Page 13 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
He looked at me, tousled dark hair and flushed cheeks and pain-bright eyes above that too-pretty mouth of his. “Body heat.”
“Oh.” I paused, suddenly conscious that I’d been about to slide the dress right off my shoulders, and that I’d forgotten I wore nothing underneath. The dress itself had enough structure that I’d been able to go without a corset.
“Close your eyes,” I told the prince.
“And deprive myself of the only source of delight in my life at this moment? Not likely.”
He meant it as a wry, defiant statement, but it touched something inside me and made me pity him more. This fallen prince, whatever he had once been, seemed miserable—emotionally as well as physically reduced. I knew first-hand how it felt to be overlooked, disappointed, treated as a commodity. I knew the strain of royal responsibility to a nation at war—perhaps not as keenly as my father had, or as this prince did, but still.
I turned my back to him and slid the dress off my shoulders, until I stood half-naked, dressed only in the hoops and petticoats of the gown. Carefully I unfastened the remaining layers and stripped down to my lace underthings. Then I went to the closet and fetched one of his tunics to serve as my nightshirt.
When I came back, the Fiend Prince eyed the bare length of my legs appreciatively. “If I had the strength to ravage you--”
“You wouldn’t, and we both know it,” I told him. “If you wanted to assault me you would have done it already. Though you have invaded nations, I suspect it’s not in your nature to invade women in that way, no matter how great the temptation.” I perched on the edge of the bed and began unfastening his coat, then his shirt.
“Undressing me, Princess?” His voice carried the faintest echo of his usual bravado.
“I can help you undress, or you can sleep in all this finery and ruin it. Your choice.”
Grumbling, he dragged himself to a sitting position and helped me take off his garments, but the effort made him sweatier, and this time he grew deathly pale instead of flushed. When the upper clothes were off, I made him lie down while I undid the buttons of his pants.
His jaw was set tight, his hands curled into fists while my fingers eased each button out of its slot. Despite my care not to touch him more than necessary, his arousal was plain as I dragged the pants off him. From the way it tented his undershorts, he was rather impressively made, as I’d suspected from my earlier contact with that area.
“So flushed, Princess,” he said. “But you’ve seen a man’s parts before and had one inside you, yes? You claim not to be a virgin, yet you also claim not to know how a woman sounds when she is pleasured. A mystery, indeed.” He broke off, out of breath, and closed his eyes, dragging the sheet over himself.
I climbed into the bed as well, careful to keep my distance. In the darkness of the room, confession seemed easier, almost necessary.
“Not such a mystery,” I said quietly. “The boy I was with put himself in quickly, and finished quickly, and took no time for more.”
“He took no time to please his princess?” The Fiend Prince sounded incredulous. “What an unworthy lout.”
I chuckled a little. “Well. He was good-looking. I thought that meant the experience would be good, too. Clearly I was misinformed.”
The Fiend Prince rolled onto his side, facing me. “Would you like to be better informed?”
13
The Prince’s question hung in the chilly quiet, unanswered.
I clawed the sheet and blanket closer to my chin. The room was dark, but when I sneaked a look at the Prince, I could make out his browbone, the slope of his cheek, and the line of his nose in the distant glow from the fireplace. His eye glinted, half-concealed by locks of tumbled hair dislodged from its usual neat placement. He was safer to be around when he was polished, and dressed. This bare-chested, tousled version of him was far more dangerous, despite his weakened state.
“What do you propose?” I managed.
“A conversation,” he murmured. “I have no energy for anything more.”
A conversation couldn’t hurt, could it? I was curious how my body was supposed to work, to know what I was supposed to do to get that height of pleasure so many people seemed to enjoy chasing. I’d had no mother to explain it, and when I had asked my maids back home, they had merely tittered and said it wasn’t their place to tell me. I’d questioned my training partner Ashari too, but she told me she wasn’t interested in such things and would rather not discuss them.
Here was someone willing to indulge my curiosity—someone with experience. And since he was my husband, the conversation wouldn’t be inappropriate. Not that “appropriateness” ever stood in the way when there was something I really wanted.
“How—how would we begin such a conversation?” I asked.
“First of all, let me ask if you have ever explored yourself. Your nether regions, your private areas.”
I pulled the sheet over my face. “Mmph.”
“I cannot hear you, Princess.”
“Yes, I have,” I said grudgingly. “It felt nice enough, but not as good as I think it’s supposed to feel. I’ve always gotten distracted or fallen asleep before I got much pleasure from it.”
