Slayer by D. L. Snow Page A

you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m not one of your sheltered young princesses who has no idea of the filthy rutting tendencies of men. I know what goes on behind closed doors.”
    Cahill’s expression changed. First understanding, then shock, and then anger. “You’re not a virgin,” he said in a low voice. “Someone abused you.”
    Brea laughed. “No, I’m a virgin.” She pulled her dagger out from her leather belt and twisted it between her hands. “I wouldn’t let a stinking, breeding male near enough to abuse me.”
    Cahill frowned. “Then what do you know of things that take place ‘behind closed doors’?”
    “You may find this shocking, Your Highness, but commoners rut regardless of whether doors are open or closed. In fact doors have very little to do with it. Stables, tavern floors, up against walls.” Brea shivered with revulsion. “Beastly copulations. No thank you.”
    “Ah,” Cahill said. “A tavern education.” He stood, and Brea found herself no longer at an advantage. “I’m afraid, Princess, your education may be lacking. What you have witnessed is only a very limited version of the act in question.”
    “I’d wager I know more than enough.”
    “A wager.” The prince smiled as he lifted her chin with his thumb, forcing her to look at him. “Now that’s a wager I’d be willing to take.”
    Brea scowled, but Cahill tightened his grip on her chin, holding her in place. “What if I was to convince you otherwise, Princess? What if I was to prove there was more to this carnal act than you are aware and what if I was to wager that by the end of it, you will be begging me to take you to our marriage bed?”
    Still holding her dagger, Brea pressed the tip into the juncture of his rib cage. With satisfaction she watched his eyes widen at the sharp pain of it. “I will make no such wager.”
    Cahill released her face and stepped back, out of the reach of her dagger’s lethal point. “Because you know you’ll lose.”
    “Ha!”
    “Remind me, Brea, who was tugging at the draw to my breeches the other day. I might be mistaken, but I’m almost certain it was you.”
    “You swine!”
    “Yes. A talking swine, at that. Come on, Brea. Stop fighting it.” His hand moved so swiftly she wasn’t able to get away in time. He grasped her wrist and squeezed until she dropped the dagger. Then he pulled Brea to the bed of furs and pushed her down. “Tell me you don’t want me.”
    “I don’t want you,” she snapped. And she didn’t. Not logically. But apparently her hands did because they wound around Cahill’s neck and pulled him down onto the furs beside her.

Chapter Eight
    Cahill kissed Brea using every ounce of control he could muster. His tongue flicked gently over hers, his lips moved with a forced laziness that was nearly killing him. But she’d encouraged him, if somewhat unwittingly, and he didn’t want to scare her off. He paused from his kiss to regard her beneath heavy lids. There was no mistaking the raw desire in her grey eyes, no mistaking the attraction she felt as her body shuddered beneath his hands. “Tell me to stop, Brea. Tell me now,” he urged. “Or I won’t be able to.”
    Brea’s lips parted as if she was about to say it, about to tell him to stop. But she didn’t. Instead she licked her lips as her breath caught in her throat.
    “Merciful gods in heaven.” Cahill groaned as he leaned down into her and kissed her with more restraint than he thought he could bear. He had to have her. He had to hear her moan. It was absolutely essential that he bring this combative woman to her knees. Because she already had him on his knees.
    Cahill was certain he had died and gone to heaven when, in a breathy voice, Brea moaned, “Please, Cahill. Please don’t stop.”
    As if stopping was even a possibility.
    He groaned as he pulled her close and nuzzled the side of her neck. “I have never met a woman like you,” he whispered into her hair as he deftly