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)
“Of course you are,” she says nodding and giving me a smile I don’t quite like. “But never you mind, dearie. Stay as long as you like. You must be tired after your long journey.”
That I most certainly am. I couldn’t exactly sleep while I was riding dragon-back and I know Valen must be tired as well, after flying over the Poison Desert.
Maud nods her way out of the room, and I turn to see him sitting in the tub, staring up at me.
“Well?” he asks, raising one eyebrow at me. “Are you going to finish what you started, Princess?”
18
VALEN
Her cheeks go pink at once.
“I am finished,” she says tartly. “You’re all clean—you can’t say you’re not! I, er, washed you quite vigorously.”
“Yes, you did but you didn’t finish,” I say. Or rather, I didn’t fucking finish. I’m still throbbing from the touch of her soft little hand stroking me off.
“I’m not touching you again,” she snaps.
Well, it’s no more than I expected. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to go around with blue balls. I’d prefer her soft little hand, but I can use my own just as well.
“All right, Princess—I’ll finish myself,” I tell her. Then, holding her eyes with my own, I take myself in hand and begin to stroke.
19
IRENA
I don’t know what to do or say. Valen is staring at me—holding my gaze with his own as his big hand slides up and down his hard shaft.
I want to look away—I don’t want to be seeing this. But somehow my eyes linger on the sight of him slowly stroking his shaft, his fist sliding up and down the thick club of flesh.
He’s not quiet either—for some reason he keeps talking just like he was earlier.
“Fuck, baby—feels so fucking good,” he groans, looking into my eyes as he strokes. “Wish it was you touching me, though.”
“Stop that!” I say, but my voice comes out breathless. “Stop talking like that!”
“Like what—telling you how much I love the feel of your soft little hand on my cock?” he growls, raising his eyebrows. “Goddess, the only thing better would be your mouth…or your sweet little pussy.”
My mind is suddenly flooded with forbidden images, and I glare at him.
“Don’t…you can’t talk that way around me!” I protest.
“Why? Because you’re a pretty little Princess and your ears are too delicate?” he taunts me, smirking.
“I…I don’t have to listen to you,” I tell him. “I don’t have to watch you do…what you’re doing.”
“But I don’t see you looking away. Fuck!” he groans and then his whole body tenses and the huge shaft in his hand seems to swell even bigger. Then—to my surprise—it begins spurting something white and creamy all over his broad chest.
I watch, unable to look away, as spurt after spurt of cream paints his muscular body. I have heard that when a man puts his male parts into a woman’s forbidden area, he deposits seed to make a baby grow, but I always imagined it would be the kind of seeds one plants in the garden. What is this white stuff? And why is Valen making so much of it?
By the time he’s finished, he looks like he’s been splattered all over with white paint.
“Fuck…” he groans and collapses, head thrown back, against the back of the tub. Is he all right? He seems to be breathing hard. Did he reach that peak I was wondering about earlier? The one I’ve never quite been able to reach myself?
I try to push the thoughts away.
“If you’re quite finished, our breakfast is getting cold,” I say, using the frostiest tone I can manage.
Valen stirs and sits up in the tub.
“Right. Save me some,” he growls.
He washes the white stuff his shaft spurted off his chest and abdomen and then drains the water. Then he fills the tub again and uses the soap to wash his long, black hair.
“That’s fucking better,” he growls, when he finishes and is wringing the water out of his hair. “First time I’ve been completely clean in almost a year.”
He climbs out of the tub and goes over to stand in front of the fireplace, presumably to dry off. I try very hard not to stare at his firm, muscular buttocks and broad back.
Instead, I turn my attention to the food Maud brought us to eat. There’s a large bowl of porridge studded with nuts and dried currents with a pot of honey and cream to sweeten it. Also a large platter filled with fried sausages and rashers of bacon. There’s crusty bread with fresh butter and fig jam to spread on it and a flagon of ale with two crudely carved wooden cups.
It’s plain, hearty fare and I know most of the Nobles in Court would turn up their noses at it. I, however, happen to like plain food. I’ve often wished we had more of it—especially during feasting days when the Head Chef tries to show off by cooking something exotic and awful.