Page 43 of Fated to the Vampire Prince
His fingers spread me open so that I could more easily access that sensitive little spot. Andoh, Diana. I let out a staggered gasp as the pad of my middle finger grazed over it. I leaned forward to steady my forehead against his chest.
“You can pleasure yourself. Just like this.”
Tentatively, I traced the spot. Once. Twice. By the third time, my hand was slick. I let out a strangled gasp.
“Good,” he encouraged. Then he slowly guided me to the cushion, and lowered me onto his lap so my back was reclined against his chest. My body was alive with new sensations. The scrape of wool against the back of my legs. The feeling of his hardness pressed against my backside. The heady scent of pine and bergamot radiating all around me.
“Now keep going,”he told me. Holding me around the waist. Encouraging me. “Don’t stop.”
He guided my hand back down my stomach until our fingers connected with that place again. Once I was there, he removed his hand, placing it on my thigh.
“What do I do?”I asked.
“Whatever feels good.”
I swallowed.“Tell me what to do. Please, Your Grace.”
He whispered encouragement and instruction through our connection. Holding the bond between us open, allowing me to push out everything except this. Except him. Us. This feeling. Then forcing me to linger when it felt too good, telling me to enjoy every sensation. Showing me how to draw this out until my bodybegged.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I was fire. Because right now, I feltablaze. I was close to being swallowed by some inferno.
I rolled my hips, and felt his hardness slide behind me. His bare skin flush against mine.
“Your Grace,”I whimpered.
“Bastien,” he corrected.“Use my name. Say it like it’s yours.”
“Bastien,”I said, gasping his name,his real name. “Am I doing this right?”
Breath hitching, Bastien groaned,“If you keep rolling your hips against my cock, you’re going to make me come. Is that what you want?”
I recalled the way he looked moments ago with his hand around his length. The way pleasure was etched onto his face.“Yes.”
“Then don’t change a thing.”His hand guided mine lower, until one of my fingers was nearly inside. “Play with yourself, chérie. Do what feels good. Nothing is wrong.”He kissed the side of my neck, watching me as I slowly worked a finger inside myself. I’d never felt anything like it.Nothing.“Watching you play with yourself is a gift from the gods.”
My mind raced back to his hardness. The stiff length of him that was pressed up against me. That was smearing warmth onto the back of my shift and across my bare skin. I rolled my hips against him again. And again. He moaned for me in a way that sent me spiraling with desire. I circled that sensitive littlespot. Pressing harder. Faster. All the while, rubbing myself against him.
His jagged breaths against my ear had everything inside me tightening.Tightening. I was chasing something, some release, just like he’d done, but I didn’t know exactly what that was. I moaned again when his lips pressed against my neck.
“Claire,” he whispered my name. And the intimacy of it nearly broke me. “I can feel what you’re feeling through this bond. I can feel how badly you want to come. How badly you need this.”
“Then help me.” I grabbed his hand and pressed it to me. Nothing prepared me for the feeling of his skin on me like this. Not our feedings. Not my own touch. Not his gentle guidance. Nothing. His hand feltright.
He froze, and I could tell he’d stopped breathing. “I’m not your lover, I’m your prince. Your duke. I’m supposed to take care of you and keep you safe. Not?—”
“Then take care of me,” I demanded, feeling frustrated and needy. “Bastien, please.” I grabbed his hand like he’d grabbed mine, pressing him against me, coaxing his finger to move against me.
He started slow. “You’re sure?”he asked, still toying with me, barely touching me, driving me mad with need.
“If you can feel what I need, then help me.”
He groaned against me.“You’re so wet. I shouldn’t?—”
“Don’t stop.”
“As the lady commands.”
Slow, soft strokes that had only teased and frustrated me turned more deliberate. More demanding. One finger dipped inside me, curling, beckoning me toward some end that had stars exploding behind my eyes.
