19. Pixie Wine Madness
Pixie Wine Madness
Cypress could barely think past the heat in her veins, the undulating throbbing, pulsing need at the apex of her thighs. She felt like she was going mad, like she would claw her own skin off if it could slake this hunger.
And, she felt mad for going through with this– and with Torren no less.
Cypress could trust the blood oath of truth between them. That was the only reason she had asked for his help. He couldn’t lie to her. And, Cypress needed to stop feeling so… so… hot.
“We will never speak of this again?” Cypress asked, taking a step toward Torren– the Thief, and the Prince.
“Not if that’s what you wish,” Torren answered, his heavy-lidded storm grey eyes locked on hers.
Cypress nodded her head, placing her hands back on his bare stomach. The heat of his skin seemed to ease some of the ache. Her pulse beat slower, steadier, though she just wanted more.
“How?” Torren asked, his fingers hooked under the lower edge of her bodice. Even through the thin fabric of her dress, his hands felt like a warm ray of sun on her stomach.
“What?” Cypress asked, breathless.
“How do you like being touched?” Torren asked and pulled their hips together with his grip on her bodice.
Cypress felt like her entire body was connected to that point of contact, as if he could coax pleasure from her veins in that motion alone.
“Does it matter for this?” she asked, then slipped his jacket from his broad shoulders. Unable to help it, Cypress smoothed her hands all over his body.
He always smelled so good. Like clear, icy river water, moss, and pine.
Cypress closed her eyes at the press of his lips against her jaw, the rasp of his stubble against her skin. The sensation lit up every nerve in her body and sent a ripple of pure pleasure to the apex of her thighs.
“Why shouldn’t it?” Torren groaned against her neck.
Cypress’s hips surged toward his at the sound.
She took a breath and then another before answering.
“It doesn’t matter, just touch me,” Cypress said, impatience winning over her embarrassment at the predicament she’d landed in.
Truthfully, she knew it wasn’t all Torren’s fault. Cypress had chosen to drink the wine and to keep drinking it, glass after glass. But, she still felt as if he were at least partially to blame.
“You haven’t lain with someone who deserves your attention if you truly don’t think it matters, Lass,” Torren whispered huskily, slowly lifting Cypress to his lips by the grip on her bodice.
Cypress moaned into his mouth when his other hand dragged her thigh up and around his waist.
“That’s not–” she started, but the thought left her on an errant breeze when Torren kissed her neck again.
With Pixie wine soaring through her veins, it was easy to only focus on the feel of his hands, the warmth of his skin pressing into her back. “Oh, never mind,” Cypress sighed, relaxing fully into Torren’s grip.
“That’s it, Lass, let me take care of you,” he murmured in her ear.
With deft fingers, Torren slipped Cypress’s gown off easily, pushing her hips free.
Then, Cypress’s back was flush with his bare chest as Torren reclined with her against the pillows. He hooked her leg over his, spreading her legs wide open. Torren’s hand hesitantly moved down her arm and across her stomach, and gently cupped her breast.
Still, it wasn’t enough. Torren’s hands moved over her body, his voice husky in her ear, but Cypress needed more.
Dimly, Cypress was aware that she should care, that she wouldn’t ever be able to explain how she intimately knew what the Prince sounded like, voice thick with pleasure. And, she would never be able to tell anyone this happened when she returned to the Keep.
Cypress was too far gone, though. Too far gone to care that she was naked and spread over top of him, or that Torren’s erection was digging into her ass.
She didn’t care about any of it. Cypress only felt Torren’s hands against her flesh, his voice in her ear guiding her pleasure. It wasn’t until his hands moved lower across her stomach–and lower that the agony of the Pixie wine dulled. Torren’s fingers danced along her skin, orchestrating ecstasy.
Cypress’s head fell back on his shoulder, one of her hands reaching back to tangle in his hair. She couldn’t help it.
“Please, Torren,” She moaned and rocked her hips, impatient for him to fix it–the heat in her veins, the pulse echoing between her legs.
He let out a groan in her ear, and then his fingers were soft against her center, rubbing in slow, light circles.
Cypress almost left the bed, her back arching on the contact, a moan vibrating in her throat.
Fingers crooked inside of her, Torren made Cypress see stars, pleasure rippling through her veins over and over again.
For every scream she made, every moan he dragged from her throat, Torren begged for more. For her to be louder, for her to cum again for him. And she did.
Torren coaxed release from her, pleasure reverberating through her veins until the moon had disappeared and the entire of Faerie was sleeping– except for them.