Page 96 of The Pumpkin Bride

“Never.” He pulled her ass onto his thighs, then lifted her legs to his shoulders. The way her hips rose with his touch thrilled him. She reached for his legs, caressing his thighs as he flexed.

“Slower,” she said. “I want to savor you.”

As though saying that didn’t make him want to come right now. But she was his princess, and her wish was his everlasting pleasure. With torturously deliberate movements, he eased into her, causing her body to sway in a way that would be burned into his memory for the rest of his days.

A smile played on her lips. “This . . . is my . . . favorite birthday.”

“Mine, too.” His voice was rough as he belted his forearm across her shins to keep her locked in tight.

With a gasp, she rolled her hips. “I changed my mind. Faster.”

Obedient as ever, he obliged. Control slipped away as fast became furious, and the sweet tension built in his spine, coiled between his hips. He held it off, until, until, until. . . .

Princess Marigold of Thornwick fell apart in his arms.

He allowed his own pinnacle to meet hers. One, two, three thrusts as its echoes coursed through him. He stilled, as senseless as if he’d been knocked from his horse in a joust. His chest expanded as he caught his breath, then released a contented sigh.

“Come here.” She reached for him.

Gently, he withdrew from her, already missing the sensation of being overwhelmed by her. He lay next to her before the fire. She used his chest as a pillow, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, tucking her close to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t.” He trailed his fingers along the curve of her hip. “It’s the curse. I’m forbidden to reveal my true identity to anyone, upon pain of their death. It’s also why I can’t leave Grimroot Farm. The rules were quite clear. Perhaps because you guessed who I am—”

“Who cursed you?” she demanded.

“The autumn sprite.”

“But you hate magic. Why would you engage with a sprite?”

“Starry-eyed ambition on a foolish quest led by Crispin. For a title, I was to gather golden acorns from the Lantern Oak. After I filled a haversack, the sprite challenged me with a riddle.”

Marigold nodded with understanding. “And you got it wrong.”

“No, that’s the thing—I got it right.”

“And he cursed you anyway?” She drew her brows together. “That’s unfair.”

“It was at Crispin’s behest.”

Her mouth formed an O. “But . . . why?”

“At the time, jealousy motivated him.” He sighed as he swirled his fingertips against her soft shoulder. “Harvest Hollow cheered me more than him. Now, given what you told me of his plot with your brothers, I wonder if removing me was the first step in his plan to acquire you.”

“Yuck.” She pulled a face. “I don’t care to be described as an acquisition.”

“My humblest apologies.” He hissed her forehead.

“Accepted. Why would the sprite obey Crispin’s command? He’s made no secret that he’s magic-tolerant, but I doubt a sprite would do his bidding from simple gratitude. I’ve been a spectator to royal authority my entire life, and that’s simply not how it works.”

“That, I do not know.”

Her hand fisted. “I will throttle the prince.”

“I love that you’re fired up on my behalf, but there’s no need to attack him. I made my peace with it.”

“Why make your peace? Crispin should pay for this. He’s stolen years from us.”