Page 35 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“Breathe, Princess,” he whispers.
I’ve been holding my breath. I release it and focus on inhaling and exhaling normally.
“I’m going to try something,” my thrall says in a calm, soothing tone. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
His arm wraps around me, crossing my breasts, pressing my arms to my sides. But I don’t feel trapped. The heat and heaviness of that band of muscle—it’s exactly what I need. I sigh as tension begins to ease from my limbs.
Once I’m sure Ducayne won’t try to touch me anywhere else, I relax fully, and sometime later, I sleep.
A grating, growling noise in my ear wakes me up, and for a second I panic, fearing that some ghostly Pit-hound has come to devour me. But then I realize what the sound is—my thrall, snoring.
I’m still lying on my back, encompassed by Ducayne’s heavy arm, and he has pulled me even closer, as if I’m a stuffed toy being cuddled by a child. Personally I never liked stuffed toys. Silly useless things.
Ducayne has also thrown one leg over both my legs. I’m entirely wrapped up by him. But he doesn’t feel like bars or chains—he is like armor against the night, a soothing weight that presses utter peace and comfort into my soul.
Still, I can’t bear that sawing, grating sound in my ear. I wriggle one arm free, feel for his cheek and smack it lightly. “Thrall. You’re snoring.”
He continues, so I smack him again, harder. “Stop snoring.”
“Hmm?” He shifts a little. “I wasn’t snoring.”
“You were.”
“I was not. I didn’t hear anything.”
“You wereasleep, imbecile. Of course you didn’t hear it.” I smack him again.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, and he nuzzles his face closer to my cheek, inhaling and then sighing as if he is deeply satisfied, as if this is exactly where he wants to be—here, smelling my scent, holding me in his arms.
A horrible, beautiful, tender pain throbs in my heart.
I want to cry.
But instead, I close my eyes, and I let myself drift back to sleep.
When I wake again, my cheek is pressed to warm naked skin. I can hear the muffled thump of a heartbeat—my thrall’s heartbeat.
Slowly I become conscious that far more of me is touching him now. I’m snuggled against his chest, my arm around his waist, our legs tangled.
Morning light shines in a single golden beam from the small triangular window. A golden ribbon of it lies across our entwined bodies.
What am I doing? I don’tsnuggle, or cuddle, or hug, or whatever this is.
The impulse to jerk away races along my limbs. But I’m so damn comfortable…
Still, I can’t allow this to continue. I need to put some space between us before he wakes up.
Slowly I begin trying to extricate myself. And then I freeze.
His pelvis is aligned with mine, and when I moved, something hardened against my lower belly.
I move again, trying to change positions. He’s so rutting heavy; I can’t push his leg off my thigh. All I accomplish with my squirming is a further hardening of his cock. It twitches against my stomach through the fabric of his undershorts.
Again I shift, but Ducayne’s hand grasps my hip suddenly, and his voice rumbles, a smoky morning growl. “Stop. Unless you want me to soak that pretty nightdress with my cum.”
I suck in a sharp breath and go still as stone.
Ducayne sighs, then carefully moves himself off me, away from me. I scramble to the other side of the bed, my hand diving under the pillow to seize my knife.
