Page 30 of The Princesses of Ruin (The Princesses of Ruin #5)

Chapter twenty-eight

Adrik

G ods damn and bless her for this marginally bearable discomfort in my pants . It’s better this way, though. Now that I’ve come, I’ll be able to last for her. Unless we don’t…

Ah, fuck.

I put it out of my mind as I retrace our steps a ways and spray down the trail, then do a circle of camp. I pull out my dagger and begin carving the runes to keep us hidden and safe for the night. Each tree oozes with my white magic, accepting it with little fight, and I thank them.

The night is mild for this far north in Seter, so I risk a little exposure to make myself presentable.

I kneel in a clean bank and strip my top layer of pants down to my knees, then my second, until I’m bared to the wind.

I pick up a handful of snow and reach for my magic to warm it into water only to realize I used it all on the runes.

Curses tumble from my chattering lips as I stare down at the off-white crust in my dark hair. “You can’t fuck her like this…”

I nod and exhale hard, then press the snow to my pubic mound.

The chill is sharp and instant. I want to retract my hand, but I rub it in deeper.

I get all the crevasses with quick passes, doing my best to be thorough.

Several scrubs and a withered dick later, I am clean.

I use the bottom of my undershirt to wipe myself dry and pull up my pants.

I pant heavily, rubbing my crotch from over my clothes to try to bring back warmth.

Emillia and her sweet cunt riding my mouth and dripping down my chin. Emillia and what her huntress body must look like under all those extra shirts. Emillia and the way she craved the sound of her name from my pleasured breath.

My shivering slows and I settle into the warmth my body is making for itself.

After another moment, I take another deep breath and prepare myself for the top half.

I shuck my upper layer off quickly, then my thick sweater, the second, thinner sweater, and finally the long-sleeved shirt that clings to my chest.

I’m as white as the gods-damned snow.

What if she doesn’t like what she sees?

Fuck, it’s too cold to think.

I grab a fistful of fresh snow and scrub it under one armpit. I repeat the process with the other, then scoop up two handfuls that I wipe all up and down my chest, over my neck, and into my hair.

The pain is too severe to withhold my screamed curse. A bird flees the nearby canopy with a hoot. Emillia certainly heard that.

I shiver and fumble my way back into my clothes. At least I’m clean. I’m clean and…shriveled. I’ll have to explain I’m cold.

It takes great effort, but I tremble my way back to our tent and step inside. Emillia is staring at me with curious concern when I look up from shaking out my boots. She’s thrusting a rod down the end of her blunderbuss’s barrel in rhythmic motions that send my mind to groin-warming places.

“Everything go well out there? ”

“S-so well,” I chatter.

Her expression becomes pitying, a small smile on her lips. “I got the fire started.”

“Thank you.”

I strip off my outer layers and stumble to the heat. My hands are red and achy, but I hold them out to the fire anyway. It’s not the smartest move, but fuck, they’re so cold I worry I’ll lose them.

Emillia moves behind me and I hear her set the weapon aside. She sits next to me and grabs my wrists.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” she says, pulling my hands toward her stomach.

I lean into her, and she lifts her sweater, sliding my freezing fingers underneath. She sucks in a breath with a curse as I touch her skin. Her warmth burns, but I crave it so much, flattening my palms against her.

“Gods, Adrik, what did you do?”

My teeth won’t stop chattering. “M-mm clean now.”

“What?”

“Snow b-bath.”

She gasps. “You didn’t.”

I nod.

“You fool,” she chides, climbing on top of me. “Why didn’t you use your magic?”

“Tried. Used it all on protectssshion runes.”

She pushes up my shirt as she lays me down, then flattens herself against my chest. The heat of her stings, but it’s a feeling I relish. I’m alive, and clean, and she’s touching me. Her face tucks into the crook of my neck, and my trembling begins to settle.

“You know that I get off a boat after weeks of rag baths and fuck whores without a second thought. ”

I move my hands around to her back, finding a new warm spot to absorb. “Not a who-ore.”

She tsks. “I know you’re not a whore.”

I was trying to say she wasn’t a whore, and I wouldn’t treat her to two-day- old semen on my dick, but she’s speaking again before I can get my tongue to work.

“I’m sorry. I meant…thank you. Thanks for cleaning the cum out of your pants.”

I mumble what could pass for a laugh. “Pants still dirty.”

She looks up at me with a wicked smile. “Oh, well then, we better take them off, so you don’t ruin all the work of your snow bath.”

I swallow hard and nod.

She sits up, making my hands slide down to her thighs, and takes off her sweater. She rolls it into a ball and puts it behind my head. I smile at the kindness, touching her softly as she pulls back.

Her warm hands roam the expanse of my stomach as she slides down my body until her hips are over my knees and her fingers are hooking the band of my over-pants. My once numb fingers weave into her chocolate-colored hair.

She plants a kiss on my reddened skin where I’d scrubbed with a particularly harsh chunk of ice. Her lips are like a branding iron. I wish they would leave a permanent stain on my skin, marking me as hers.

Her eyes meet mine as she kisses lower, just above my waistband. The eroticism of the act and the dominance in her stare has my cock stiffening to the point of pain. Her fingers work the buttons one by one, a kiss from hip to hip with each popping free.

She pulls on my pants until the shallow “V” of my muscles give way to dark pubic hair. I flex my hips and my cock bobs behind my underpants, caught on the tip .

Emillia palms me through the thin cloth and the breath rushes out of me with a curse.

She doesn’t lift her head, but her eyes meet mine again.

She rubs up and down my length, then swishes her thumb over my head.

The sensation of her body so close to mine is maddening, intoxicating, all-consuming.

I cup her cheek just to feel more of her.

She leans into the touch, nibbling the meat just below my thumb.

“You’re not going to come immediately when unsheathed?”

I smile. “It’s to be seen.”

She hooks her fingers under the band of my underpants and pulls them away from my hips. The cool air on my erection reminds me of my snow bath, and a shiver trickles up my spine. She urges the underpants down and I lift my hips to help her.

Now I’m bared to her, just as she was to me last night. She looks her fill, taking in all there is to see from tip to base to balls. Her hand slides over my thigh and the hair on my leg raises in response. She doesn’t touch me, though, and I wonder if she’s waiting.

My voice hardly above a whisper, I say, “If it’s permission you’re seeking, you have it.”

The hand at my thigh slides across my pelvis and grips my shaft.

I curse at the firm warmth of her hand. It’s not soft like my own pampered alchemist’s hand.

She’s a hunter, a sea captain, and her callouses are proof of her prowess.

Their toughness isn’t unpleasant. Her grip feels sturdy, like there’s no give to be had.

Her eyes meet mine again and she pins my erection to my stomach, then—

Spits.

Her saliva slaps the underside of my cock with a wet sound that burns a fire in her eyes. I’m not certain how I feel about the act. She bites her lip, waiting for my response .

“Again,” I urge, trying to get a feel for whether I like to be spit on.

She gathers saliva in her mouth and positions herself over my head. The slow drip coats my tip, strings of it still connecting to her mouth. Blood surges through my groin and I flex involuntarily.

“That’s what you like,” she murmurs and I nod.

I do like it.

She pumps once, moving her saliva across my shaft. The drag of her callouses is too much, and I grit my teeth before I can stop myself.

“Sorry,” Emillia whispers, then drops her lips to my cock.

Her hot tongue flattens at the base and drags all the way up to the head in a long, luxurious stroke. A moan breaks from my chest, and she smiles. She licks me again, her tongue stopping to flick the sensitive area just under my head.

With my cock properly wetted, she pumps me again. This time, she glides effortlessly, and the pleasure comes just as easily. She meets her fist with her mouth and my fingers tense in her hair reflexively.

Her name falls from my lips like a prayer, whispered just for her. She swallows my cock down and my eyes wince shut as I groan. The ecstasy doesn’t end, her mouth moving over me again and again. I fist the bedroll in my other hand to keep from pulling too hard on her hair.

Wet sucks and gentle moans urge me closer to the edge, but I hold myself back, reciting the ingredients for a perfect wakefulness potion. The pleasure edges into my focus and I change potions, moving on to something more difficult.

My toes are curling and unstoppable grunts burn up my throat as she works me with the same devotion I’d shown her. She pulls me back, leaving me gasping for air and begging for more .

She stands over me and drops her pants, then peels off her shirt. I admire her from the ground with awe, enjoying the perspective. Her breasts are full, teardrop shaped and slightly separated.

“Perfect.”

She lowers herself over my lap, holding my gaze as she does.

I grab her hips and stop her. “I’m not taking a potion.”

She smiles, her thumb tracing my lower lip. “I am.”

“You are?”

She gives me another pitying look. “I fuck at every port, Adrik.”

A flare of envy blooms in me, but I crush it down.

Not fast enough, though.

She grabs my erection and laves it up and down her wet center as she whispers, “I think I like that look in your eyes.”