Alaric didn't wait for her response to his whispered threat. He didn't need one. He could feel the shift in her, the final crumbling of her defiance, the acceptance of the inevitable. He knew he'd already won her mind. Now, it was just about conquering the body. A formality, really. But one he intended to enjoy. Thoroughly.
He moved between her legs, spreading them wide with his knees. She didn't fight him. She lay there, paralyzed by his spell, her naked body a pale offering in the dim moonlight. He could feel the heat radiating off her skin, smell the intoxicating female scent of her arousal mixed with her fear. It was a potent combination.
She braced herself. Her mind flashed back, unwanted, to her wedding night. To the King's fumbling, painful, blessedly quick consummation. She remembered the tearing pain, the awkwardness, the crushing disappointment. She squeezed her eyes shut behind the magical darkness, expecting that same violation.
Then, she felt it.
