Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ROSAMUND
I don’t know what has come over me. A strange rebellion, an immodest liberation of my mind, and subsequently, the body wrapped around my soul.
Ever since the wolf attack, I’ve treated my body as a necessary evil. A scarred, painful thing that can be harmed and destroyed. I found solace in the works of philosophers—the few that my home contained—who claimed that the mind, the soul, is what matters, what cannot be broken and cut open.
But now, my body seems to be waking up, asking for amends, demanding consideration.
Demanding justice, of sorts. Meeting Valen, having his hot gaze on me, his compliments, and the raw desire evident in every line of his body, has made me wonder if my body isn’t worthless, after all.
If it deserves to be loved as much as my spirit.
If I should learn to love it more, too, see what he sees. Not just for Valen. For anyone looking at it.
For myself.
His gaze follows me as I climb into the tub and lower myself into the hot water. It’s bliss, the heat instantly seeping into my flesh and bones, but all my attention is on him.
He’s standing there, watching me, his hand unashamedly fondling his crotch through his underpants as he watches me. Gods, he’s beautiful, but right now all I can see is his expression, the tension in his stance, the way his lips peel back, and his tongue wets his lips.
Desire. He wants me.
I don’t have a mirror here, but the look in his amber eyes might as well be a reflection, and if I accept that… then I’m a beautiful, desirable woman. Nobody can look at you as if they want to have you for dessert and not make you feel good about your appearance.
He does that to me. He makes me feel beautiful. Makes me believe it. And let’s face it, a man’s body can’t really lie.
Some men may get excited over violence and fear. Not Valen. I’ve never seen him crave violence. Never seen him enjoy my fear.
When he resumes undressing, stripping off that final piece, my thoughts go up in smoke.
I lean forward, my breasts pressed to my knees, watching in my turn as he unlaces his underpants and pushes them down.
His cock springs up, long, thick, and hard.
Veined. So aggressively erect and so… male.
It tears a gasp from my throat and sends a sweet ache between my legs.
I’ve seen it before, but never so… in my face. So close. Directed at me.
Never while naked myself, inviting this interaction. Causing this inappropriate situation, and yet, finding it difficult to regret it.
I feel a little drunk, a little crazy. Somehow, being around Valen always makes me feel that way. Reckless. Throwing caution to the wind. Shedding more and more layers of propriety and decorum, the same way I shed my clothes just now.
The same way I lean back as he lifts his leg and steps into the tub.
So very much in my face, his cock, his balls, his muscular thighs, nicked with fine scars, his hard stomach.
His musky, masculine scent is everywhere, flooding my senses as much as his solid presence, his tall body like a tree rooted in front of me.
I could lift my hand and curl it around the heavy sack, around the thick rod of his erection, slide it over the lightly furred muscles of his legs.
But he lowers himself into the steaming water before I can give in to that temptation, too.
Naughty girl, Rosie. Stop this. Get out of the tub and get dressed. Stop all of this.
But I’m still looking at him, at the way he leans back with a sigh of contentment, the way he tips his head against the rim of the wooden tub.
The water reaches up to his pecs, his small brown nipples, and the perfect architecture of his chest. I never knew I’d be so compelled by a man’s body, that raw strength, those hard lines, planes, and valleys.
I’d never seen a bare-chested man before Valen.
Noblemen don’t undress in public, and I’ve never had any interest in peeking, either.
Men have only interested me as a different species, of sorts, a variant of my female one.
Heads set on broad shoulders and elaborate suits with shirts, vests, jackets, and foulards.
Impossible to tell what really went on below the neck.
Now I know. And unexpectedly, I find the rough, brutish form of Valen’s body beautiful. I love the coiled strength in his big muscles, the long limbs, and the pleasing symmetry of wide shoulders and chest narrowing down to slim hips and muscular legs, and…
And the arousal that’s so blatantly evident and that he doesn’t bother to hide. He never hid his desire from me. His desire for me.
The metal in his cock draws my attention. Fascinated, I lean forward for a chance to study it from up close. It’s not a stud, I realize. It’s a silver bar piercing the crown of his cock.
“Princess…” His mouth tilts up in a smile. The gold of his irises glints under his lashes. “You’re looking at me, Princess.”
“Nonsense. I’m not.” Hurriedly, I pull back.
“You’ve been looking at me for days.”
I bite my lip. “Not true.”
“You’re still looking.”
I lower my eyes, my face too hot. “Fine, I am. So what? Am I not allowed to?”
“You like what you see.”
It’s not a question, yet I nod.
“You like this flawed werewolf body, with its marks and piercings. You like my cock that’s always hard for you. Do you like the silver there?”
“I…” I want to say no, but I don’t know how I feel about it. The stud in his tongue flashes when he sticks it out at me. “What’s with the metal in your body?”
He laughs. “What about it? Don’t you like it?”
“Is it… the pain? The discomfort? The burn of silver? Do you enjoy that?”
He appears pensive, his eyes going distant. “Do you know how sometimes pain or discomfort makes everything seem… sharper? More intense?”
I shake my head.
“Well, it does. Pain sometimes cuts through the cold numbness and… gives me relief. Relief is close to pleasure. It’s a triangle of sensations. And…”
“And?”
He grabs the rim of the tub and sits up straight, then winks. “And it gives the ladies great pleasure.”
“How so? It doesn’t…” I bite my tongue because I can’t even imagine what he means, and he seems to know way too much. If he starts telling me about the ladies he has pleasured, I think I might lose what little self-confidence I’ve gained and just get out of here.
Either he senses that, or he’s more discreet than I’d assumed, because he says nothing, only grins some more, like some magical, great cat who lapped all the cream.
A fairytale man, half-nightmare and half-miracle.
He’s so close, I don’t know what to do with myself. His feet slide along my legs, his chest keeps beckoning for me to touch, and I can’t help the way my eyes keep straying down to his crotch. His cock breaks the surface once in a while, the silver flashing.
“Princess.” He slowly slides his hand along the rim of the tub, then shifts it to my arm. “Is this okay?”
“I… am not sure.”
“We could help each other bathe. It’s just touching. Don’t you want me to touch you?”
“I’m just not used to it.”
“Gods, Princess,” he breathes, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as touch-starved as you. We wolves touch a lot, all the time.”
“I don’t want pity from you,” I grind out.
“It’s not pity. Just awe.” His eyes glimmer like gemstones. “You can at least touch yourself. That doesn’t break any social rules, does it?”
“Touch… myself?”
“Scrub yourself. Although… you do need to clean between your legs, don’t you?” His lips peel back, eyes darkening. “That sweet pussy of yours. Drag your fingers over it, part those rosy lips, circle your clit—”
“No. I don’t do that.”
“You don’t?” He frowns. “What, like, never?”
I shake my head. How to explain the whole body-cancelation thing I have going on?
But maybe I don’t have to, because his eyes widen and I know, I know he sees right through me, reading my thoughts. It seems they are written all over my face, because how else can he read me like an open book?
“You don’t,” he whispers. “You haven’t. Good Gods, Princess, you are the most virginal of all the virgins I’ve ever thought I’d meet in my life.”
Suddenly, tears prickle my eyes. It’s not an insult, yet it feels like one. I grab the rim of the tub and prepare to get up.
This was a huge mistake.
But his hand closes around my wrist, holding me down. “Please,” he says softly. “I’m a tease and an idiot, and I admit it. I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”
“I know. You were just stating facts, but…”
“But I hurt you. And that’s the last thing I want to do. I’m a brute, Princess. Teach me to be better.”
I let out a long exhale, searching his handsome face for clues. His eyes are bright, clear. I think he’s being honest. Can I trust that?
You’ve trusted him so far, a little voice in my head says. You’ve come too far to back out now, haven’t you?
Have I?
“Please,” he says again. “I apologize if I’ve pushed you too far. Just say the word, and I won’t tease you again. I didn’t mean to scare you off.”
“You haven’t,” I say and think about that. He has shocked me a few times, but I’m not scared of him. Not scared he’d hurt me, hit me, or force me to do anything I don’t want. The realization brings a calm over me. I feel my body unclench and relax in the water.
He must feel it, too. He releases my wrist and leans back again. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Not fearing me,” he says softly.
“That a common issue with the women you bedded?”
I’d meant it as flippant, teasing him right back, but he only gives a slight nod.
I’d never thought about his problems, being who and what he is. This prejudice I grew up with, with the added burden of a bad experience in my case, has to weigh on him.
I never cared about the problems faced by the dark fae, and even less by werewolves.
Valen makes everything that scared me relevant and interesting, worth considering and investigating. He makes... life relevant. Worth living.
Good Gods, I have to stop thinking like that.
So when he grabs the washcloth draped over the side of the tub, left there by the maids, and starts rubbing his chest with it, then down his stomach, why does my mouth go dry?