Salviana shifted on his lap, her breath already coming out in soft, eager little gasps. She had barely gotten his still-hard cock pressed against her before Alaric moved—fast, too fast for a drunk man.
"Wait," he said, his voice low, almost strained. His hands slid to her waist, holding her still.
"Wait?" She blinked, her flushed face falling. "Alaric, I just—"
But before she could finish, he stood, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. He was unsteady—she could feel it in the way his steps wavered—but his strength was still undeniable. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders.
"Alaric—"
"You shouldn't tempt me when I'm like this," he murmured, his forehead briefly pressing to hers. His voice was low, ragged, his breath still uneven from what she had just done to him. "I'm already fighting every instinct I have not to…"
"Not to what? To love me? To take me like I'm your wife?" Her voice cracked, frustration seeping through.
