Page 19
Story: His Forbidden Princess
His honesty undoes me. Tears prick my eyes—not of sadness but of relief, of recognition. "Then touch me, Dain. Make me forget everything but you."
He kisses me again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands find the laces of my gown, working them with surprising dexterity for a soldier. As the bodice loosens, his fingers slip inside, brushing against skin that has never known a man's touch.
I gasp into his mouth, the sensation almost too much to bear. He swallows the sound, his hand gentle despite the urgency that vibrates through him.
"Beautiful," he murmurs as his palm cups my bare breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak. "So beautiful."
My body responds to his touch with a eagerness that might shame me if I weren't beyond caring about propriety. Heat pools low in my belly, between my thighs, making me restless against him. I arch into his hand, seeking more, though I'm not entirely sure what "more" entails.
He seems to understand my wordless plea. His free hand gathers the fabric of my skirt, raising it until he can slip beneath, his palm warm against my thigh through the thin material of my underthings.
"May I?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.
"Yes." The word is barely audible, but he hears it.
His fingers slide higher, tracing patterns on sensitive skin, moving inexorably toward the heat at my center. When he finally touches me there, through the silk, I cry out, unprepared for the jolt of pleasure that races through me.
"Shh," he soothes, his mouth finding mine again to silence my sounds. "The guards will hear."
The reminder of where we are—of who we are—should douse the fire building between us. Instead, it only adds to the forbidden thrill. Here, pressed against my chamber door with my royal guards just outside, the captain of those guards is touching me in ways no man ever has.
His fingers move with deliberate skill, finding places that make me tremble, that make my knees weak. When the silk barrier becomes too much, he shifts it aside, touching me directly for the first time.
"Dain," I gasp against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as sensation threatens to overwhelm me.
"I've got you," he murmurs, his free arm around my waist supporting my weight as my legs threaten to give way. "Let go, Lirien. Let me see you fall apart."
His words, combined with the increasingly insistent rhythm of his fingers, send me hurtling toward something I've only read about in forbidden books smuggled into my chambers. My body tenses, then shatters into a thousand pieces of pure pleasure. I bury my face against his neck to muffle my cries as waves of sensation wash over me.
He holds me through it, murmuring praise and endearments against my hair, his touch gentling as the intensity subsides. When I can breathe again, I lift my head to find him watching me with naked adoration.
"That," he says softly, "is how your betrothed should make you feel. That is what you deserve."
I grab his face and pull his lips down to meet mine.
He immediately takes control of the kiss, pulling my body flush against his as he humps his hard erection against me through his clothing. “Jesus, sweet princess, what you do to me. If you only knew all the ungodly ways I’ve fantasized of taking you. Selfish bastard that I am I want to be the one to shred your virginity. The only one to ever be in between your sweet thighs.
The raw possessiveness in his words should frighten me, but instead it ignites something primal within me. I press closer, feeling the hard evidence of his desire against my stomach.
"Show me," I whisper against his mouth. "Show me those fantasies."
He groans, his hands tightening on my waist. "Not like this. Not rushed against a door with guards outside who could interrupt at any moment."
"I don't care." My fingers work at the fastenings of his uniform jacket, clumsy with inexperience but determined. "I want you. All of you."
He captures my hands, stilling them against his chest. "I care." His voice softens, though desire still darkens his eyes. "Your first time shouldn't be a hurried coupling borne of rebellion. You deserve better than that."
I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, but in an act of sheer desperation, I fall to my knees in front of him. I follow some inate instinct as I palm him through his trousers. His hisses in a breath as his head falls back, his fingers tangling in my hair.
My hands are shaking as I free him from his constraints. His sex bobs out, and I wrap my hands around it. It’s huge and hot and heavy with moisture beading it at the tip. I lick my lips and lean forward, tasting him.
“Dear sweet mother of god,” he curses. “Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it,” groans as I begin to suck on his tip.
His fingers wind tighter in my hair, guiding me, his body trembling with restraint. I look up through my lashes, emboldened by the raw need etched across his face.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me," he growls, voice barely recognizable. "The innocent princess on her knees, mouth around me like she was made for this."
I'm drunk on his reaction, on the power I feel despite my submission. I take him deeper, following his wordless guidance, learning what makes his breath catch, what draws those delicious sounds from his throat.
He kisses me again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands find the laces of my gown, working them with surprising dexterity for a soldier. As the bodice loosens, his fingers slip inside, brushing against skin that has never known a man's touch.
I gasp into his mouth, the sensation almost too much to bear. He swallows the sound, his hand gentle despite the urgency that vibrates through him.
"Beautiful," he murmurs as his palm cups my bare breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak. "So beautiful."
My body responds to his touch with a eagerness that might shame me if I weren't beyond caring about propriety. Heat pools low in my belly, between my thighs, making me restless against him. I arch into his hand, seeking more, though I'm not entirely sure what "more" entails.
He seems to understand my wordless plea. His free hand gathers the fabric of my skirt, raising it until he can slip beneath, his palm warm against my thigh through the thin material of my underthings.
"May I?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.
"Yes." The word is barely audible, but he hears it.
His fingers slide higher, tracing patterns on sensitive skin, moving inexorably toward the heat at my center. When he finally touches me there, through the silk, I cry out, unprepared for the jolt of pleasure that races through me.
"Shh," he soothes, his mouth finding mine again to silence my sounds. "The guards will hear."
The reminder of where we are—of who we are—should douse the fire building between us. Instead, it only adds to the forbidden thrill. Here, pressed against my chamber door with my royal guards just outside, the captain of those guards is touching me in ways no man ever has.
His fingers move with deliberate skill, finding places that make me tremble, that make my knees weak. When the silk barrier becomes too much, he shifts it aside, touching me directly for the first time.
"Dain," I gasp against his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as sensation threatens to overwhelm me.
"I've got you," he murmurs, his free arm around my waist supporting my weight as my legs threaten to give way. "Let go, Lirien. Let me see you fall apart."
His words, combined with the increasingly insistent rhythm of his fingers, send me hurtling toward something I've only read about in forbidden books smuggled into my chambers. My body tenses, then shatters into a thousand pieces of pure pleasure. I bury my face against his neck to muffle my cries as waves of sensation wash over me.
He holds me through it, murmuring praise and endearments against my hair, his touch gentling as the intensity subsides. When I can breathe again, I lift my head to find him watching me with naked adoration.
"That," he says softly, "is how your betrothed should make you feel. That is what you deserve."
I grab his face and pull his lips down to meet mine.
He immediately takes control of the kiss, pulling my body flush against his as he humps his hard erection against me through his clothing. “Jesus, sweet princess, what you do to me. If you only knew all the ungodly ways I’ve fantasized of taking you. Selfish bastard that I am I want to be the one to shred your virginity. The only one to ever be in between your sweet thighs.
The raw possessiveness in his words should frighten me, but instead it ignites something primal within me. I press closer, feeling the hard evidence of his desire against my stomach.
"Show me," I whisper against his mouth. "Show me those fantasies."
He groans, his hands tightening on my waist. "Not like this. Not rushed against a door with guards outside who could interrupt at any moment."
"I don't care." My fingers work at the fastenings of his uniform jacket, clumsy with inexperience but determined. "I want you. All of you."
He captures my hands, stilling them against his chest. "I care." His voice softens, though desire still darkens his eyes. "Your first time shouldn't be a hurried coupling borne of rebellion. You deserve better than that."
I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, but in an act of sheer desperation, I fall to my knees in front of him. I follow some inate instinct as I palm him through his trousers. His hisses in a breath as his head falls back, his fingers tangling in my hair.
My hands are shaking as I free him from his constraints. His sex bobs out, and I wrap my hands around it. It’s huge and hot and heavy with moisture beading it at the tip. I lick my lips and lean forward, tasting him.
“Dear sweet mother of god,” he curses. “Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it,” groans as I begin to suck on his tip.
His fingers wind tighter in my hair, guiding me, his body trembling with restraint. I look up through my lashes, emboldened by the raw need etched across his face.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me," he growls, voice barely recognizable. "The innocent princess on her knees, mouth around me like she was made for this."
I'm drunk on his reaction, on the power I feel despite my submission. I take him deeper, following his wordless guidance, learning what makes his breath catch, what draws those delicious sounds from his throat.