Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

A faint tremor ran through my arms. “You’re not a lord.”

“No, I am not.”

Heart leaping, I jerked my hands back as if I’d been scalded while one chaotic thought crashed into another. I’d been touching a Hyhborn prince. The Prince of Vytrus was my Hyhborn. The dangerous, deadly being I’d rescued and was currently bathing was a prince. Oh my gods, Finn and those fools had bled and tortured a prince, almost—

“Finally,” he . . . Prince Thorne murmured.

I jolted. “Finally what?”

He faced forward. A moment passed. “You’re afraid.”

I blinked rapidly. Was I afraid? Who wouldn’t be, but . . . “You let me believe you were a lord.”

“I did.” His shoulders had tensed. “Is that why you’re now afraid? Because you know who I truly am?”

“I’m . . . I’m a little uneasy. You’re a prince and you have quite the . . .”

“Reputation?” he finished for me.

“Yes.”

His fingers tapped along the rim. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, na’laa.”

“Sure,” I replied. “I mean, you can take a lowborn’s soul.”

“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I have.”

My brows shot up. “You’ve created no Rae?”

“Not in a very long time.”

I frowned at the back of his head. The way he said that . . . “Exactly how old are you?”

He chuckled. “Older than I look. Younger than you’re probably thinking.”

Well, that was also incredibly vague, but as the shock of his actual identity lessened and my heart calmed, I realized I . . . I wasn’t afraid of him. I was more afraid of what he was and why he was here. There was no way the King would’ve sent the Prince of Vytrus to collect tithes. He was here for another reason that I wasn’t sure had anything to do with the information he’d sought from Muriel. My heart started pounding again. When the Prince of Vytrus acted on the behalf of King Euros, violence and destruction almost always followed.

My throat dried as I forced myself to pull it together once more. I resumed servicing him, giving a fine shiver as my hands once more made contact with him. “Why have you not created any Rae in a long time?”

“Because it . . . seems unfair to do that to a soul.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t fair. Frankly, it was disturbing, but I hadn’t expected any Hyhborn to think that, let alone a prince. “I’m relieved to hear that.”

He said nothing to that.

I eyed the tense line of his shoulder and arms and decided to change the subject. “You’re very far from home.”

“I am.”

Opening my mind to his, I saw and felt that white wall. It was like standing with my face to the sun on a warm summer day. “This information that you sought from Muriel? Is that why you’re here?”

That wall— that shield of sorts— kept his mind silent as he said, “Partly.”

“That . . . sounds mysterious.”

One side of his lips tipped up. “Does it?”

“Yes,” I murmured. Could he feel the pounding of my heart against the back of his shoulders as I leaned into him? “Your appearance is also mysterious.”

“How so?”

“One would think with us being so close to Primvera, you would simply request lodging there,” I pointed out.

“One would think that,” he said. “However, my needs are better met outside of the Court.”

My brows knitted. What could those needs be? Whatever vague answers I gained from him only led to more questions. I leaned in, biting down on my lip as I drew my hands over his flesh.

“I’m curious, my— ” I caught myself. “I’m curious, Your Grace.”

“Thorne,” he corrected. “And I’m sure you are.”

I arched a brow at that. “What could your needs be if they cannot be met within Primvera?”

“Right now? I wouldn’t have your hands on me if I were there, would I?”

“As I said before, flattery is not necessary.”

“But appreciated?”

I cracked a grin. “Always.”

He chuckled roughly. “How did you end up here?” he asked.

I glanced down at him, seeing the thick fringe of lashes along his cheeks. The sleeves of the borrowed robe floated along the water as I ran my sudsy hands over his lower stomach. The muscles were tauter there, as if he’d tensed. “Archwood seemed as good a place as any.”

“I didn’t mean the city,” he expanded. “But here, in this manor and in this chamber, a . . . favorite of a caelestia.”

Air thinned between my teeth. He wanted to know how I ended up a courtesan, which I wasn’t. None of the paramours truly were, but I was sure the reasons one chose such a profession varied, so I decided to keep the answer simple. “I needed a job.”

“And this was all that was available to you?” A pause. “This is what you chose?”

Heat burned the back of my throat as my eyes narrowed on him. Did he look down on such a profession? Irritation flared to life, and whether I was a courtesan or not, the idea that he thought less of the trade needled my temper. I started to lift my hands. “Is there something wrong with choosing to do this?”

His hand moved faster than I could track, closing over mine and trapping it against his chest. My heart stuttered at the feel of his hand around mine, and there being no thoughts, no images. He kicked his head back, his eyes meeting mine. “If I thought there was something wrong with that, I would not be where I am and nor would you.”

I nodded, watching his pupils expand and then shrink back to their normal size.

The Prince’s gaze held mine. “I only ask because of the way you speak. Your dialect and words. It’s not what you typically hear from one who is not of the aristo class,” he noted. “Or within those of . . . your trade. You’ve been educated.”

I had been educated. Kind of. It wasn’t a formal education like Grady had received before his parents died of a catching fever, leaving him an orphan. Nor had it been one sanctioned by the Hyhborn, but the Prioress had taught me how to read and write and to do basic math, and the Baron had insisted that I speak properly.

But Naomi spoke properly too . . . unless she was angry. The same could be said about Grady and me, and then we’d slip into a less formal way of speaking.

“My education and how I speak don’t make me better than anyone else, nor less than an aristo,” I said.

He huffed. “What a novel thing for a mortal to say.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“From my experience, mortals seem preoccupied with who is better and who is less than.”

“And the Hyhborn are different, Your Grace?”

His lips twitched at the emphasis on his title. “We once were.”

Now it was I who huffed.

“You don’t believe me?”

I shrugged, thinking it was rather ridiculous since they were the ones who created the class structure.

“You do know that Hyhborn cannot tell a lie.” A smile played over his lips.

“So I’ve heard.”

He chuckled, releasing my hand as he faced forward once more. I remained as I was for several moments, my palm still flat to his chest, to where his heart should be located, but I . . . I felt nothing.

My brows furrowed. “Do you . . . have a heart?”

“What?” He laughed. “Yes.”

“But I don’t feel it,” I told him, a little unnerved. “Is it because your skin . . . is so hard?”

“It’s not that,” he said. “My heart hasn’t beat in a long time, not as it would for a mortal.”

I opened my mouth, but I was at a loss as to how to respond to that— at the reminder of how different we were. Drawing in a soft breath, I shook my head as I slid my hand from his chest. I didn’t know why I said what I did next. The words sort of spilled out of me. “This is not what I always want to be,” I shared, and goodness, that was the truth if there ever was one. “This is not the future I planned as a child.”

The finger of his right hand began to tap idly along the rim once more. “What’s the future you planned?”

“I . . .” I had to really think about that. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice sounding small to my own ears.

“You said you had a plan, na’laa.”

Brow creasing, I shook my head. I had no idea why I’d even said what I had. I had no future planned beyond this day, this night. I couldn’t when living simply meant surviving to the next day or dreading what could come, which wasn’t really living at all. But that was all I knew. The same for more lowborn than not, even if they weren’t in my situation.

But Hyhborn— especially those like Prince Thorne— didn’t live that way. I knew that because even though I’d never entered their Courts, I saw their gold-tipped roofs hidden behind their fortified walls. I’d seen their richly tailored clothing, their well-bred horses and finely crafted coaches from a distance. I’d never heard of a starved Hyhborn or seen one with shadows of worry staining the skin beneath their eyes. Hell, you barely saw that in the face of a caelestia. I doubted any of them knew what it was like to sleep with mice scurrying over them or found themselves on the verge of death due to some sickness they’d picked up from poor living conditions.

But none of that mattered right now . . . or at all, it seemed, so I shoved those thoughts aside as I soaped up my hands again. “I like plants.”

His head tilted. “Come again?”

I cringed, thinking I could’ve said that a bit more eloquently. “I mean, I have always had an interest in plants— in gardening. I have a bit of a green thumb and basic knowledge of how many plants can be of aid. I know, a botanist is not the most lucrative of careers,” I rambled on. “But that would be a plan.”

“If it is something you enjoy then it is lucrative in a way that means more than coin.”

Said the person who obviously had more coin than they would ever need.

I wisely kept that to myself, though, and neither of us spoke for several moments. In the quiet, I took a moment to remind myself of what I was supposed to be doing, which was not touching him for the sake of doing so. I focused on him until all I saw was the expanse of sandy skin and all I felt was his flesh beneath mine. The wall of white light appeared in my mind. It was endless, one as tall as the sky and wide as the realm. In my mind, I saw my fingers brushing against it. Nothing happened as I brought my hands back up his chest and reached for the soap, noticing the faint glow around his shoulders.

He was feeding.

On my pleasure? I was enjoying this even though I couldn’t read a thing from him. Or was he feeding on his own pleasure— pleasure derived from my touch? I tried not to feel, well, special. Hyhborn were beings of pleasure. I didn’t think it mattered who they were with.

“Is that why you were taking such a late-night walk in the gardens?” Prince Thorne asked. “Your enjoyment of plants?”

“Yes. I find gardens to be . . .” I trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Peaceful?”

“Yes, but more than that.” The feeling of being in a garden or outside ran deeper than that. “It’s more like, I don’t know, being at . . . at home.”

His head turned slightly as he looked back at me, his expression unreadable.

“What?”

He gave a shake of his head. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Are you often in them late at night?”

“When I can’t sleep, yes.”

“And it’s safe for you to do that?”

“Usually,” I remarked. “Normally there aren’t Hyhborn fighting in them or ni’meres.”

The steam of the water dampened my skin, causing the sheer robe to cling to my body as I reached around him, washing the other side of his chest. I kept my eyes trained on what existed above the waterline. Which was difficult enough because his skin was fascinating. Did Hyhborn not grow hair anywhere but from their head? Man, that would be so convenient.

Dragging my lip between my teeth, I placed my hand on his back. His muscles bunched under my palm. I withdrew my hands. “Did I— ”

“It’s fine.” His voice roughened. “Please continue.”

Suds ran down my arms, but I did as he requested. I focused on the feel and texture of his skin, pushing with my mind against what I was really beginning to believe was a shield. A mental one. The only similar thing I could think of was what I saw when I tried to read Claude or Hymel. Theirs was gray, though. I knew of no low-born who could do that, so this had to be some kind of Hyhborn ability, a weak version of which had passed down to the caelestias.

Shields could be cracked, though. Broken. But one had to be strong to break a shield. Was I that strong?

I shifted my attention to the feel of his skin beneath my hands. It really did remind me of . . . of marble or granite as I washed his shoulders. This area of him couldn’t get cleaner at this point, but I was enjoying this— touching him and just feeling his skin beneath my palms without images or thoughts intruding upon mine, and that was wrong, so very wrong, because discovering his intentions was the whole point of this.

But other than the night I helped him in the shower, I . . . I couldn’t remember the last time I touched someone out of . . . of sheer enjoyment instead of doing so to gain information or because my gifts forced me to. Sometimes the intuition compelled me to reach out to touch someone— to see or hear— and I’d never been able to deny the urge.

Like a handful of years ago, when Grady and I had been in Archwood for only a few weeks, barely scraping by when a handsome young man passed by me. I’d been waiting for the baker to turn his back so I could make a grab for the bread I knew he was going to throw out, but my intuition had seized control of me. I’d followed the young man outside and grabbed his hand before I could stop myself. He’d whipped around, those handsome features contorting with anger as he demanded that I explain myself, but all I could see was him walking down the street, where a man with a dirty brown cap waited— a man who would grab for the chain of the gold time-piece hanging from the pocket of his vest. I saw this man fighting back. I heard his screams of pain as the thief’s blade sank into his stomach. I’d told him what I’d seen in a rush and watched the anger fade into surprise when I warned him not to continue down the street.

That young man, only a few years older than me, had been Claude Huntington, the newly titled Baron of Archwood.

Pulling myself out of the past, I leaned back and let my hands rest on the rim of the tub. “Is there anything else you need my assistance with?”

“Need? No.” His head turned to the side. A lock of bronze hair fell against his cheek. “Want? Yes. But that would be selfish of me. I prefer to be greedy.”

“Are they not the same thing?”

“Not in my opinion. Greedy is not necessarily a solitary act,” he replied. “Join me while the water is still warm.”

“I’ve already bathed, Your Grace.”

“Thorne,” he corrected, and that curve of his lips deepened, sending my stomach tumbling in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “I didn’t have bathing in mind, na’laa.”

Oh.

Oh.

Of course he wouldn’t have bathing on the mind when he believed me to be a favored courtesan. I should’ve known that too, but I had never felt more in over my head than I did at that moment, and it quickly struck me as to why.

By this point, I should already be well on my way to discovering whatever it was that Claude had requested to know, whether it be ferreting out a certain piece of information or not. I was nowhere near that point, and I couldn’t even think of the fact that Grady waited for me at a discreet distance in the hall.

Prince Thorne’s chin dipped, causing several more strands of hair to fall against his jaw. “Are you not here to service me, na’laa?”

My breath hitched. “I am.”

“Then surely you understand what I would want from you.”

“You want to . . . to feed more?” I surmised.

“I’m always hungry,” he said, sending a shiver dancing down my spine. Thick lashes lifted. Those maddening eyes met mine. “But that is not the sole reason behind why I would like for you to join me, Calista. It is your choice to do so.”

Thinking I might’ve hallucinated those words, I stared at the Hyhborn prince. He could make me to do whatever he wanted, stripping my will like Lord Samriel had done to Grady all those years ago. He could do it and see absolutely nothing wrong with doing so, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was asking and he was giving me a choice. That mattered even if it shouldn’t matter enough.

And it also mattered that he wanted me to join him not to solely feed him. It shouldn’t. Because that really didn’t make this feel like a business transaction, but it too mattered.

A series of fine tremors moved through me as I rose from the back of the tub, my thoughts colliding into one another. What was I doing? Thinking? He wasn’t even a lord. He was a prince. I wasn’t sure as I picked up the soap and returned it to the shelf, not really feeling my legs. My trembling hands went to the loose sash at my waist. I didn’t need to do this. I could find another reason to linger, to discover his secrets, or he could send me away. I was already failing at reading him, so leaving now wasn’t going to change that.

Or I could join him.

And I would have a higher chance at cracking that shield of his if I was able to touch him, but . . .

I stopped, unable to keep lying to myself.

Getting in that tub with him had nothing to do with aiding my abilities or proving how valuable I was to the Baron.

It was the fact that I could touch him and not see or hear anything. I could just feel. It was because I . . . I liked touching him.

It was because it was him. The Hyhborn that had been nothing but a ghost for the last twelve years, but now was very real and very much here.

A sweet, heady warmth invaded my blood at the mere idea of touching more of him. Of being touched by him.

Still, I hesitated. I wasn’t worried about consequences. I knew there were no diseases that could pass between mortal and Hyhborn, and I took precautions, an herb to prevent— what had Prince Thorne called it? A fruitful union? Besides, it was incredibly rare that a caelestia was even born. I halted because if I got into the tub with him, things could quickly spin out of control, like they almost had in the shower. Or, more out of control than things already felt. But that was it. The part that sent my heart racing. I didn’t know if I would want to put an end to things if they did progress.

And it had been a fairly long time since I’d done more than touch— felt more than my own fingers or another’s inside me.

Long enough that I had begun to wonder if it were possible to become a virgin once more.

But he was the Prince of Vytrus— it was said that no lowborn lived within a hundred miles of his Court. That those who trespassed were never seen again. But I didn’t get the impression that he despised lowborn. Or at the very least, he didn’t speak as if he did. Perhaps what was said of him was only partly true.

It didn’t matter, though.

My fingers undid the sash, my body and mind clearly knowing what they wanted. What I wanted. The robe parted and I let it slip past my shoulders, down my arms, and then to the floor, where it pooled at my feet. Warm, damp air teased already sensitized flesh. Dark strands of hair clung to the damp skin of my breasts and back as I turned.

The Prince was watching me through half-open eyes, his lips parting as I approached him. I thought I . . . I saw surprise flickering across his features, but it was gone before I could be sure. It very well could’ve been my imagination, but I did see that faint golden glow. My gaze tracked over the radiance outlining his shoulders. The soft light was beautiful— and a stark reminder of how otherworldly he was.

“I find pleasure in looking upon you,” he said, having noted what I was staring at.

I felt a strange, silly jump in my chest. I didn’t know if he could detect the shivers that came and went, but he didn’t blink. Not once as he lifted his hand to mine.

My pulse hammered as I placed my palm in his. Long, callused fingers closed around mine. The simple act of our hands joined together was a shock. His grip was steady and firm as I stepped over the side of the tub and into the warm, sudsy water, placing my feet on either side of his legs.

I began to lower myself, but he let go of my hand and clasped my hips. The feel of his hands against my bare flesh was a shock, a branding. I didn’t move.

Prince Thorne tipped his head back, and though I could see only a hint of those stunning eyes, I could feel his stare hot and hungry against my skin. Hadn’t he said he was always hungry? But I thought it was more than just the need of all Deminyens. The slow slide of his perusal felt like a physical caress over the width of my jaw and mouth, down my throat and across the tingling skin peeking between the strands of my hair. And lower still, over the curve of my stomach, the flare of my hip, and . . . and between my thighs.

Little air seemed to make it into my lungs as I stood there, letting Prince Thorne look his fill, and he did so greedily.

A flush stained my skin. I could feel it, and I was sure he could see it. It wasn’t brought on by embarrassment. I’d had men and women look upon my body, but I’d never had any look at me like Prince Thorne did. He gazed upon me as if he . . . he wanted to devour me.

I didn’t think I would mind being devoured.

His fingers pressed into the flesh of my hips as he leaned in. He was so damn tall that even seated, he had to bend his neck to press his lips to the skin below my navel. I gasped at the feel of his mouth there. The bridge of his nose grazed my skin as his head lowered and lowered. Spread as my legs were, there was nothing preventing his attention from dipping between my thighs. The muscles in my legs locked as I felt his warm breath against my center. I held my breath, staring at the top of his head. I didn’t know what he was about to— I mean, I had a whole litany of things he could do, but—

Prince Thorne’s lips grazed the sensitive flesh there, and then I felt his tongue slipping over me, in me for the briefest second. Air left my lungs as a bolt of desire swept through me. His mouth closed around the tightened nub of nerves, and he sucked— sucked hard. A sound came from me. A cry I’d never made as another dart of blade-shaped pleasure sliced through me.

His mouth left me. He leaned back, and thick lashes swept up, and I truly couldn’t get enough air to return to my lungs then. Dots of white appeared, sprinkled throughout his pupils, as he left me aching, throbbing.

“Beautiful,” he said, voice smoky.

My chest rose and fell heavily. “That is . . . that is kind of you to say.”

“It’s not kind of me.” He tugged on my hips. I grasped the edges of the tub, legs unsteady. Water sloshed against the sides as he guided me down so that I straddled his thighs. I shuddered as I felt the thick length of him brush my thigh. He slid his hands up my waist. Shivers followed his hands over my ribs and then across my chest, just below my collarbone. “I am simply speaking the truth.”

I held still as he gathered the strands of hair in his hands. A reedy breath left me as he lifted the hair, dragging it back behind my shoulders, and then there was truly nothing between his gaze and me.

The stars in his eyes turned luminous as his fingers lingered in my hair, as I looked over his features. I thought of the markings I’d seen on his face when he’d been unconscious— the trailing design that had been slightly raised. He’d said it had been blood and dirt, and it had to be true, because there was no sign of them now.

“When you first entered my quarters,” he said, “I wasn’t all that pleased by it, even though I enjoyed parts of our time in the gardens and before.”

“And now?” I asked.

“Very pleased.” His fingers made their way from my hair and danced across my arms, leaving a fine wake of tremors behind. Several seconds passed. “But I should’ve sent you from my chambers.”

“Why?”

“Because I have this distinctive feeling this isn’t exactly wise,” he said, and my stomach dipped. “Touch me, na’laa.”

I was caught between the unease his statement created and how his demand caused my pulse to spin. I released my grip on the tub, placing my hands on his chest. His back arched slightly, much like a cat’s when petted.

“I like being touched,” he said when my gaze lifted to his. “Do you?”

More than he could ever realize. Heart thrumming, I nodded as I dragged my fingertips down, under the water and over the corded muscles of his stomach.

I opened myself up as I explored his lower stomach, but there was just that shield of white as my fingers slipped beyond his navel. I glanced down. The faint glow edged his chest and waist, but I was unable to see through the suds. However, I knew what my hands were near. I could feel him resting against my thigh.

His thumbs swept over the tips of my breasts, causing me to jerk. “How long have you been in Archwood?”

It took me a couple of moments to answer. “For a few years.”

The Prince made another swipe over the center of my breast as his right hand followed the same direction as mine, slipping down my stomach and then under water. I sucked in a heady breath as his palm stopped just below my navel. His hand was so large that when that thumb began to move, it dipped between the crease of my thigh and hip.

“And in those few years that you’ve been here,” he said, the thumb at my breast moving in the same slow sweeps as the one along my inner thigh. His touch created a heat that spread across my skin and seeped into my blood. “How often have you proved to be quite the decadent distraction?”

I grinned, letting myself explore a little further, brushing my fingers against the thick, impossibly hard flesh between his legs. He made a sound, a deep one that came from his chest as I traced his rigid length. The flesh there was smooth yet gently ridged. Toward the base, he was thicker and rounder, almost as if the flesh was more . . . round there. I hadn’t looked close enough to notice that, and I’d never felt anything like it, nor had Naomi mentioned anything of the sort. I had no idea what that would feel like in . . . inside me, but my imagination . . .

Goodness.

My fingers floated away. I swallowed as muscles low in my stomach clenched. “That I cannot answer.”

“Interesting,” he remarked, and my hips jerked as his knuckles brushed the very center of me. The corners of his lips tipped up. The stars seemed to pulse in his eyes as his fingers dipped deeper along my thigh.

Feeling breathless, I shuddered as his fingers closed around my nipple. I tried to focus on anything other than what he was doing with his hands, but his touch was increasingly distracting, as was the feel of his flesh beneath my hands.

Prince Thorne’s head tilted to the side as I spread my fingers. Beneath them, the muscles of his stomach seemed to tighten and relax. “How did you become a favorite of the Baron’s?”

My heart turned over heavily as my gaze shot to his. “As one typically does.”

A tight smile reappeared as I lowered my head to his neck. I pressed my lips there, kissing him softly and slowly working my way down, nipping at the skin at the curve of his shoulder.

“Like this?” he asked, brushing the back of his hand along the center of me once more.

“Many ways,” I murmured against his chest, the salt of his skin and the faint flavor of soap gathering against my lips.

The hand on my thigh slid an inch or two down. I tensed, pulse skipping as one of his fingers drifted along the slit. It was a barely there touch, but my entire body jerked in response.

My fingers curled against his skin as I dragged my hands up. I licked at the hard line of his chest. I knew I should be using my hands elsewhere, but I was already distracted enough. Possibly too much, because I could barely see the white wall now. “What other— ” I gasped as a finger of his pressed down on the sensitive center of nerves.

“You were saying?”

What was I saying? Oh, yes. Why he was here. “What other reasons could’ve brought you to the manor?”

His finger swirled around my clit, causing me to tremor. “You ask many questions, na’laa.”

“I’m known to be very curious.”

“And stubborn?”

“Maybe that— ” I gasped as his head dipped suddenly. His warm breath on my skin was the only warning I had before his mouth closed over my nipple. I trembled as his tongue teased, sending shivers of pleasure racing through me. His hand came up to cup my other breast, thumbing the sensitive peak. A breathy moan escaped me. He then drew my nipple into his mouth, sucking deep and hard. I shook, crying out. He chuckled low in his throat, and the sound vibrated in the most wantonly delicious way.

He slowly released the throbbing flesh from his mouth. “Sorry,” he said, brushing his lips over the skin. “I wanted to know what your skin tasted like.”

My nails scraped against his hard flesh as I slipped my hand over his navel and underwater. “And what does my skin taste like, Your Grace?”

“Thorne,” he sighed, trailing a path of hot, wet kisses to my other breast. His tongue flicked out, tantalizing and wicked. “Your skin tastes of hunger and smells of . . .” His lips then coasted along the side of my throat, coaxing my head back. He didn’t need to. I was already giving him whatever he sought. “Cherries.”

“Cherries?”My fingers brushed against his cock. It had been a while since I finished a man. From previous experience, I judged that it wasn’t all that difficult; most men seemed rather easy to please. But this was a Hyhborn prince. I hesitated as I wrapped my hand around him, unsure.

“Your skin smells of the cherries that flourish in the meadows of Highgrove.” His other hand slipped from my breast and found mine beneath the water. “I bet your lips taste just as sweet.”

My breath snagged as his hand closed over mine. He tightened my grip on him and began to move my hand up his length. I exhaled a shaky breath as he throbbed against my palm.

“This is how I like it,” he told me, sending a shivery wave of heat through me as he drew my hand back down him. “Tight. Hard. You won’t hurt me.”

Swallowing, I nodded. His lips brushed my cheek as he let go of my hand. I kept going, my own breath coming in short, shallow pants as I moved my hand in tune with his fingers’ slow, idle caresses, gaining confidence in what I was doing.

Prince Thorne nipped at my lower lip, but didn’t kiss me as he drew his finger over the throbbing heat. “Have you ever done this?”

“Done what?”

“This.” His finger made another pass. “Serviced another.”

“Of course,” I answered.

“Then how long have you been servicing others?”

“Long enough.”

That faint smile returned as more specks of white crowded his pupils. The effect was startling enough that I found it difficult to look away from. “You know what I think?”

My hips jerked again as his hand cupped me between the thighs. “What?”

His palm pressed against me, and my body reacted without thought, rubbing against him. “I think you’re lying to me.”