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“Any pain? Burning?”
I shake my head no.
His dark look turns to a glower. “Stasi?”
“It’s a little hot, but seriously it’s not that bad.”
“I want you to tell me exactly where it hurts when I touch you. And don’t you dare lie. You think I don’t notice it when you’re wincing, but I can see it in your eyes.” As Sigurd talks to me, he rests two palms on me, one on each of my legs, softly stroking his thumbs along the tender flesh of my inner thighs. The hold feels so sure and steady. Possessing and nurturing.
I don’t have any witty comeback to that. I don’t have anything but my breath puffing out, “Yes. I will.”
With my eyes, I tell him, “Yes, Daddy,” and I know he sees it.
Sigurd’s nostrils flare.
I swallow hard and try something. “I will tell you everything you want to know if you…if you put the lotion on me.”
Sigurd’s lips part, his teeth gritted, and his jaw working. I’m desperate to hear another one of his low growls, like the one he emitted when the grocery delivery man came. The same frustrated, horny growl I imagined he uttered when he accidentally saw me topless on the dock yesterday.
He reaches for the lotion, squirts some into his hands, and then rubs his palms together to warm it.
“You do realize that I benefit from both ends of that bargain,” Sigurd points out.
Oh boy, that’s where he’s wrong. Sigurd’s weather-beaten fingers feel amazing on my skin as he works the lotion in with sensuous, slow circles.
“But I get the side bonus of a massage and the pleasure of knowing that your hands will smell extra fruity as a result,” I say, resisting the urge to close my eyes at the sensation of his hands traveling higher, rubbing more lotion into my upper thighs before traveling back down to my knees and calves.
“The only thing I want my hands to smell like is your essence.”
I am going to pass out.
“Your Highness,” I breathe. “So naughty.”
He only grunts as he takes one calf in his hand and lifts my leg, bringing my foot high. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he’s gripping my foot and massaging the arch with his thumb.
Anybody else doing that would make me ticklish, but Sigurd’s touch makes me shiver.
I giggle. “The bottoms of my feet are not sunburned, Your Highness.”
“Better safe than sorry,” he rumbles.
“You’re right,” I say with a sigh and a blissed-out smile. “A little lube in a strange place isn’t going to hurt anyone.”
This triggers a loud belly laugh from the prince.
“If you like that, I’ve got lots more inappropriate jokes where that came from,” I say, “Keep rubbing me like a genie’s lamp, and you never know what might pop—oh…”
My words are cut off because this man has slid his grip up to my ankles and heaved me onto his lap crosswise. I yelp in surprise. Then, as naturally as rain in the forest, I circle my arms around his shoulders to steady myself. This, of course, places our faces so close together that it feels so much more intimate than a countertop kissing session.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to kiss me again, Your Highness.”
“I am,” he growls, capturing my lips between his. “It’s all I think about.”
I melt into this moment of firm lips on mine, murmured sweet words, small moans of longing, of thrilling touches. My tongue is the aggressor this time. I’m addicted to the prince’s mouth, his taste, his passion that’s evident in low groans and growls and kneading fingers.
His hand drags upward, until his thumb toys with the edge of my knickers. Keep going, I think. Don’t hesitate.
I pull back from the kiss and meet his heated gaze with one of my own. “Blanket permission to touch me anywhere you like.”
