Page 41 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
“Bastard.”
He grinned, obviously aware that once I got in, my legs would have to interweave with his in order for us both to fit. “Come, wife. You may not love me, but you find me tolerably appealing, yes?”
My heart twinged with sweet pain, but I wasn’t ready to yield yet. “I could simply pick you up and lift you right out of there.”
“Come on then, warrior princess,” he said, smiling wider. “Do it.”
Because then of course his wet naked body would be pressed against mine. “Cocky ass,” I hissed, climbing into the tub. I sat at the opposite end, with my feet practically in his crotch and his long legs stretching on either side of mine.
But my irritation faded for a second in the bliss of hot water sloshing over my skin. I yielded, sinking a little lower into the heat, closing my eyes and feeling tension drain from my muscles.
“This feels amazing,” I murmured.
The Prince reached over and took a sponge and soap from a stand near the tub. “If you won’t let the servants bathe you, will you let me do it?”
“Absolutely not. I can do it myself.”
“I know, I know,” he said, half-smiling. “You can do everything yourself. Except the one thing I did for you earlier.”
A blush crawled into my cheeks. “I’ll learn how to pleasure myself. Then I won’t need you at all.”
He sighed. “Yes, yes, you are the self-sufficient, independent princess. Strong and capable, doing what must be done, all by herself. Barreling through tasks like a runaway cart-horse.”
“And you are the reliant, dependent prince, following the instructions he’s given, and doing what he’s told like a little bleating lamb headed for slaughter,” I snapped.
His cheeks flushed bright red and his jaw hardened. The next second he flung the wet sponge at me. It hit my right shoulder with a loud splat.
I picked it up and threw it straight at his face. Water sprayed from the impact, and he spluttered and cursed. My glare melted into a giggle, and his face changed instantly, brightening as he lunged for me, sponge in hand. “Come here, Princess. Time for your bath.”
I squealed and tried to scramble away. He caught me, drawing me toward him through the water and swiping my face with the sponge. The next few minutes were a tangle of slick gleaming skin and gasps and splutters, writhing limbs and breathless laughter and soap suds.
Somehow it ended with me in his lap, facing him, with my knees arched over his thighs. Barely breathing, I kept my eyes locked with his while he passed the soapy sponge over my breasts and along my sides.
He slathered soap over my belly and then slid the sponge down, between my legs. “I need to clean you thoroughly, Princess,” he whispered. “You’re very dirty, you know.”
Whenever he said naughty things to me, I warmed from the inside out—and my reaction was even stronger with his arousal so prominent, so temptingly near. It wouldn’t take much to put him inside me. I wanted to, with an aching compulsion that flushed my skin and throbbed at my core. But first I needed to prove something to him—that what I felt went beyond physical need or sensual curiosity.
“Give that to me,” I demanded, wresting the sponge from his grip. With it I bathed him, from face to feet, lingering over his lower belly and his hips and his inner thighs. When I passed the sponge over his privates, he released a beautiful groan that sharpened to a whine as I stroked more firmly.
I stopped immediately, letting the sponge float away while I pulled my body flush with his, my ankles knotted behind his waist and my sensitive parts pressed right against the hard length of him. I laced my hands behind his neck, through his hair, and I kissed him, slow and tender.
“I’d choose you too,” I said quietly.
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The Fiend Prince leaned back a little, catching my gaze, a startled joy waking in his eyes.
I’d choose you too.
I nodded, affirming the words I’d spoken, my lip trembling. Why did I feel like crying? I turned my face aside, letting my wet hair cover the welling tears.
“I wish I had the ichor right now,” he whispered. “I’d pick you up and carry you straight into the bedroom, very dramatically, and I’d put you on the bed, and I’d slip inside you and it would be exquisite, Amarylla. But it would also be what my father wants, and I won’t do that unless you want it for your own happiness. Not for any other reason.”
I tucked my mouth against his cheek and said softly, “But doing that would protect us, too, wouldn’t it? Because if a sorcerer tests me, then our energy would be—blended. Which is what they want to see. We wouldn’t be consummating for your father, not really—we’d be doing it for our own safety, and because—because I want to. Ifyouwant to.”
“Oh, I want to.” His voice thinned, raw with need.
“Then come on, Fiend.” I forced a smile, a shield over the naked longing of my heart. I wanted him, but I didn’t want tocrythrough this—warrior princesses didn’t cry when they made love to their fiendish princely husbands.
