Page 36 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
“I like it.” I gave him a smile, half shy, half daring. “Because it’s you.”
A tender pain shone in his eyes as he approached me again, his palms gliding along my waist—but a noise at the door startled us both.
“Damned servants,” he hissed. “Come here, quick.”
He grabbed my hand and we raced into his closet, burying ourselves in the lines of hanging clothes. There was a space at the back where I’d hidden myself once before, and he sat down on the plush carpet, pulling me into his lap, between his legs.
The murmur of servants’ voices reached us, and the clink of the tray and cups being gathered; but they left without coming to look for us. Perhaps they guessed that we were hiding, engaged in something salacious. Though this time, it wasn’t an act. I was really half nude, leaning back against the Prince’s bare chest.
In the dark, his slim fingers crept over the soft warm flesh of my breasts, smoothing and fondling them. His delight in their size and form showed in the repeated twitch of the hardness pressed to my rear.
Rigid I lay, scarcely breathing, exposed and exhilarated and a little terrified. While he caressed me, I wrestled inside, torn and enflamed. I didn’twantto want him, because his father and mine had arranged this. I didn’t want to crave his body, to lust for his touch. But he was starting to slide one hand down, along my stomach, past my navel and across the quivering flesh below it.
“Last question, Princess,” he whispered, his breath hot and intimate against my ear. “Do you want me to make you come?”
“You mean—” I breathed, barely able to think.
“Do you want me to give you that burst of pleasure you haven’t been able to experience yet?”
“Bold of you to think you can,” I gasped, as his fingers teased beneath the waist of my pants.
“Give me a chance.” He kissed my earlobe and cupped his other hand more firmly over my breast. “And give me an honest answer.”
His wandering hand settled between my legs, over the trousers, and my spine arched involuntarily, my hips bucking into the pressure. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, you can try.”
“Thank you,” he breathed, as if I was the one doing him a favor. “Take off your pants for me.”
I unfastened them and slipped them off along with the undershorts I wore, and then I resumed my spot between his legs. The plush thick carpet felt naughtily delightful against my bare backside.
The Fiend Prince’s lips brushed my temple as he spoke. “First I’m going to titillate you, to see what you like.”
I gripped his thighs in the darkness, my legs pinned tightly together, waiting.
The tip of his finger stroked me, right along the crease between my legs, and I mewed. I couldn’t help it.
“You’re very sensitive, sweet wife,” he whispered. “I don’t think this will be too difficult. Spread your legs for me, just a little. That’s right. Open for me.”
His gentle male voice in my ear was doing half the work. I’d never been touched or spoken to this way. The stable boy had been laconic, monosyllabic, and rough. This was velvet and wine and whispers, a delicate seduction.
“This bit, right here at the top, is key to the pleasure,” he said, fondling a small nub at the apex of my folds. “I can do this—” he circled it slowly with a wet finger— “or this—” he pinched it gently and rubbed it with two fingers, and I trembled, gripping his legs tighter. “Ah, the second one stimulates you more. You see, it’s all about learning what your body wants and needs. And now we’re going to explore a bit lower. You’re so silky and soft, Princess.” His fingers plowed gently through my folds, one finger dipping a little deeper than the rest, testing the slit at my center.
“You don’t have to do this,” I panted. “It’s—it’s messy, and you—you’ll be bored—”
“Do I seem as if I’m bored?”
“N-no…”
“I have the beautiful warrior Princess of Brintzia helpless and panting in my arms, and I get to teach her how to enjoy her body. This is the best thing I’ve done in years—maybe ever.”
Piqued at him calling mehelpless, I writhed angrily against him, and his breathing went ragged. “Amarylla, don’t move like that or I won’t be able to focus.”
“Don’t tease me,” I said shakily. “It’s hard for me to let myself be here, with you—to let you do this—don’t make it more difficult, please.”
“I’m sorry.” He kissed my temple, my cheek, the corner of my jaw. “Let me make it up to you.”
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The Fiend Prince spread his whole hand over my core and began to move it rhythmically, circling, pressing. The stimulation was exquisite, dizzying, unbearable—I inhaled sharply, almost a breathy shriek, as his finger dipped inside me—one at first, and then two. Then he toyed with the sensitive nub again, jiggled and massaged it until I was gasping, loud and desperate. Two fingers glided into me again, deeper this time, thrusting faster and faster while he shifted his other hand over my breast, teasing my nipple erect.
