hollow pounding, like a continuous sigh, of driving rain.