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She found she’d flattened her palms to the floor.
So fast, she’d never come that fast playing with herself. The very idea of knowing a man had her, that he controlled her, while he did that, fucked her with his finger, it was novel, different, and beautifully bad. It made her wonder why she’d waited so long for sex. Twenty-five and she’d kept herself a virgin because she’d been certain no one could ever really want her.
“I will return, my princess,” she heard him say from far above, as his boots walked away, taking him with them. He’d gone, left her? After doing that.
He’d made her come.
A shiny patch on the floor riveted her. Her face heated. She’d dripped her own wetness onto the floor.
This was not how queens, or princesses, behaved.
* * *
After Drake left, servants entered and brought her a small pallet with a roll of bedding, a free-flowing white dress, and a bowl of warm water to wash with. It was a primitive way to bathe and she felt ill at ease with removing the last bastion of defense from her body. After dithering for a few minutes, she bathed and slipped on the short dress and the underwear provided. Besides, the suit was best against projectile and slashing blade, and was plainly inadequate against claws at groin level.
The next suit she wore would have plating over her intimate regions.
Hours later, she was given food and wine. Two guards at the door, which was locked after the servants departed, ensured she had to stay where she’d been put. It was aggravating to know battles were being fought in her name and she could do nothing except worry and stare at the walls.
It might have been unwise to drink but she was still processing what he’d done, as well as what she’d allowed to be done in her name. Gods, had she been stupid or wise? And so she drank the wine and grew tired, then crawled into the bedding, closed her eyes, and slept.
Chapter Three
Walking into his private dining room, Drake found the princess sprawled across a pallet on the floor, asleep. His weariness lifted, though the intervening hours of violence and shouting, of screaming and the cough of guns, still thundered in his brain. He’d left his weapons and armor in his bedroom, but he’d needed to come here and see her before he washed.
The hour was past midnight. Her foot stuck out from under the sheet and her toes alone stirred him in unexpected ways. How small they were.
Those and the curves hidden by the bedding drew his heart to take notice.
For a moment or three, he merely observed the rise and fall of her breasts.
It had come to this, finally. He had her.
Soft-footed, he walked closer, pleased at how a nipple peeked from the cover of her dress. His cock rose and turned to near-rock. His nostrils flared.
There was time for her second lesson.
