Page 43 of The Demon Prince

That smile refused to leave his face. Even though that was a terrifying situation to imagine, she was just so... adorable. All flustered and angry with him, with clothing that was far too big for her.

“Come here,” he said, gesturing for her to approach him where he sat on his stool.

And when she stood between his legs, he was shocked to realize she was only barely taller than him while he was seated. How was he only now realizing how short she was? How small?

It made him want to wrap her up in his arms and tuck her away for good, but he could already see the fire in her gaze, like she knew what he was thinking. Like she dared him to say that she was small or needed to be taken care of.

So instead, he reached for her sleeve and tugged her a step closer. “We don’t wear these down,” he said, gently rolling them a few times before he discovered her hand. “Roll them up until they’re above your elbow, pet, then you won’t have to worry about the fire.”

He settled into the pattern of rolling fabric and making sure she was all right. And in doing so, he realized how easy it was to just... be with her. There was no difficulty, no nervousness, no awkward feelings of whether or not he was messing this up or doing it in a way that made her uncomfortable. None of that.

She just stood there, watching him roll her sleeves with a soft expression on her face. And when he looked at her, his red eyes flicking up to her green, he wondered what she was thinking. Why she was looking at him as though she wanted to touch him, to lean in and press her lips to his own so he could feel how sweet it was to be thanked by her.

Katherine cleared her throat and took a step back. “Right. Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He sat there, just looking at her. He wasn’t afraid to do so, obviously, considering he’d stalked her for weeks before this moment. But he’d never noticed how the light could sparkle in her eyes, or how she stood with most of her weight on one hip. It tilted her body in a lovely curve, on display for his eyes if he so wished to let them linger on her curves.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“Like you do when you wake me up in the middle of the night.” She brushed a stray curl behind her ear. “I could... If you wanted to...”

The poor dear really thought he was hungry all the time, didn’t she? He was, he was ashamed to admit. Gluttony would feast upon her if she offered it, but he knew she didn’t want him to. She only offered because she didn’t know what to do with his eyes on her like this, and he was ruining it.

He turned his back to her and put his attention back on the table. “Ah, pet, there’s no need for that. My nightly visits are more than enough.”

“Are they really?”

Her words seared through him.

No.

They weren’t.

They would never be enough because what he wanted was to be buried so deep between her thighs that he couldn’t tell where he ended and where she began. He wanted to hear her whimpers in his ears, echoing with every one of his thrusts as he drank deeply from her neck, her breast, between her thighs. He wanted to be so covered in her that his sensitive nose would know where she was everywhere in his kingdom. No matter how far she ran.

But he couldn’t tell her any of that. He’d terrify her. She would run off to one of his brothers and only reiterate that he’d lost his mind. That he wasn’t safe for any of his people to be around.

So he reached for a beaker and he did not respond to that question. Instead, he blindly held it out for her to take. “Hold this.”

A pale hand reached past his shoulder and he could almost feel her against his back. A sudden desire flushed through him, turning his cheeks bright red. It wasn’t even that he wanted her blood, but he wanted to know what it would feel like to wake with her pressed against his back like that.

Would she be limp and quiet, like she was in the middle of the night? He’d wake, the sunlight playing across his face in a rare moment when they could actually see the sun. Her warmth spread across his back, her face pressed right between his shoulder blades as though she fit against him like a puzzle piece.

Warmth. When was the last time he’d woken and been warm?

She held onto the beaker and gave the liquid inside a little swish. “What is this?”

Breaking himself out of this strange melancholy, he looked over at what he’d handed her. “Sweet vitriol, it’s, uh—”

“Sulfuric acid and wine,” she supplied, swishing it again. “Why am I holding it?”

“So you have something to do.”

To his complete and utter shock, she gave him a gentle smack to the back of his head. “Don’t be sassy. Answer the question.”

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