Page 76 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess

“Please, Ruelle,” he says softly, and the look in his dark eyes shatters me into a thousand perfect pieces, a thousand crystal shards reflecting the two of us, over and over.

I stroke his shaft, pumping as I saw him do when we practiced stamina. I tuck my other hand under his jaw, compressing his throat. “Yes, you can come now, Captain.”

He cries out, and his cum overflows, lines of it spraying my belly, dripping over my fingers. He pulses in my hand while his arms wrap around me, his fingers pressing warm against my back.

Ducayne has come on me or around me before, but this is different. This wasn’t a test of stamina, or an accidental release while I was choking him, or the result of faked intercourse in the pool, in front of other people.

This was on purpose. Just for us.

We stand there, face to face. My stomach and thighs are slick from his release and my own wetness.

And I don’t even mind the mess.

“I should clean up,” I whisper.

“Don’t you dare.” He runs a finger along my chin. “I’m making you come again first.”

“A thrall, giving orders?” I arch a brow at him.

In answer he pulls his pants up again and drops to his knees. “You may want to hold on to something.”

He rakes down my panties, lifts my feet out of them, one at a time. His broad, warm hands close on my thighs, urging my legs to spread. His fingers gently pull apart the wet lips of my sex. And then—

His tongue.

My gods.

I slam one hand on the edge of the washstand. The other I sink deep into his gorgeous hair.

My folds are still swollen and sensitive from my first climax. The rippling, lapping motion of Ducayne’s tongue against that private part of me is nearly unbearable.

Pleasure forces its way into all the wounds in my heart that I thought I had sealed. Bliss cracks me open, wrenches cries from my mouth that I never planned to allow.

I’m almost sobbing, my knuckles white against the washstand, my nails digging into his scalp—and he doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t pause. He eats me desperately, hungrily, focusing his attention at the top, over my clit—so much delicious suction, I can’t, I can’t—

A tiny pinch from his teeth, a bright spark singing through my belly. I’m almost there, so close, please please please—

“Again,” I gasp, and he bites me gently, laving immediately with his tongue.

Almost, almost—I shriek with frustration, and he growls into my sex, pinching that tender bit of flesh again, nibbling and tugging—and the orgasm rips through my lower belly, shattering along my nerves with concussive force. My thighs quake, rippling with ecstasy—I’m screaming, shuddering.

He’s on his feet, holding me, cupping my sex, giving me pressure there.

I’m writhing against him, naked, dimly aware of a door opening somewhere.

“Princess?” Penn’s voice, concerned. “I heard screaming.”

My bodyguard appears in the doorway of the bathing room. I’m still panting, curled against Ducayne’s chest, his hand between my legs.

“By Beirgid,” swears Penn, shielding his eyes. “I am sorry, Princess.”

“Get out,” I gasp. “Or I’ll stab you.” But there’s no venom in my tone, only relief.

Penn’s voice carries a smile when he says, “Yes, your Highness. A good night to you.” He says the last words heartily, warmly. As if he’s genuinely happy for me.

The door to the suite closes.

And now I am not sure what to do.