19. Soren
Chapter nineteen
Soren
My clothes cling to my sweaty skin like I’ve rolled in hot sugar. Audrina has passed her peak in the sky, and I should be dead to the world by now. Sleep evades me. The arcing filigree of my ceiling spirals under my gaze, and the lines morph into watchful eyes. Hopping feet.
I groan and roll out of bed. This female—she is not my princess. I should be thinking of Aris. But when I recall the princess's face, my mind goes blank.
I strip off my nightclothes and fold them neatly. A saltwater pool concaves into my chamber floor, steam rising from the calm waters within. Sinking beneath the surface, I let the slow beat of water in my ears drown the noise in my head.
My gills flutter, their easy tempo soon disrupted as the handmaid's face reappears. Seawater drips from her wet hair. A droplet follows the slope of her dark eyebrow past deep purple eyes. It traces the planes of her sharp face and slips into the fold of her plump, pale lips. Lips that part to reveal an impressive set of fangs and a soft, pink tongue.
And then comes her voice, rich and haunting: Seen enough, my lord?
I reopen one eye. The smooth stone wall of my bathing pool greets my irritated gaze. I roll my shoulders, willing the tension to leave me, banishing the intrusive thought.
I flutter my tail and ease into a slow lap around the pool. A thin, black spine rising from sunburned skin, wicked and dripping in blood. My cock hardens within its sheath.
Enough. I hoist myself up onto the pool’s edge and scan my bedchambers for disorder. The door is closed. The windows, closed. My bed remains a mess of sweaty sheets. My desk is untouched. My clothes lay folded where I left them.
Everything is in order.
I transition quickly into my two-legged form and wrap a towel around my hips, then pad on damp feet to the patio door. It’s unlocked, but that’s not unusual. My bedchamber is on the top level. Only a highly trained acrobat could scale these smooth walls.
The air is humid, but my wet skin pricks with chill. The moon casts a weary haze as the waves crash in steady rhythm. The city of Aquisa slumbers, cocooned in a warm glow of lamplight. It’s too late for mind games.
I lean against the cool stone of my balcony, strung like a lyre. One touch, one glance from her now would bring me to climax. The strength of my attraction is sickening. My stomach twists into knots thinking about her. And she’s not even mine.
Gods, for the moment I thought she was , I was ready to submit to my fate. I would have dropped to my knees and worshipped her for the sheer joy of being bound to an equal. My cock swells against the towel, and I hiss, pressing myself against the railing. The pressure sends a flood of electricity through my nerves, and I groan, grinding again.
It’s not enough to ease the tightness in my soul. I drop the towel, and my cock bobs free, hard at the thought of her. Just a few strokes. To rid the memory of Enna, my almost-queen, and then I’ll get myself under control. I grasp my shaft and pump.
Gods above.
My thumb slides from the base to the tip, coating the soft flesh with the droplet that formed in anticipated release. I clench my teeth as pleasure ripples through me.
That was two. My quota met, I grunt in frustration, holding my swollen cock. But then, out of the corner of my eye, a white shape appears on the beach. A female walking in the moonlight. She’s not hopping now, but I’d recognize the sway of those hips anywhere, the spikes of black hair. My wicked dancer. My personal demon has come to torture me in my moment of weakness, as if I’d summoned her with my thoughts.
“What are you up to, Wicked?” I whisper, narrowing my eyes as I watch her. Did she not experience enough of that beach this afternoon?
She pauses at the waterline, stripping her chest piece, then her skirts. The clothing drops to the sand in a heap, revealing that scanty loincloth beneath. She gathers it in her hands, folding it into a pouch on her belt.
That ass. I tighten my grip on my shaft and moan. What I would do to have her here, bent over this balcony. The ways I would punish her for making me lose control.
Growling, I thrust into my hand, watching those hips and her round, bare ass. She dips her toe into the water, testing it, then plunges into the sea. The waves swallow her, finally, and I can no longer see her.
My palm is slick with pleasure, and I slip in and out, picturing her mouth, her wicked, dangerous mouth. I wonder how it would feel to have those lips slide around my cock. I want to punish her. For her words today. Her brutal defiance of me. How dare she not tell me who she was?
Did she think it was funny?
I tighten my grip and thrust, losing myself to the angry pace. Again. Again. I bend over, caving in to my need. My cock glistens with sweat and pre-cum. I’m losing control. I cannot stop. My anger builds, and with it, pleasure blooms.
This is so wrong.
I search the waterline for any sight of her. I need to see her. To watch her while I come.
Her head breaks through the water, and with a flick of her black tail, she floats on her back. Relief floods through me, and my cock jerks at the sight of her.
She’s not mine.
But I wish she was. With a final stroke, my balls tighten, and I climax, panting, my cum shooting into the night air in thick ropes. I can’t remember the last time I came that hard.
I stare, shame burning my ears. Why did I do that? Why couldn’t I control myself?
Enna’s hands reach skyward then, as if grasping the face of the moon. She opens her mouth and screams without a sound.
The scales along my skin rise. My feet stay glued to the patio, suddenly unable to move. I watch her, floating in her raw emotion, and my heart softens.
She turns and dives into the water, skipping in long, graceful arcs toward the shrunken beach. When she reaches one of the boulders jutting through the surface, she crawls upon it and curls into a tight ball. Her tail shifts into legs, and she stills.
I wait for her to move. To scream. To look up and spot me watching her, at least. Can she sense what I’ve done?
The handmaid only curls into a ball on the boulder, and I regret it’s not my bed.