Page 62 of The Night Prince

All sensible thought leaves me. All rational fear. I’m just need, and desire, and the heat that builds with each expert stroke of his fingers. “I... good. It feels good,” I gasp.

I grip his wrist and move my hips. I want him to move faster. Harder. To fill me with his fingers and ease this desperate throbbing ache. He keeps his pace tortuously slow and gentle. A feral moan escapes my lips, and my teeth tingle like they want to sink into something.

His dark chuckle fills my ear. “How about now? How does it feel now, Princess?”

“Frustrating,” I growl.

He brings his other hand to my breast over the fabric of my dress, and runs his thumb over my peaked nipple, causing another jolt of pleasure, of frustration, to surge through me. He dips his head, and sucks the sensitive spot behind my ear.

“And now?”

“Please,” is all I can murmur.

“This is what it is to be a wolf.” He slides his finger down my slickness, and gently circles my entrance. An embarrassing moan scrapes against my throat. “To have something building inside you.” He slides his finger into me, and I groan as he fills me. “To feel wild. Feral. Animal.” He slides back out, then in, and sweat beads on my skin. “To always be on the edge of something.” I arch my back, whimpering. “Never able to release.”

“Please,” I whisper.

“Until the night of the full moon.” He nips my earlobe with his teeth. “Spread your legs.”

I allow my thighs to fall open. He slides one finger in, and then the other, stretching me and filling me with delicious pressure. My moan echoes around the clearing, and he makes a low, satisfied sound in his throat. Finally, he gives me what I want. He pumps his hand faster. My head lolls back against his shoulder, and I move my hips against him.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He moves his other hand to my throat, and tilts back my head so I’m forced to look at him. I barely notice the wolf in his eyes, or the flush of his cheeks, or the hardness that presses against my lower back through his kilt. “This is what it feels like to shift.”

He curls his fingers against my inner wall, hitting that spot deep within me, and it pushes me over the edge. My release crashes through me, more forceful than it ever has before. I writhe against him as the feeling is finally freed. Until, finally, whimpering, moaning, sweating, I still in his arms.

I blink, and everything comes back into focus: the clearing, the crackling fire, the trees swaying in the darkening sky. Callum. His green eyes are bright in the darkness.

I huff a laugh. “I don’t believe you. It can’t feel like that.”

His grin widens. “Perhaps not quite. But it’s a release. A good feeling.”

He slides his fingers out of me, and I shift against him, tilting my head back against his chest to look at his face. When he holds up his hand, his gaze is drawn to the way his fingers glisten in the firelight. His expression darkens, and heat floods my face. Without warning, he puts them into his mouth and sucks, his eyes shutting for a moment as relief seems to flood through him.

“Callum!”

He opens his eyes, pulls out his fingers, and grins. “What? A wolf thing. I told you, we have an oral fixation. Fuck. I cannot wait until tomorrow morning. I am going to devour you.”

He told me he was going to give me all of him, and let his wolf off its leash, after I shift. Now that my orgasm is ebbing away, the tension coils inside me once more. The sky darkens through the treetops. “How long until it happens?”

“Soon. Can you feel it?”

“Yes.” My skin prickles. Hums. Something stirs in my chest. “Yes, I do. I feel—” I gasp and my brow furrows. I feel like something is tugging at my heart and my soul. Pain surges through my body. Panic floods me. Dots dance before my eyes, and darkness seeps into the corners of my vision. Beads of sweat break out onto my brow. “Oh, goddess.”

“Princess?” I’m vaguely aware of his jaw tightening. He’s far away. I can’t hear him over the roar in my ears. “Fuck. I’m sorry. The fever. Not again. Not now.”

It wasn’t you,I want to tell him. I can’t speak. Something rises inside me, and I furiously try to push it down. I can’t let it surface. I can’t let it consume me. Another heartbeat competes with my own. My soul is frayed and unraveling. He mumbles something about not wanting to do something.

He scoops me into his arms, and strides across the clearing.

“Hold on, Princess.” He pulls me into his chest as he mutters to himself. “Where the fuck is Blake?”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The trees sway. Twigs crunch underfoot. Shadows flicker across Callum’s jaw. A fire crackles by the loch, and there is laughter in the air. It blurs and fades.

We reach the castle walls and I’m soaked with sweat. I want to shed my clothes. I want to shed my skin. I writhe in Callum’s arms.

“Be still,” he commands, as he powers across the courtyard. I snarl, and he snarls back—as if he’s struggling to control himself as much as I am.

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