His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

Chapter 236: I Have One More Question

Henry’s brows lifted. "Is this how it is going to be with us? You seducing me whenever you want something to go your way?"

"Yes."

Henry laughed softly. He adored the answer. "I have always loved your honesty. I have one more question...And I want an honest answer." His hand reached for her waist, fingers settled against her side. His other hand rose into her hair, loosening one dark curl from its pin as he tilted her face towards his.

His mouth hovered dangerously close. "Earlier," he murmured, "was it all for Richard? Or was it you too?"

Her heart thundered. She could feel his warmth, the restraint trembling beneath his hands. He wanted the truth. "Your Majesty..."

His thumb brushed the curve of her jaw. "I will find out," he whispered and kissed her.

Livia stood rigid for one foolish second. His lips moved against hers. Her mouth opened beneath his.

A quiet sound of satisfaction left him. He deepened the kiss, one arm tightening around her waist as he turned them slowly until the edge of the writing table pressed against the back of her thighs.

Livia’s hands found his shoulders. Her fingers curled into his doublet and held on. Henry lifted her slightly, guiding her until she was half seated against the table. Papers rustled beneath her skirts. A quill rolled to the floor.

He did not break the kiss. His hand moved to her neck, his touch slow and maddening. His fingers traced the sensitive skin beneath her ear before drifting lower to the laces of her bodice. Henry loosened the first lace without looking, then another, his patience proving far more dangerous than hunger. The bodice eased slightly.

He pulled back then to look at her. Her lips were parted, her breathing uneven, her eyes bright with the same war he felt raging in himself. She was still fighting him. In her head, in her pride, in the wounded place that refused to forgive too quickly. He could see it.

But he could also see that he had reached her. Henry’s hand stilled. He had promised patience. He would not push her beyond the line she could cross freely. no matter how badly his body urged him to have her.

Still, he needed her to know. Her excuses were excuses. Her fear was real, her hurt justified, her anger deserved.

But the longing between them was real too. They both couldn’t help themselves. Henry’s gaze dropped to the loosened edge of her bodice.

He lifted his hand carefully once more, his fingers brushed the fabric from her shoulders. He moved like a man approaching something sacred and forbidden, something he had once possessed, lost, mourned, and found again with desire trembling beneath her skin.

With one finger, he eased the bodice lower. The fabric slid down her arms. Livia inhaled sharply as the cool air touched her bare skin. Her breasts were revealed to him, full and soft, their peaks already tightened beneath the heat of his gaze. Henry’s breath caught so fiercely it sounded almost like pain.

God help him. He had thought memory had been cruel enough. It had not. Memory had failed her.

She was more beautiful than he remembered.

The table behind her became a temptation so vivid he had to close his fist against it. He could imagine sweeping aside the papers, lifting her fully onto the wood, and taking back every stolen moment until neither of them could feel nothing but pleasure.

But that would ruin everything. One mile backward, perhaps ten. He had promised patience. A terrible promise.

So he did not touch her the way he wanted. Instead, he watched her breathe. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, the rhythm betraying everything her mouth refused to confess. Stubbornness fought with want. Fear tangled with memory. Pride stood bravely at the door and was, at present, losing ground by the second.

Henry lifted his hand and let his finger hover just above her nipple.

Not touching.

Only close enough for her to feel the heat of him. Close enough for the promise of contact to become its own wicked torment.

Livia’s lips parted. Her hands tightened at the edge of the desk. "Henry..."

His eyes lifted to hers while his finger remained a breath away from the hardened peak of her breast.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Her body leaned the faintest inch forward. Henry smiled.

There.

Truth.

Her body reached for him before her fear could drag it back. His fingertip finally touched her. Livia shuddered.

He stroked her slowly, circling the sensitive peak until her eyes fluttered and her body arched despite every noble effort to remain composed.

"Your Majesty?" she breathed.

Henry leaned close, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. "I have my answer, my love." His tongue traced the delicate curve of her lobe, before he drew it gently into his mouth. Livia’s breath broke.

"You are evil," she whispered.

"No one will believe you, love." His hand closed around her breast, his thumb moving over the aching peak until she trembled against him.

"I only have to know it," she said, her voice unsteady.

Desire had softened her mouth, flushed her cheeks, and left her looking furious with herself for wanting him.

"You love me. You want me. You crave me."

Her gaze sharpened, but her body betrayed her again when his thumb passed over her nipple.

"Me," he whispered. "Me. I only have to know it."

Then he released her. The absence of his touch was so sudden that confusion flashed across her face before she could hide it. Henry saw it and smiled smugly. He was still a man, after all.

He reached for the fallen bodice and drew it carefully back over her shoulders. His fingers retied the loosened laces.

Livia stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"The honourable thing." Henry could feel the effort it took not to kiss her again, not to push her back against the desk and coax every last truth from her body. But he would not take victory from weakness.