Page 75 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess

I plunge my hand into her panties and cup her sex. My central finger slides between her folds. She’s soaking wet.

A shaking whimper bursts out of her. I know she hates the sound, because her body jerks angrily against mine.

I pull her hair sharply, and she huffs a startled breath. The twitch of pain snapped her out of the self-conscious spiral.

With the pad of my thumb I massage her clit. I manipulate her folds, play with her wetness, swirl my fingers around her slit. She arches, riding my hand compulsively. With every movement, her ass grinds against my front. My dick is a burning iron rod in my pants, so hard I think I might burst. I tilt my hips, craving more friction, cupping her body with mine.

“You—you don’t have to touch me like this,” she gasps suddenly. “It’s not a command—”

“Quiet, Princess,” I growl in her ear, while my cock twitches against her ass. “Iwantto do this.”

“Thank Arawn,” she pants. “Gods, Ducayne—please.”

And I lose my mind.

With manic speed I rub her clit, a quick jiggling motion that makes her pant, quick and sharp. She’s close. I can feel the spasming quiver of her sex. “Come for me, my Princess, my mistress, my Ruelle—come for me now. Right now.”

She squeals, and then claps her hand over her mouth. Damn it, that made her recede from the edge.

I smooth my whole palm over her slick sex, then slide it back up. Slowly I circle her clit, sweeping down through her folds every few seconds while she trembles in my arms—and then I begin the tiny quick circles again, a rapid wiggling motion that brings her back to the peak.

Ruelle screams into her palm and comes hard. I tuck my hand between her legs so I don’t miss a single flutter. Her toned body is tight, tense—and then she relaxes, sagging against me.

“Yes, Princess,” I murmur, swirling my fingers over her. “Yes, beautiful. You came so well for me.”

Her hips jerk a little, and she shivers, hooked on my hand, utterly sensitive.

Gods, could I make her come twice?

23

I let him touch me, and I did not die of panic or shame. I did not lunge out of his arms and seize a knife with which to stab him.

I let him hold me while I was nearly naked—let him put his hand into my panties. I came on his fingers.

He is still playing with my clit, tantalizing more flutters out of me. Somehow he can tell that I’m not quite sated, that I want more.

He is a solid wall of heated skin and smooth muscle at my back. I want to bask in his presence like a cat in the sun, to take him whole into myself. His strength overwhelms me, calms me.

Slowly I revolve in his arms until I’m facing him, chest to chest. I notch my fingers into the band of his pants and draw them down to his thighs. His cock springs free, twitching against my belly, painting my skin with a small smear of wetness. Instinctively I reach down and grasp it.

I’ve never touched a man’s penis before. It’s firm, but the head is soft. There’s a silkiness to the skin of the tip, a solid warmth to the shaft. He is the perfect size and heft. He feels right in my hand, comforting, like a—

Like a knife. But better.

Ducayne lets out a low groan of agony through gritted teeth, and only then do I realize that every muscle of his body is rigid. He’s practically shaking with the effort of holding himself back.

And in that moment I realize how much delicious torture lies in store for both of us, once we breach this wall of my inhibitions.

“Do you want to come, thrall?” I whisper, stroking his length with one finger.

“Gods, Princess.”

“That’s not an answer.” I close my fingers around him again. “And that’s Princess Bitch to you.”

A ragged laugh escapes his lips. He’s beautiful like this, right on the edge of pleasure, rock-hard and shuddering at my touch.

I have never done this, but I’m not as nervous as I thought I would be, because it’shim. I’ve known this man for a mere handful of days, so why does it feel like I’ve been conscious of his existence all along, as if my life has been a chain of events leading up tohim? As if he was always meant to be a part of my life. A part of me.