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)
Valen takes a cake of creamy white soap and begins to wash himself. I watch the sweep of his hands over his chest…the way his biceps flex as he scrubs his arms. He is thorough and unselfconscious. The soap suds slide over the planes of his stomach and then lower… I swallow hard and try not to look.
The peace is shattered by a soft, rustling sound.
My eyes dart back. From the leafy lining of the tub, a new vine is emerging. This one is thicker—a darker green than the ones that attended to me. It moves with a predatory grace, sliding through the water directly toward Valen.
He feels it—his eyes snap open, his body going taut. But he doesn’t move to stop it. He just watches, a strange, intense expression settling on his face, as the vine coils around his thigh.
A bud forms at its tip, swelling rapidly as petals of deep crimson unfurl to reveal a velvety, dark interior. The flower is huge—larger than my fist. It nudges against his hip, then drifts lower, through the water, seeking.
It finds him.
I bite my lower lip as I watch—he doesn’t seem to fear it, doesn’t try to fight it. He just lets it happen.
“What…what are you doing?” I ask, my voice coming out breathless. “You’re just going to let it…let it touch you?”
“Fuck yes, why wouldn’t I? I told you there was no shame in pleasure, didn’t I?” He gives me a wolfish grin. “I like to practice what I preach, sweetheart.”
Then he closes his eyes and his head falls back against the tub with a soft thump. A sharp hiss escapes his clenched teeth.
The crimson blossom has enveloped him, taking his semi-aroused length into its depths. I can see the outline of him through the translucent petals…can see the flower begin to pulse and contract as it sucks him.
“Fuuuck,” he breathes raggedly.
My own body clenches in sympathetic response as I watch him. I’m frozen, the towel clutched to my chest, unable to look away. He’s being taken, just as I was. But his reaction is different—there’s no fear…no struggle. There’s only raw pleasure as he surrenders completely.
His eyes find mine across the room. They’re blazing, full of a heat that has nothing to do with the steam from the bath.
“Look at that,” he growls, as the flower begins to suck in earnest, bobbing slowly on his cock. “Remind you of anything, Princess?”
I can’t speak. I can only stare, mesmerized by the rhythmic motion…the way his shaft glistens wetly each time the flower pulls back.
“Reminds me,” Valen continues, his voice dropping into a low, dirty rumble that vibrates in my own core. “Of a dark cave…of a proud little Princess on her knees. Of a hot, tight mouth sucking me just like this.” His hips give an involuntary jerk, driving himself deeper into the flower’s sucking embrace. “You remember how that felt, don’t you, baby? Your lips stretched around me…your tongue licking up my cream when I came down your throat?”
Each word is a violation—a shocking profanity that makes me wet, though I know I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t listen. I should leave. But somehow I can’t.
My feet are rooted to the spot.
“You loved it,” he growls, his breath coming faster as the flower’s pace increases. Its suction is audible now, a wet, rhythmic shlurp-shlurp-shlurp that fills the steamy room. “You loved the taste of me. You loved making me lose control. I saw it in your eyes when you swallowed.”
“Valen…” It’s a whimper, a plea for him to stop… to never stop.
“This is good,” he groans, his hand fisting at his side. “Fuck, it’s good. But it’s not you, Princess. It doesn’t have your pretty green eyes looking up at me. It doesn’t make those little needy sounds you make.”
He’s thrusting in time with the flower now, meeting its pulls, his abdominal muscles clenching with each movement.
“Nothing feels as good as your mouth, Irena,” he groans raggedly. “Fucking nothing. This flower can suck me all day, but it’ll never be the princess who hates that she wants to do it.”
The confession, wrapped in his dirty words, undoes me. My knees feel weak. I’m trembling, and it’s not from the cold.
He’s close. I can see it in the rigid line of his body…the corded strength of his neck…the way his jaw is locked tight. The flower is milking him frantically, its petals fluttering.
“That’s it,” he snarls, his gaze locked on mine, holding me captive. “Gonna come. Gonna fill this fucking flower up. Just like I filled your mouth, baby. Wish it was you. Gods, I wish it was your hot little mouth on me right now.”
With a roar that seems to shake the very roots of the stronghold around us, he comes. His back arches, every muscle standing out in stark relief. I see the intense, rhythmic pulsing at the base of his cock, visible through the frantic flower. It drinks him down, the crimson petals glowing faintly as it takes his release. The sounds are obscene—wet and greedy—and they go on and on until he is spent, collapsing back against the tub, chest heaving.