Page 23

AMELIA

Self-pleasure. Oh, gods, Tristan is referring to self-pleasure.

I know the basics, but I’ve never actually done it.

In the castle, I didn’t have any privacy, as I always had at least five roommates. And after that, Lord Nevel’s household wasn’t exactly conducive to feelings of lustful exploration.

As I hold Tristan’s gaze, breathless anticipation sweeps through me, and my core clenches tighter, pulsating so fast and deep that I fear I might lose my senses.

Yes, I can imagine having trouble sleeping if I don’t experience a so-called ‘blissful climax.’ If I lie down and try to sleep, I will likely toss and turn all night.

But surely I can’t engage in self-pleasure in General Dalgaard’s tent. Whether or not he’s present while I’m rubbing myself. It would be the height of madness.

What if he takes it as an invitation to claim me?

The image of him mounting me from behind enters my consciousness, a detailed fantasy he’s conjured more than once.

“We’ll be sharing this tent indefinitely, Amelia, and at some point, you won’t be able to hold out any longer.

If you want to touch yourself right now, it’s okay.

I can stay here with you, or I can step outside and give you some space.

” His tone is deep and seductive, yet I don’t sense he’s trying to take advantage of me.

The predominant emotion that’s rolling off him is one of concern.

He truly thinks I’ll be miserable all night if I don’t enjoy a release.

Gods, he’s probably correct. The aching in my core keeps getting stronger.

Is it wrong that I want to touch myself right now?

Is it wrong that I want him to stay in the tent?

My body feels aflame with desire, and I can’t remain still any longer. I press my thighs tightly together as I squirm in place.

I’ve never even shared a kiss with Tristan, yet I’m considering asking him to remain in the tent while I stroke myself. Or try to stroke myself. What if I can’t do it right? My face heats with the knowledge of my inexperience.

Technically, I’m a married woman. Not that the union was consummated. But Tristan doesn’t know that. He probably thinks Lord Nevel took me to bed. He probably thinks I know enough about lovemaking—ugh, I’ll admit that’s a poor word choice—to bring myself to a release.

“Are you all right, sweet human?” His deep voice vibrates through me. “Would you like me to step outside?”

“I-I have never… never before…” My voice trails off and I try to push away the shame I’m feeling.

“You’ve never?” he prompts, his tone so gentle it makes me want to latch onto him and never let go.

“I’ve never touched myself before.” I draw in a huge breath as a pleasurable shudder courses through me.

His nostrils flare and a low growl rumbles from his chest. His gaze becomes more heated, and I know if I were to reach for his cock, I would find it fully erect.

Of course, I would have to toss back the covers and unfasten his pants first. Heated desire pummels me at the thought.

Oh gods, my face must be a vibrant shade of red.

“You’ve truly never touched your pussy before, Amelia? You’ve never stroked your clit?” His gaze still brims with desire and curiosity.

I shake my head. “No. I-I haven’t.”

The look of curiosity he’s wearing deepens, and I sense he’s hesitant to ask his next question.

He doesn’t want to make me think of Lord Nevel, nor does he want to shame me for any pre-marital intimate encounters I might’ve enjoyed with another male, but he wants to get a better sense of my carnal knowledge.

“Have you ever experienced a climax, sweet human?” he finally asks.

“No, I haven’t.” A whimper escapes me when the aching in my core mounts, and I’m on the verge of begging him to help me. Begging him to teach me. Maybe it’s messed up—he is, after all, my captor—but I feel entirely safe with him.

The faelights in the tent dim slightly, and though I didn’t see him move a hand or even lift a finger, I know he just used his summer magic.

The air is buzzing with it. Fragrant summer and spring scents keep reaching me, and the sound of nighttime insects becomes louder.

The intermittent flashes of fireflies glow from outside the tent, and I suspect Tristan summoned the tiny creatures closer.

He reaches for my head and slowly, sensually, combs his fingers through my hair. Then he cups the side of my face. A short while ago, I was flinching from his touch, but now I lean into his palm with a contented sigh.

I peer into his eyes, waiting for him to ask the next question that rests on the tip of his tongue. I know the exact question he’s about to ask, and I’ve already decided on the answer I’ll give him.

Anticipation skitters through me, causing the heat panging in my core to increase until I feel feverish and so unsettled that I almost reach beneath my nightdress to rub myself.

The faelights reflect in his eyes, and as he sits up higher, his long dark hair shifts forward over his shoulders. I know he’s not a fae royal, but I think his features are as regal as they come. He’s a magnificent specimen of masculine beauty. Everything about him draws me in.

“Amelia, would you like me to stay and offer you some guidance? I could instruct you on how to best pleasure yourself, and I could help you bring yourself to a climax.” He draws in a long breath and doesn’t exhale immediately, and I know he’s waiting for my answer.

He’s hopeful I’ll say yes, but he’s already promised himself he’ll be understanding and patient if I refuse his offer.

My heart swells with warmth, and not for the first time, I cannot reconcile how brutal he is on the battlefield compared to his gentleness toward me.

“Yes,” I force out. My mouth has gone dry, and it’s a struggle to say a single word, but I finally manage.

“Yes, please stay. Please… offer me guidance.”

His dark eyes glimmer. “It would be my honor.”

A long silence stretches between us. We hold one another’s gaze, and it’s like the entire realm has faded from existence. It’s just us here in this tent, and all the troubles we’re both facing don’t seem to matter at this moment.

At last, he breaks the silence. “Get atop the covers, then lean against me, with your back to me.”

My face heats as I comply with his wishes. I stand up briefly and allow him to rearrange the covers atop himself, then he spreads his legs and gestures for me to take a seat between them.

Oh, gods, we’re going to be so close.

If I scoot back far enough, my bottom will press against his hardness.

I remind myself that he’s fully dressed and there will be a thick cover between us. Also, he’s an honorable male. At least when it comes to me. He won’t hurt me. He won’t try to take advantage.

Frantic need sweeps through me, and another whimper leaves my throat. I draw in a shaky breath and climb on the bed. With his help, I take position between his spread legs, and I lean back against his chest.

Just as expected, and secretly hoped, the telltale hardness of his male appendage pokes at me, though rather than nudging at my bottom, it pushes against my lower back. My pulse races and my palms break into a sweat.

Pressure coils in my center, and a moan builds in my throat, though I somehow manage to keep quiet. The idea of becoming so wanton that I can’t control the noises I’m making leaves me flushed with embarrassment. But I don’t want to stop.

Even if I lose control, I want to keep going.

I want to see this experience through to the very end.

I’m aware that my nightdress is rather sheer, and Tristan can probably see the outlines of my nipples, but it can’t be helped.

Speaking of my nipples, why are they so hard, and why do my breasts feel heavy?

I yearn for him to touch me there, to cup my bosom and knead the peaked mounds, but I would never dare make such a wanton request.

“Is this a good position?” I ask.

“Yes, sweet human. This is perfect.” He leans close, and his cheek brushes mine. His hair also tickles my face, and his fragrant summer scent washes over me. Pleasurable sensations prickle along my flesh everywhere he touches, and my breath keeps catching in my throat.

He settles his arms on either side of him, and I sense his reluctance to become overly involved in my self-pleasure.

He doesn’t want to scare me by touching me too familiarly.

Too intimately. Gods, is it wrong that I want him to?

Is it wrong that I want it to be his fingers that are stroking me to a blissful climax?

“Are you wearing any undergarments beneath the nightdress, Amelia?” His warm breath dances along my earlobe, inciting goosebumps and causing my nipples to harden further.

“No, I’m not wearing anything beneath the nightdress.” I’m trembling with need, and even his body heat and summer warmth can’t calm the constant tremors. I don’t feel cold, however, not really, even though I can see the goosebumps rising on my arms.

“Well, that will certainly make things easier.” More warmth dances along my earlobe, and I can’t help but lean my face closer to his. His stubble brushes along my cheek. “Hike your nightdress up a bit and reach your hand underneath to touch your pussy.”

“O-okay.” I draw the fabric of my nightdress higher, until it rests midthigh, then I slowly reach for my pussy. But as I aim for my nether area, the nightdress hikes up even higher, revealing more of my thigh than I intended.

Tristan’s cock lurches against my back, and I whimper as I wonder just how large he is. I suppose, being a highborn fae—and a huge one at that—he’s probably quite well-endowed.

At the Sorsston castle, I saw more naked fae males than I would’ve liked walking around in the midst of their nightly revelries, and even the regular soldiers had intimidatingly massive appendages.

I push away thoughts of the Sorsston castle and those dark days, and I return my focus to the present, to Tristan and the intimate experience we’re about to share.