Page 49 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
What the hells was wrong with me?
I’d almost died and now I was lying naked with the fae who’d killed my sister,feeling thingsabout his body and how it fit with mine.
Wild fucking Hunt, I was sick. Twisted. Royally fucked.
Except…
I hadn’t been fucked. Not for a long while.Thatwas the problem. Since arriving here, I’d had no chance to blow off any steam. Eric might’ve betrayed me, but he’d been good for something.
All I needed was a little time to myself to work away my body’s needs. That would stop these troubling feelings.
22
It was still dark when I woke. And Sepher’s arm was no long around me, his chest no longer against my back. My thoughts before I fell asleep must’ve inspired my dreams, because a dull throb echoed in my centre. I didn’t need to feel between my legs to know I was wet.
I held my breath and listened for his.
Long and slow. Deep in sleep.
Swallowing, I eased over on the huge mattress, opening up a little space between us.
Alone time.
With a smile, I closed my eyes and let my hands trail over my body. Light, smooth caresses lit my nerves as I cupped my breasts and tweaked the nipples. Heat shot to my core like a beacon, calling for my hands to follow.
Not yet. Not yet. No need to rush.
If I teased myself, it would make the touch, when it eventually came, that much sweeter.
I kept my breaths deep and quiet as I worked myself up. My strokes strayed lower and lower across my belly, like a lover who threatened to deliver but kept turning back at the last minute.
I thought of Eric, conjuring his dark hair and eyes and the way they’d look up at me as he kissed his way down my body.
But when I met his imaginary gaze, the betrayal shot through me, bitter and sour—far from the flavour I sought.
When I squeezed my eyes shut, a different face looked back. Cruel and arrogant, handsome and wicked, hungry for my humiliation.
The betrayal was replaced with anger, hot and bright, searing my veins. But my anger at him was sweet. It fuelled my desire instead of tainting it, and I let my fingers finally trail down to my waiting wetness.
I had to bite my lip against making a sound, and my imagined version of the prince smirked at the fact. He and I slid along the edges of my folds, still teasing, still threatening, not quite allowing what I wanted.
It fluttered along my nerves, like a bird against its bars.
I bit harder on my lip, trying to control my heaving breaths.
Sepher was right. I was twisted.
But as long as it purged me of need for a little while, it didn’t matter. No one had to know but me.
With that thought, I let my questing fingers slip along my centre, from clit to slit and back again, before dipping inside. My toes pointed, every muscle pulling tight, as I imagined that touch was a long lap of his tongue as I lay on the dining table. He told me I was delicious, just like he’d said about my blood and my fear, then ducked his head for another taste.
“Stop.” His deep voice rumbled through the mattress.
I froze. My held breath burned. I swallowed and slowly exhaled. “Stop what?”
“I know what you’re doing, pet. Touching yourself. Taking pleasure.”
I eased my hand away as though that would make my denial more believable.
