Page 99 of The Rose (The Godwicks 2)

She touched a mark on his stomach.

“A birthmark,” he said. “They say it looks like a butterfly. That is why I am called Psyche. Does it displease you?”

It didn’t look like a butterfly to her. It looked like the imprint of a kiss made by burning lips. Did it displease her? She answered that question by going down onto her knees in front of him and pressing her own lips to the mark. He inhaled sharply at the touch of her mouth on his skin and she saw his long fingers dig deep into the bed.

“My lady,” he said, his voice pained. Against her will—and better judgment—she pulled away from him and rested back on her knees.

“Yes?”

“I nearly... I was almost undone. Forgive me.”

“You’re allowed to enjoy your bride making love to you,” she said.

“I don’t want make a fool of myself.”

“If you spill your seed from one of my kisses, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“You will?” he asked, sounding relieved.

“You are young. In time, you’ll learn to control yourself. But you don’t have to do anything tonight but let me touch you and kiss you and please you. And know you cannot displease me as long as you lie there being sweet and lovely all night long.”

He grinned. “I’ll do my best,” he pledged.

“And I will do my worst. Now let’s get you more comfortable,” she said as she untied the straps of his sandals and tossed them aside. His skin bore crisscross marks, and it gave her great pleasure to rub his calves and massage the marks off his skin.

He breathed hard as she caressed him. He enjoyed her touch, that was plain. How wonderful to please her prince. And to think she didn’t have to prick him with one of her arrows to make him like her or desire her. Even now, as she soothed the skin of his strong calves, she felt his heart turning toward her like the face of a morning flower toward the first rays of sun. All she needed was for him to love her, truly love her, and then it would be safe for her to reveal her true self to him. She pressed one long kiss on the top of his thigh and he inhaled again so sharply she thought she’d hurt him.

“Too much?” she asked.

“I...don’t know. Everything’s so new. Your hair tickled me.”

“You liked it?” she asked, letting the tips of her curls brush his knees and thighs again. He laughed. She didn’t want him to laugh. She wanted him to moan and groan and writhe and scream her name.

She pushed her hand under his chiton.

He stopped laughing. His entire body tensed as she slid her hand up his long inner thigh until she touched his organ. She didn’t grasp it, not at first. Lightly, carefully, she ran her fingertips over the length of it while her prince went as silent and still as a fawn startled in the woods.

From the corner of her eye she watched his hand on the bed, watched his fingers tighten in the sheets as she lightly stroked him. His cock was stiff and thick and warm to the touch.

She was dying to see what her fingers felt. She shoved his chiton up to his hips.

Out of embarrassment or instinct, her prince tried to tug it back down again.

“Don’t do that,” she said, swatting his hand away. “I’m allowed to hide myself from you. You’renotallowed to hide yourself from me.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he said.

“You’re shy. I like shy princes.” She touched him again with her fingertips. Beautiful cock sitting at the apex of two long, muscled thighs. Dark with arousal and so sensitive that he flinched with her every littlest touch. She touched the base of the shaft and stroked a vein that throbbed under the wide tip—and the tip she gave extra attention to, especially the wet slit where his seed was beginning to pool.

“Do you...do you like it?” he asked, his voice nearly breaking in nervousness.

“It’s perfect.”

“Is it? I mean, I wouldn’t know. Never shown it to a girl before and you always wonder if it’s what it’s supposed to be and—”

She put her mouth on him and that brought an end to his nervous chattering.

All he said then was “Uh.” The most beautiful sound ever whispered by a young prince on his wedding night.Uh...

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