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“Hold that thought, and look.” I raised my hands, gesturing to the newest addition to the baths. “I got something in the village today. Something that’s going to make things much clearer.”
Scowling, he trained his gaze up. “A painting of you? Are you giving it to me as a... present?” The word sounded foreign on his tongue. “I don’t want it. Get out.”
Kakka.I strained to keep my tone neutral. “It’s not a present. Just look at it, then look at me.”
I pointed to the lovely, radiant picture of Princess Emiana of Lyrica, then pointed to myself, shook my head hard, then repeat.
The curse wouldn’t let me speak my true name. It wouldn’t let me write it down. It wouldn’t let me give clues to my identity. I couldn’t even describe my true face to the artist I met in the market square. But a painting of Emiana... that was easily done.
I thought of a million ways to get through to him that I’m not the princess, and he was teaching a poor peasant to rule his kingdom. In the end, simple was best.
His eyes narrowed to slits, the line down his brow growing more pronounced.
“Yes, yes,” I cried.He’s getting it. He understands!“Take me home. I have to go back—”
“Argh!” He jumped in the water, splashing half the bath in my shrieking mouth. “Enough of your presents and pantomime games. Mytiny little fellafailed to satisfy you last night.”
The face of evil. It was before me.
“Seven orgasms weren’t enough. Fucking you until you blacked out—twice.” He tangled in my hair, ever so slowly drawing my head back. Alisdair was daring me to stop him, and loving that I wasn’t. “Not enough.
“Clearly I have to redouble my efforts.” He licked a stripe up my chin. “I’m going to fuck you until all the water’s left this bath.”
“What does that mean?” I cried. “The bath doesn’t drain!”
But I knew what he meant. I knew all too well.
Our promise was that if he caught me, he was free to ravage me within an inch of my life, and I was the silly mare who didn’t even run. Despite my ravings that morning, last night was the best sex anyone ever had, and I didn’t need the samplings of other men to know it. Alisdair found every one of my body’s treasure troves and plundered it for gold.
I rocked back against the rim, brought my feet up, and kicked in his chest.
That doesn’t mean I’m making it easy for him.
He stumbled back and I shot past him—kicking and slapping at the water. I never did learn how to swim.
Claws clamped around my ankle and dragged me under.
The world disappeared in a soundless kaleidoscope of color. Hands grabbed mine. Threading our fingers together, he pinned my palms to the bottom of the water basin. No hesitation. No preparation. Alisdair buried inside me with one hard thrust.
My cry was bubbles in the water, floating to the surface to escape. I would not be joining them.
Alisdair started pumping, setting a furious, out-of-control, animal pace. Every breath I tried to hold exploded out of me in an ecstatic scream. Drowning has never been so pleasurable.
Alisdair was a monster. An evil, arrogant, impatient monster who used people as pawns, and crushed them when they ceased being useful. So why, in Meya’s wisdom, did he not fuck like one?
If there was any justice in this world, his true face would be as hideous as his cursed one. His overconfidence would mask his insecurity over having a minuscule penis besieged by a hairy mole twice its size. He’d be selfish in bed, hoarding his own pleasure and leaving his partner bored, unsatisfied, and cold.
Something that wasnothis hand slipped between my legs, found my clit, and rubbed it so vigorously, my back snapped in half arching off the floor.
If he was the monster at night that he was during the day... I could hate him so much less.
I hated that my body responded to him. Hated that I was choking on moans more than water. Hated that my mouth snarled at him while my pussy begged for him.
He was making a fool of me...
Alisdair’s lips pressed to my neck. The pinprick of pain smothered under my exploding orgasm, chasing away my rage at being marked again. Chasing away all thought entirely. The only thing that anchored me to reality was the shape of his smirk against my skin.
Yes, he was making a fool of me, and he knew it.
