Page 14 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
He laughed, thin and hoarse. “Then you’re doing it wrong, I think. Or maybe you need something to look at. Some people think men are the only ones who like some visual stimulation, but that’s not true. I’ve found that women appreciate a sensual sight just as heartily. And now we encounter a problem, because, as you’ve said, you don’t find my body attractive. So the sight of me won’t help you at all.”
I chewed my lip, glad he could not see my face. I was probably red as a furnace. “I—I don’t find you completely unappealing.”
“Really? Well then—” He rolled onto his back again and threw the sheet off himself. His pale torso glistened faintly with sweat, and though he wasn’t gifted with mounds of muscle, the lean cut of his chest, the lines of his ribs, and the concave plane of his stomach warmed my blood. Even the twisting map of his scars intrigued me. His hipbones jutted sharp, and the slope of his abdomen tapered invitingly toward the band of his undershorts. Judging from the lump beneath them, he wasn’t as firmly erect as he’d been earlier.
“Like anything you see?” he asked. “How do you feel now?”
“I feel—” My heartbeat throbbed hard through my veins, pulsing in the space between my thighs.
“What if I take these off?” He tucked his thumbs into his waistband, easing the shorts down a bit lower. “What then?”
Tingling heat swelled in my lower belly, a warm wave of sensation I wasn’t prepared for.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “I can’t do this.” I pressed my hand over my eyes.
“You can do anything you want,” he said. “If you want to go to sleep, so be it. If you want to watch me touch myself, we can do that too.”
“Watch you—” I gulped. Suddenly, desperately, Iwantedto watch, to see what he would do. But when I peered at his face, I saw that his eyes were closing, dark lashes drifting to his cheeks. “You’re not well. You should rest.”
“Mm,” was all he said in response. “I think I will sleep. Feel free to look at me all you want.”
And I did look. I stared at him, even after his breath grew calm and slow. I decided I liked the crisp lines of his collarbones, the vulnerable softness of his mouth in sleep. I liked the neat corner of his jaw, and the way his dark hair swirled across his temple in frayed silky bits. I liked the tight buds of his nipples, and the fine bones of his hands, and the way his abdomen sucked in and lifted with every light breath.
I could kill him now, easily. I could insert the tip of a blade into that pale throat and release the red blood, or press a pillow to his face. He would not have the strength to resist me.
Frantically I searched my heart for the burning ache of vengeance, the desire to kill him. I could not find it. He had doused it thoroughly, sometime between our dance and this moment.
How had this man, barely more than a boy, killed so many of my people? Why had he slaughtered my father’s soldiers, and ridden at the head of raiding parties that burned our border villages? I couldn’t reconcile the two people—the warrior and the dancer—as one. Though as a warrior and dancer myself, perhaps it should not have surprised me that he could hold both identities at once.
A shiver coursed over my skin, and I curled in on myself, hoping I would warm up soon. The Fiend Prince lay exposed, goosebumps stippling his skin in the chilly air. After a moment I dragged the sheet and blankets over him as well, and as I did so I felt the faint warmth of his skin, a delicate temptation.
Gingerly I eased my body closer to him. And closer again. And just a tiny bit closer, until my arm was pressed to his. Just that bit of contact warmed me, and when he did not stir, I sighed, relaxing. Slowly my thoughts diffused into dark, silky warmth—heat and smooth skin and delicious comfort.
When I roused to consciousness again, I felt as if I had more limbs than usual. A weight on my waist, a solid thigh between mine.
My eyes flew open, and there were the Fiend Prince’s nose, eyelashes, and cheekbones, a finger-space from mine. His eyes were closed.
A twitch of panic jarred my body, and he mumbled, frowning, pulling me tighter against him.
I froze, wincing. How was I to get out of this? A timepiece hung on the wall beyond his shoulder, far beyond the drape of the bed-curtain, and if I squinted I could read its markings. It was nearly morning—the servants would be coming soon with breakfast. Our interwoven position would certainly confirm our status as a happy couple. Perhaps I should stay like this a while. It wasn’t so bad, after all, with his hair gliding like a silky breath across my forehead and his hand cupping my rear, squeezing lightly—
Wait a minute—
I wriggled, trying to shake off his fingers. “You bastard. You’re awake.”
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The Fiend Prince squeezed my ass cheek a little harder. “What do you know… Iamawake.”
“Bastard,” I hissed again, struggling to extricate myself.
He began moving away from me, and his thigh slid between mine, a rough unintentional caress against certain private places. I let out a small sound and my eyes flared with alarm, catching his gaze. We both froze, interlaced, tense and motionless. He swallowed, his lashes dipping as he eyed my mouth. “Your breath is terrible, Princess.”
“So is yours, fiend.” I pinched my lips together.
“We should go and tend to that, and to—other needs.”
“There’s only one bathroom.”
