Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
The ring on my forefinger throbs, as if to agree with me. There’s nothing for it but to roll up my sleeves and start washing.
“Fine,” I say. I sit gingerly on the edge of the tub, keeping my cloak between the wooden edge and my gown, and reach for the sponge and soap. The water is barely lukewarm—which I suppose is still better than ice cold. Back home in the castle we have actual magic to warm the water of our baths, and it gets as hot as you like. But “beggars can’t be choosers,” as my old nurse used to say.
I wet the sponge and rub the soap on it until I’ve worked up a weak kind of lather. Then I bend forward and begin to scrub Valen’s broad chest.
“Ah…feels fucking good.” He relaxes against the back of the tub, his head thrown back to show his strong throat and the silver collar, which gleams mockingly at me through the grime.
I thin my lips but say nothing. I have a favorite horse in the Royal stables back home—Princella is her name. I tend to her myself since my father told me if I want my own animal, I must take care of it. I often wash and curry her—she loves the attention. I tell myself that’s what I’m doing now—just grooming a horse. And indeed, Valen is so huge, I can almost make myself believe it.
But his muscular chest and broad shoulders aren’t those of an animal and his scarred but handsome face reminds me that, though he can turn into a beast, he is presently quite human.
But though I scrub and scrub with the sponge, he remains dirty. At last, I throw down the sponge in disgust.
“What’s wrong with this thing?” I demand. “Why isn’t it coming off?”
Valen’s eyes have been closed as he relaxes in the water. Now he opens them and gives me an annoying smirk.
“I believe, Princess, that you need to wash me with your bare hands. The sponge doesn’t work because the magic relies on skin-to-skin contact.”
“You’re lying!” I exclaim. “You…you’re just trying to get me to touch you!”
He narrows his eyes.
“No, I’m trying to get you to wash off the poison I’m fucking coated in—poison I got covered with while flying your royal arse across the fucking desert.”
He has a point—I flush with shame and embarrassment.
“All right,” I say. “It’s just…I’ve never touched a naked man before.”
Valen gives me a lazy smile.
“Of course you haven’t, my little virgin Princess. Glad I can be your first.”
Then he leans back again, his arms draped over the sides of the tub and his long legs spread wide.
“Start again,” he drawls. “And this time just use your pretty little hands. I want to feel them all over my body.”
15
VALEN
The Princess doesn’t know what to make of me—a big, naked male— demanding that she wash me all over. To be honest, if you’d asked me before, I would have said I prefer to wash myself. But it’s fucking satisfying to see the hot blush creep up her cheeks as she lathers the soap in her hands and reaches for me.
She starts with my face this time, scrubbing me vigorously and being what I suppose she thinks is “rough.” I don’t mind, however. I simply keep my eyes closed and revel in the sensation of getting clean. That fucking dungeon her brother locked me in was dirty and damp and he certainly never came down to wash me. I haven’t bathed in almost a year, so this feels really good.
Irena washes my chest and shoulders and arms too—I’ll give her one thing, she’s fucking thorough. She scrubs hard, getting all the brown dust off of me. The water gets so dirty she has to drain it twice. I just lay there and let her tend to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman’s hands on me and she’s fucking gorgeous—even if she does hate me.
She works her way down my body, avoiding “certain areas” until at last, the only thing on me that’s still dirty is my shaft. I don’t mind admitting, it’s been hard since the minute she started touching me with her soft little hands. Neither of us is saying anything about it but it’s standing up between my thighs stiff as a flagpole, as though demanding attention.
“There.” She sits back at last, wiping her hands on a rough bit of towel. “There—you’re all clean.”
“Not quite all of me,” I point out, nodding at my cock.
She goes red, her cheeks heating with shame or outrage or perhaps a combination of both. But under all that, I can smell her heat. She might tell herself she doesn’t like touching me, but her body tells a different story.
“Come on, Princess,” I growl softly. “You know it must be done. I’m not living the rest of my life with poison all over my cock.”