Page 90 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“So the two of you made a gentlemen’s bargain, is that it?” She pulls my chain tight.
“Nooo,” I say slowly, warily, conscious that I’ve gone wrong somewhere. “I thought if it was the only way—”
“It’s not the only way. But perhaps I should consider it.”
She stalks away a few steps, still holding my chain, and I have to stretch my neck to avoid painful pressure.
"I suppose I should care more about the dead people,” she muses. “Fiveof them, Ducayne. The other guests are anxious, yes—starting to panic, but they aren’t fully frantic yet, because so far it’s only been wielders and thralls. And Jilleen, of course—but she might have drowned. That’s the frightening thing—all the deaths can be explained away as suicides or accidents. Enzo was found hanging from that light fixture. Maybe he killed himself rather than face punishment from my sister for not being able to control the storm.”
“And the water-wielder? What happened there?”
She shrugs. “They went to check on him, and he was dead. No sign of injury other than his hands being removed. The healer said maybe he died of agony and fear.”
“What about poison?” I ask. “What about—what about Ward?”
“First you want me to marry him, and now you suspect him?” She arches an eyebrow.
Exhaustion and frustration surge inside me, and I answer more harshly than I mean to. “Who says Iwantyou to marry him? I only said it was a way out. Besides, didn’t Cowen ask you for me? Wouldn’t that be awkward—an entanglement with you, me, and both brothers?”
Ruelle glides nearer, green serpentine eyes gleaming into mine. “Why would it be awkward? They share thralls—sometimes at the same time, I’ve heard. Now that I’ve gotten through my first time, I’ve been thinking about the offer Cowen made me—the big blond guy, Anvel. I should give him a try. Or maybe I should begin by pleasuring my future husband, Ward.”
The cords of my arms and neck tighten. Can’t help it. After the events of this day, I have very little emotional control left.
“You don’t like that, do you, thrall?” murmurs Ruelle, dragging her nails down my chest. She swirls them around my right nipple and I groan, tugging at the chains. But I’m already as close to her as I can get with these manacles on. I can’t touch her. She has all the power now.
“Yes,” Ruelle says softly. “I should practice what I’ll do to Ward, shouldn’t I? How shall I begin creating intimacy between me and him? Maybe with something like this?”
She places her lips over mine, and I grin against her mouth, because I know what she’s doing.
She can’t admit what she wants to do to me directly; her pride won’t let her. But this dark fantasy, this ruse of emotional torture—she’ll let her inner vixen out to play if she thinks it’s hurting me.
They twisted her so badly, these people. Her father, her sister—I’m not sure what happened to her mother, but I doubt it’s a pleasant story. My Princess is so damaged inside that she can only feel good through pain. Anything soft, pleasant, or kind is immediate cause for suspicion. She recoils from it, snapping, like a dog who has only ever known blows from human hands.
“Why are you smiling?” she says, pulling back. “Stop it.” And she catches my throat in her hand. Such slender fingers, yet so strong. I drag in a labored breath, and she squeezes harder, shaking me a little with the force of her hold. My eyes roll up and my dick jerks.
Of course she notices the twitch of my cock. “Gods, you’re messed up,” she whispers, relaxing her grip.
“Same to you, Highness.” I lunge forward, desperate for her mouth, and she responds, swaying in toward me, letting me capture her lips. There’s an addictive sweetness to her mouth, a pull richer and sharper than wine, a heady delight better than any blend of Ward’s.
I devour her lips like a starving man, and when she breaks away my displeasure rumbles through my chest.
“You can’t touch yourself, can you?” she says, with a sly smile, nodding at the manacles and chains. She pushes down my shorts, leaving them around my ankles. “I wonder if Ward would like it if I do this?” She touches the tip of my cock. “Or this.” She traces the underside of my length, and it bounces. She fondles my balls, exploring me with a strange blend of inexperience and knowledge.
Ruelle has seen sex many times. She’s no innocent. But she’s unused to touching and being touched. Her sweet, sharp way of approaching intimacy makes my skin tingle with a raw delight that’s nearly unbearable.
I stand helpless, straining, while pleasure snakes through my body at every gentle squeeze and experimental stroke from her fingers.
“What if I did this to Ward?” The Princess sinks to her knees, looking up at me.
My breathing speeds up at the sight of her lovely face, the tilt of her neck, her creamy cleavage, and her mouth, so close to my erection. “Imagine it,” she says. “Imagine me doing this, to him. To Ward.” She licks the tip. “How does that make you feel?”
“You bitch,” I gasp reverently, as the image of her licking Ward’s cock rises in my mind. “I would kill him.”
She smirks and puts me in her mouth.
I’m panting, wild for her, out of my mind. She takes almost my whole length, sucks so hard her cheeks hollow out. Draws back and swirls her tongue around my tip again, before running my length to the back of her throat.
I’m struggling to be quiet. My huffing groans sound more like sobs.
