122

Princess Yeri.

Ozar slides my dress off my shoulders. His rough fingers trace the line of my collarbone, peeling the gown away until it pools around my waist. My hands work with equal urgency, fumbling with the belt at his waist. The sound of leather sliding through loops is quickly followed by a sharp click as I unfasten it. Ozar allows me, for a brief moment of control before he takes over, yanking the belt free and it clatters against the floor.

His calloused hands that have played in the art of war slips under. Ozar pulls my underwear down, yanking it away and tossing it aside. I gasp as the last barrier between us is removed and he reaches for my lips.

With both of his hands, Ozar grabs my face and his lips crashes against mine in fierce hunger. He pushes his tongue into my mouth—his fervour makes my knees weak. His mouth tastes of rain, like the first drops of a storm that could quench the earth. So raw and untamed, a tempest can neither be tamed nor ignored. A potent blend of wh