Chapter 19

Stasi

Well, that got awkward really fast.

What does he mean, he doesn't want to share me with the world?

I swallow hard. "You mean you'd like me to be your dirty little secret?"

His face turns ashen. "No. Why would anyone want to keep you a secret?"

"You'd be surprised about your fellow men."

"Stasi. I can't explain why I don't want you to go. I just feel funny at the idea."

I don't know what this is, so I must make a judgment call here. He wants me to stay here with him. But he's not shown me any actual red flags yet. Maybe this is it. Or maybe, based on his behavior, I should give him the benefit of the doubt.

I blink up at him. "You can't explain it, but you feel…"

It's hard to identify feelings for someone who has never been allowed to express them. This is hard work for some people.

"I feel…" Sigurd clears his throat, then sits down on the edge of the tub. "Protective, to an irrational degree. Instinct."

His expression tells me he feels surprised to have pinpointed this.

A warm flicker forms in my belly and spreads into my chest and limbs. "Then we should trust your instincts. Stay inside and order groceries."

"Hmm." Sigurd rubs his beard. "As long as that delivery man doesn't show up here again to ogle you."

Sigurd sweeps away the damp strands that have escaped my topknot and have been clinging to my neck. The feel of his palm cupping my neck, his thumb stroking my jaw, turns the warm flicker inside to a burning ember. "You were jealous? That's kinda hot."

His hand travels lower until the pad of his thumb traces across my collarbone, but he makes no response other than a low rumble in his chest.

"I wonder what swimsuit I'll wear this time," I say to the ceiling, feigning deep thought.

The joke is over a second later when the prince's hand reaches under the surface of the bath water. His grip on my spread pussy has me gasping in shock.

"What-what are you doing, Sigurd?" I breathe.

"Being jealous."

His wicked strokes to my sensitive flesh scramble my brain so thoroughly that I almost forget why he's jealous.

"Are you serious—oh…my gods…" He has one finger sinking into my cunt and a thumb on my clit. I'm going to come apart.

"Open your eyes."

It's too intimate. Too intense. "Sigurd."

"Be a good girl."

My heat blooms at the phrase. I open my eyes and watch his eyes darken, his nostrils flare—he feels me clenching, and I can't bear the closeness, the realness.

"Your pussy is so ripe for me, sweetheart," he rasps.

Oh, fuck, he's going to wreck me. I'm so spent already, but damn.

"I can't come with my eyes open," I whimper, my hips floating to the surface. His touch has made me boneless. "You know it takes too long."

"Will this help?"

His other hand holds up a pink satin drawstring bag.

I feel too good and distracted to be angry that he's been going through my things.

"How…where?" I sound too stupid to live.

"I found it when I first arrived," he says, plunging the sucking sex toy under the water. After a few short seconds, he finds just the perfect spot. And turns it on.

My eyes roll back in my head at the sensation.

"Eyes on me, now. That's a good girl."

If I told him to stop and put my toy away, he would. But I don't want him to stop.

I come hard and fast, crying out so intensely I don't have time to feel overly vulnerable.

"Still thinking about flirting with the bag boy?"

The lower half of me is still spasming so deliciously that I barely make the connection. "Who?" I say weakly.

"That's what I thought," he says, grabbing my towel. Sigurd sets the towel on the edge of the tub and walks out of the room.

When I find Sigurd again, he's pacing in front of the window, pecking his finger at his phone screen.

I approach, dumbstruck. "I didn't know you had a phone," I say teasingly. I really am surprised.

He makes a noise of frustration. "This isn't working."

"Let me see. Maybe I can figure it out."

He changes his angle.

"What's wrong?" I ask with a laugh. "Are you looking at porn?"

"No," he replies softly, baring his teeth at the phone.

"Sigurd, what's going on?"

Finally, he gives up.

"Want to order food."

"Secret food? Is this a date? Is this our first date night?"

"I was trying to surprise you with dinner, but this phone isn't working."

I hold my hand out and demand he hand over his phone, promising I'll get a virtual cart started for him, and he can secretly add whatever he likes.

He hums like he's considering my offer, then acquiesces.

After less than a minute, I have added a few products to the cart and hand it back.

I wait for him to say something about my period products, but he doesn't. My period isn't due for another two weeks, but with how things are going, maybe I'll be here longer than expected. Better safe than sorry.

The prince gives me the side eye. "No peeking," he says.

I show him my palms in a gesture of surrender. "Just going over here to watch some TV," I say.

When he finally comes to the couch and sits beside me, he adjusts his frame for what feels like ten minutes.

"What?" Sigurd asks.

I smile. "You look like a bear who doesn't know what to make of a sofa."

"I don't."

"Do you ever just, like, sit and do nothing?"

"That's what campfires are for."

"Campfires require skill and work, and then you have to watch them so things don't get out of control."

A grunt.

"Think of TV like an indoor campfire. But one that turns on with a remote. And it's got pictures to look at instead of fire."

"An indoor campfire is a fireplace," he contradicts.

"TV time," I chirp.

"Can we move the TV outside?"

"No."

"Darn."

I snuggle in next to him and show him the remote. "Do you want to choose something to watch, or do you want me to?"

"I don't watch much TV. You pick."

"I'm shocked."

Another grunt, but at least there's a smile in the midst of it.

I click on the TV and settle on a rom-com.

"I'll fire this up, and you go get snacks."

"Does the TV roast food for you as well?"

I shove playfully at his hard chest. "Crackers. Cheese, Grapes. Pickles. Hummus and bread. Do you want me to get it?"

"No, I'll do it. You stay there and apply some more of this."

Out of nowhere, he hands me the bottle of aloe. I take it from him, and he doesn't see me rolling my eyes even as my stomach warms at the thought that he's so concerned, still, that my sunburn hurts.

Halfway through the movie, Sigurd lets me brush his hair. I go to paint my toenails, but he insists on doing it for me. He holds my toes one by one, and with the same concentration he shows to everything else, he paints my toenails a bright, iridescent blue.

"Pretty mermaid toes. Thank you." I wiggle my toes, and he smiles.

"Hopefully, I didn't do a shitty job."

I eyeball his feet.

"Do you want me to give you one?"

"Give me what?"

"A pedicure. Men do get pedicures."

"Does it hurt?"

"No guarantees, buddy."

He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "Sure, do it."

"Go get my bathroom kit," I say, clapping my hands excitedly.

And so, we spend the second half of the slightly dull rom-com with his feet nestled in my lap and me gently exfoliating, lotioning, shaping, trimming, and painting his toes.

By the time I'm done with him, the man's Hobbit feet are starting to resemble a human's.

When I look up, his head is lolled back, and he's asleep, snoring gently.

And because I'm bored, I paint his toenails the same mermaid blue as mine. So what? It's not like anyone is going to see us.

I gently move his feet off my lap and set them on the floor. He starts for a second, then stretches out in the corner. He looks so cozy and warm that I can't resist curling up and resting my head in his lap.

Three orgasms have a way of wearing a girl out, and in the face of a rather bland movie, I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open.

So I allow them close and let myself fall asleep, Sigurd's hand resting on my shoulder.