Page 54 of Her Royal Houseguest

‘Keep them there.’

Keep them… Oh! He set his mouth to the points she made. He sucked at her breasts, one after another, while she arched into the coil of his tongue. He sucked and then he nipped, sharply enough that she gasped and he abruptly pulled back.

‘You must remain silent. Use the pillow.’

She pressed her lips together, though her breath was short and quick.

Then he threw her skirt up. It was a quick movement, a flick of his wrists that had her completely exposed to him.

He set his hands to her inner thighs, his hold gentle as he gazed into her eyes.

‘I will remain clothed. You are in no danger from me. My word of honour as a Prince of the Golden Throne.’

She let out a gurgle of laughter. So he was a representative of the Siamese court now? Standing there between her open thighs?

‘I do not want the Golden Throne,’ she whispered. ‘I want you. Deva.’ She dared say his name without honorific.

‘So be it,’ he said. ‘Deva gives you worship.’

He lowered his head to her breasts. He pulled at her nipples, setting her blood soaring again. And while he did so, his fingers found the centre between her thighs. He touched her everywhere there. He seemed to be exploring her, opening, pressing and teasing. It was definitely a tease because he lifted his head to grin at her.

‘Do you know anything about your lotus?’ he asked.

She shook her head. She had never heard the word lotus.

‘Then I will teach you.’

He started speaking, naming parts of her body in Siamese. She couldn’t follow it. Not when he rolled his fingers from her centre upward. His thumbs opened her, pressing inside before rolling across her flesh to the electric place higher up.

He talked about flowers and caves. He inhaled deeply, letting her know he enjoyed her scent. And then he thrust and she arched her eyes wide with panic.

‘My fingers,’ he said. ‘They love your narrow path.’

In and out, he went with his fingers. Further. Deeper. Her bottom was tightening, lifting herself into his thrust. Her back arched. Her hands—still on her breasts—squeezed of their own accord, adding to the clamour inside her.

‘Stay quiet,’ he said, his words a harsh whisper.

She nodded, her lips pressed tight.

Then suddenly—abruptly—he spread her thighs as wide as they would go before putting his mouth on her lotus.

She had no breath to cry out. Just sensation. Pleasure as he parted her petals and sucked at the very top.

White!

Glorious, wonderous white!

Sometimes, winter storms got so heavy that all the world becomes howling wind and crystal snow. That’s how it felt to her—later when she remembered and could put words to it. Everything became buffeting winds and crystal white.

The wind was inside her, tearing everything away. What was left—completely and wondrously herself—was crystalline diamond wonder. That’s what she became in that moment. And though the storm eventually faded, she knew then that she had changed. The woman she was now was irrevocably different than the one she’d been not one hour before.

She was different. She was new.

And she would never go back again.

Had he known that would happen? Did he realise that he was the reason she was made new? That this knowledge—this thing that they had done—showed her something that was beautiful. Special. And wholly her own.

Herself without restraint.