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)
But despite these sensations, I’m also feeling incredibly needy. My mind keeps going back to the way Valen made me come in the bath…how good it felt to have his hands on me. But letting him put his hands on me is a lot different from letting him put his tongue on—or in—me.
What am I going to do?
I have no answers but as we ascend the spiral staircase that leads to our room, the tingling and pleasure-pain I’m feeling in my nipples and pussy is coming to a head. I feel like I’m going to go crazy if I don’t get this damn dress off!
The minute we get in the room, I’m ripping it off. As soon as the lace is no longer rubbing my oversensitive nipples, I heave a sigh of relief. But it’s short lived.
Looking down at myself, I see how swollen and red by peaks have become. I want to swear, even though it’s unladylike. What am I supposed to do now?
I look up and see Valen leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching me. He’s not smirking or laughing—his face is completely neutral but it still makes me mad. I grab for a discarded towel to cover myself and then hiss with pain as the soft material rubs against my tender peaks. I pull it away and glare at him.
“What are you looking at?” I demand.
“You, Princess. Just wondering when you’re going to get desperate enough to let me help you,” he says mildly.
“I’m not desperate,” I say hotly—but we both know it’s a lie. I am getting desperate…only I don’t want to admit it.
“Sure you’re not.” He arches an eyebrow at me skeptically. “I don’t have to see how swollen your nipples are to know you’re in trouble, sweetheart. I can smell the need on you. Sooner or later you’re going to have to give in. I’ll just be here, waiting.”
And he goes to lay on the bed. Crossing his legs at the ankles and putting his arms behind his head, he closes his eyes, looking completely relaxed.
I want to take a pillow and smother him! How can he just lay there looking so smug and happy when I’m dying over here?
I think about storming out of the room…but where am I going to go?
To distract myself from this growing dilemma, I dive into the magical wardrobe again, looking for something to wear to bed. It seems to know what I need, because when I open the doors this time, I’m greeted with a variety of nightgowns and peignoirs.
I start looking through them and soon find they have the same problem as the dresses the wardrobe offered me previously—all of them are in some way indecent. Most of them are too tiny to even be considered adequate coverage as underclothes—let alone good, warm nightwear.
I look in vain for a long-sleeved, high-necked cotton or linen nightgown like the kind I’ve worn all my life. There are no plain garments here. Everything seems to be made of silk, satin, or lace—or all three.
I pull out a gown that’s longer than the rest and seems promising…only to find that the pale green fabric it’s made of is completely see-through. I choose a shorter gown which seems to be made of satin…and see that the top of it is just two empty triangles made of ribbons—which would leave my breasts completely bare. A third gown has lace panels over the breasts and lower area, which show everything.
At last I settle on a dark green gown that falls to my mid-thigh. Regrettably, it has two vertical slits in the bodice, which will show my nipples if I’m not careful, but at least it doesn’t have any itchy lace anywhere and the bottom part doesn’t show my pussy.
As a bonus, there are actually a pair of panties to match the gown. But they also have a vertical slit in them. I bite back another unladylike curse when I slip them on and see this irritating detail. But then I decide they’re better than nothing—which is what I’d have if I take them off again.
By the time I finally choose a gown and get dressed for bed, my body is tingling all over. My nipples are aching and stinging so sharply that I have to—reluctantly—feel glad for the slits in my green satin nightgown, because at least they keep the gown from rubbing against me.
The pain is reaching a peak inside me, but I still don’t want to admit it. Trying to appear calm, I stroll over to the bed with its flower-petal quilt and sit on the side across from Valen.
He’s still lying there with his eyes closed, apparently taking a nap. I want to slap him…then I want to cry. I’m so uncomfortable right now! But I don’t want to show it—I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying “I told you so.”