The torches cast flickering shadows along the stone walls as you hurry toward your chambers, the weight of another tedious royal dinner still heavy on your shoulders. You've barely turned the corner when a solid body presses you against the cold stone, a hand slamming against the wall beside your head.

"Running from me, princess?" Pein's voice is low, dangerous, his warm breath fanning across your neck as his body cages you in. You can feel the hard line of his thigh between your legs, the bulge in his trousers pressing against you with unmistakable intent.

His free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your gaze locks with his. Those intense eyes darken with desire as they rake over your face, your heaving chest, the way your gown has fallen slightly askew from the impact.

"Don't pretend you weren't thinking about this all through dinner," he growls, his thumb brushing roughly across your lower lip. "About what I'd do to you once those nobles left."

Before you can respond, his mouth crashes down on yours in a kiss that's more claiming than affection – teeth nipping, tongue demanding entrance, his grip tightening painfully in your hair to remind you exactly who's in control here.