9 #4
But when I look over at him, he’s busy with his satchel, ignoring me.
“I’m going down the hall to bathe,” he says. “It’s still early, so there won’t be too many people needing the bath. I’ll be quick.”
He leaves while my brain is still processing what he said. Too bad. I wanted him to fuck me. I can’t remember why I ever thought it was a bad idea.
Getting to my feet, I dump the remaining wine in my glass and drink it down. I need more of the warmth, more of the dizzying happiness, the sense of carefree relaxation. I nibble some of the sugared nuts, then flop on the bed again.
My wine-blurred mind can’t tell how much time has passed, but Vawn still isn’t back. He’s all right, though. The inn is quiet. If anyone had attacked him, I would have heard it.
The arousal swells between my thighs and I writhe, unable to think of anything else. I spread my legs, claw the split skirt of the brown dress out of my way, and slide one hand into my underwear.
I’m slick and hot beneath the soft, clinging fabric.
I need a hard dick right now, but I make do with my fingers—the ones he just painted.
The glyphs are sealed, so I don’t have to worry about them being damaged.
All I need to do is imagine the strong, deft fingers of the prince, lifting my hands, placing his plush lips near my skin, and releasing his breath against me.
What I wouldn’t give to have those fingertips massaging my clit, those lips against my mouth, that breath skimming my throat. I’m sure he has a beautiful dick, and it would slip so neatly inside me. He would brace his body over mine and thrust, and thrust—
I pulse into my cunt with three fingers, eyes wide, breath ragged, immersed in the fantasy. My legs lift, arched and curled tight. I fuck myself faster, whimpering, until with a final contraction of every muscle—
The door opens.
I’m already coming, it’s happening—I can’t control it, can’t pull it back.
Vawn shuts the door quickly behind him, and he watches me finish coming on my fingers.
I draw my hand out, wet and shaking, and clasp it in place over my underwear. “You were supposed to be in the bath.”
“I finished faster than I expected.”
Something about the way he says it and the wry quirk of his lips makes me wonder if I’m not the only one who indulged in a little sexual relief.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues, averting his gaze from mine.
“I’m glad you took my advice about relieving some tension.
Did you know that arousal fluid or pre-cum can serve as a glyph activator just like saliva or blood?
Of course there has to be intent paired with the activation, but—”
“Yes, of course I know that.” I stretch my legs out, allowing myself to enjoy the flush of post-orgasmic relief. “Were you satisfied with your bath?”
“Satisfied? Interesting choice of words.” He sits down on his bed. He’s wearing tight pants and a cropped shirt he insisted on purchasing, one that shows off his abdominal muscles and the V of his hips. “I am clean, yet I am still filthy. I finished, but no… I am not satisfied.”
I keep watching him, idly running my freshly painted fingertips along my thighs. The same fingertips that were just inside me.
Vawn swallows, then licks his lips.
“In a way, this was only fair,” I murmur. “I’ve seen you come, too.”
Color heightens in his cheeks, and I smile, surprised and delighted that he can blush.
“If you smile at me right now, I swear, Syth.” Vawn rises in a frenzied rush and stalks to the other side of the small room. “I only have so much strength. And by the fates, your legs are lethal. You should cover them up.”
“I don’t think I want to.”
“Syth.” His tone is pained, taut with the ache of need. If he stroked himself in the bath, it certainly wasn’t enough, because judging by the bulge in his pants, he’s hard again.
“Do you want to fuck me, Your Highness?” I ask softly.
He runs a shaking hand through his hair. “You’re the one who said we wouldn’t do this.”
“Right.” I purse my lips. “I suppose I forgot.”
“I suppose you’re drunk.”
“Only a little.”
“Drunk enough to remove the obstacles that you would normally place in your own path. I won’t take you like that. You should eat something and then go to sleep.”
“I should undress first. Will you help me?”
I hear myself say it, in a playful tone that I scarcely believe is mine. Vawn turns and gives me a look that nearly strikes me sober. Beneath the dark slashes of his brows and the black fringe of his lashes, his icy eyes are those of a wolf, feral and ravenous.
“No, Forsythia.” His use of my full name sends a chill up my spine. “No, I will not.”
“Fine.” I sit up and make my way to the wash basin, cleaning my fingers before I unbuckle my belts and unlace my boots. I untie the halter string of the brown dress and take that off too, draping it over a chair. Then I start unhooking my bustier.
“Don’t.” Not a plea. A dark warning from the throat of the wolf.
If I tempt him any further, he will have me, and we will both regret it.