Chapter 59
fifty-nine
Isabeau
My body knew what it wanted before my mind caught up. The heat between my thighs had been building since I woke to find myself sprawled across Alain’s chest, his hardness pressing against me through our clothing.
My beasts would always be mine, but so would he.
I’d seen Marcel’s knowing look in the dreamscape, felt their acceptance of this man who’d become so much more than a prince to me.
They were with me now, knowing what I planned to do.
So when Alain whispered my name like a prayer, I stopped fighting what my body had been telling me all along. He too belonged to me.
“I want this,” I whispered, surprising myself with how sure I sounded. “I want you.”
The amber light from the gem cast his face in golden shadows, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the desperate hunger in his eyes. Blue eyes that hadn’t left mine since I’d woken. Eyes that asked permission even as his body trembled beneath me.
“Are you certain?” His voice was strained, as if each word cost him. His hands remained at my waist, neither pulling me closer nor pushing me away. Giving me the choice. Always giving me the choice.
It was that restraint that decided me. After Gaspard and his cruelty, after being taken and used and denied my own pleasure, Alain’s careful respect was like cool water on a burn.
I could feel my core throbbing with need, my womanhood slick and ready in a way it had never been for any human man before.
“I’m certain,” I said, rolling my hips deliberately against his hardness, drawing a strangled groan from deep in his chest. “But I need... I need to be the one in control. I had a strange dream about us. Well, two, but in the second one, you were almost crueler.”
"You had the dreams too?" he asked in reverence. Then his face fell. "I woke from that second one feeling worst than what Gaspard had done to you. I didn't know you lived it too, Isabeau. I'd never hurt you like that. Be that rough…"
I touched his face for a mere minute, my mind still reeling that we had truly shared those intimate moments. Another layer to this impossible pull toward each other. "I know, but I want this to be my choice. My turn to control."
His hands tightened briefly at my waist, then relaxed. “Whatever you need. I’m yours.”
Those simple words unlocked something inside me. Something that had been caged and cowering since Gaspard first put his hands on me. I sat up straighter, still straddling Alain’s hips, and reached for the laces of my dress.
My fingers trembled as I worked the knots, not from fear but from a building anticipation.
Alain watched me, his breathing shallow, his eyes darkening as each tug loosened the fabric further.
I wasn’t seductive or practiced like the women who worked the taverns back in Thorndale, but the naked hunger in his gaze made me feel powerful.
Desirable not just for my face or form, but for who I was. For what I wanted.
The dress slipped from my shoulders, pooling around my waist before he helped me gather the fabric to completely remove it over my head.
My breasts fell free, heavy and full, nipples tightening in the cool air.
Or perhaps from the heat in Alain’s eyes as he stared at them, his throat working in a hard swallow.
“Gods, Isabeau,” he breathed, the words nearly lost in the sound of his ragged breathing. “You’re so beautiful.”
I fought the urge to cover myself. Gaspard had said similar words, but they’d been possessive, objectifying. Alain’s praise felt different. Reverent, awed. He looked at my body not as a thing to own but as a marvel to worship.
“Can I touch you?” he asked, hands hovering inches from my skin.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. When his fingers finally brushed the underside of my breast, I gasped. Such a simple touch, yet it sent lightning through my veins, pooling low in my belly. He cupped the weight of me in his palm, his thumb brushing over my nipple with exquisite gentleness.
“Is this okay?” he whispered, worried about hurting me like in that dream.
“Yes,” I managed, the word breaking on a soft moan as he continued his exploration. “More than okay.”
I leaned forward, bracing my hands on his chest, my hair falling around us like a curtain of privacy.
The movement pressed my breast more firmly into his hand, and we both made small sounds of pleasure.
The heat between my legs was building, my core clenching around emptiness in a way that was becoming almost painful.
My center was a void, but I didn’t want it to be hollow. I wanted it filled, achingly so.
Driven by an instinct I didn’t fully understand, I reached for his trousers, my fingers fumbling with the laces. Alain froze beneath me, his breath catching.
“Isabeau,” he said, my name rough in his throat. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I interrupted, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’ve never... not like this. Not willingly.”
Understanding darkened his eyes, followed by a flash of anger not directed at me. He nodded once, his hands moving to help guide mine through the unfamiliar fastenings. Together, we worked the laces free, and I slipped my hand beneath the fabric.
The heat of him surprised me. So hot and hard, yet the skin was impossibly soft. I wrapped my fingers around his length, marveling at how different it felt from what I’d known before.
“You’re so big,” I blurted, then felt heat rush to my cheeks. But it was true. Gaspard had been small, his pathetic shaft more of an annoyance than anything else. What I held now was at least three times that size, thick and heavy in my palm.
Alain let out a strained laugh. “Is that a problem?”
I shook my head, still exploring him with curious fingers. “No. The women who worked at the tavern used to whisper about men like you. They said a manhood this size could make a woman see stars.”
The crude words fell from my lips more easily than I’d expected, and something in Alain’s expression shifted. His eyes darkened further, his hands tightening on my waist.
“Say it again, but say the word cock,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Cock? You want your cock to make me see stars?” I repeated as a question, tasting the new word, surprised by how the word thrilled me.
It was dirty, forbidden. The kind of language nice girls never used.
But I wasn’t a nice girl anymore. I was a witch, a woman claimed by beasts, and now, perhaps, by this prince who looked at me like I was the answer to every question he’d ever asked.
“Lord help me, Isabeau. I’m going to cum just by your mouth learning filthy words.” Oh, how I’d like that.
I pushed his trousers down further, freeing him completely. He sprang up against his stomach, the head glistening with moisture. Alain’s hands moved to his shaft, wrapping around where mine had been, stroking slowly.
“Is this what you want to see?” he asked, his voice dropping to a register I hadn’t heard from him before. Something primal and masculine.
I couldn’t look away. His hand moved up and down his length with a practiced ease, thumb occasionally brushing over the head in a way that made his breath catch. A small drop of fluid formed at the tip, pearlescent in the amber light.
My mouth went dry. I licked my lips, trying to restore moisture, and Alain groaned at the sight.
“God, when you do that, it ruins me,” he said, his strokes speeding up slightly. “Do you want to taste it? To try me?”
I’d never considered such a thing before.
Nodding, I bent forward, bringing my face closer to his hand. Up close, I could smell him. Clean sweat and something uniquely male, oddly appealing mixed with the river’s touch. Cautiously, I extended my tongue, lapping at the drop of fluid on his tip.
The taste surprised me. Salty, a bit tangy, but not unpleasant. More than that, the act itself sent a fresh wave of heat between my thighs, making me squirm atop him.
“Fuck, Isabeau,” Alain groaned with a curse I rarely heard, his free hand tangling in my hair. Not pulling or forcing, just holding. Connecting. “That’s it. Just like that.”
Emboldened, I took more of him into my mouth, just the head at first, testing the sensation.
Alain made a sound like he was dying, his hips jerking slightly before he controlled himself.
The power I felt in that moment was intoxicating.
I, who had been powerless for so long, could reduce this prince to trembling need with just my mouth.
I experimented, taking him deeper, using my tongue the way I’d seen my Laurent sometimes lick my womanhood. The thought of my beasts sent a pang through my chest. Not guilt, exactly, but longing. This was different from what we shared. Different, but no less real.
The throbbing between my legs grew insistent, an ache that demanded attention. I shifted, trying to ease it, but the movement only intensified the sensation. I remembered how Laurent had licked between my thighs, how the pleasure had been so intense I’d nearly fainted. Would Alain...?
As if reading my thoughts, he gently pulled me up from his cock. “You’re shifting,” he said, his voice gruff with desire. “Are you uncomfortable?”
I shook my head, embarrassed to explain the need pulsing through me. “It’s just... I feel...”
His hand moved to my thigh, thumb stroking along the sensitive inner skin. “May I touch you here?” he asked, moving his hand higher, closer to where I ached.
“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely audible. “Please.”
The first brush of his fingers against my core drew a cry from my lips that I barely recognized as my own. I was soaking wet, my folds slick and swollen with desire. Alain’s eyes widened slightly at the discovery, his expression one of wonder mixed with raw hunger.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured, sliding one finger through my outer folds, exploring. “Is this all for me?”