Page 60 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
I slid my fingertips over the tight peaks, my touch slick from the oil coating the water’s surface. Heat throbbed through me, pooling between my legs. Even in the bathwater, I could tell my own wetness gathered there. “Yes.” Pleasure tore my voice, leaving it low and husky. I let my hand trail lower.
“I didn’t tell you to stop. You need to obey your master.”
I gritted my teeth, but he only smiled.
“Trust me, little bird.”
I arched one eyebrow, and he gave a dark chuckle.
“In this, at least. It will be worth it. I promise. Will you obey?”
Delaying the gratification would be better. I knew it. And I hated that he did, too. Much as it pained me, I nodded. “I will.”
“Good girl. Now, keep going.”
So I kept teasing my nipples, breaths growing rawer, harder, faster under the prince’s gaze.
When I’d performed, the audience’s attention had given me the tiniest mote of pleasure. I’d been too deadened for anything more. But this—his close attention sharpened to a fine point grazing over me as his claws and canines had… it matched the pleasure of any touch.
“That’s it. I think you’re ready now, don’t you? I’m sure you’re perfectly wet and aching.”
I was. My centre throbbed, needy and wanting. Every muscle tightened. Each nerve focused on the apex of my legs, wondering why it was being so horribly neglected.
It was a battle to slide my hand down my belly slowly, rather than delve between my thighs. But with each inch I travelled, the prince leant an inch closer. When I opened my legs, pressing them into the sides of the bath, he eased off the stool and knelt at the foot of the bath, transfixed.
His gaze touched me first, burning and bright. The clear water, with no bubbles, let him see everything. He pressed against the bath’s rim—the only way he could’ve got any closer would’ve been by getting in.
I paused, a terrible smile tugging on my mouth at seeing him so absorbed, and then I let my middle finger slide down my centre.
Shockwaves consumed me, arching my back. The teasing had done its job—I was slick and just that one touch had me trembling, though I never normally found so much pleasure so quickly. I didn’t want to dwell on what else had turned me on.
Not when it was staring at me with such shameless desire.
That in itself was pleasing. So often the people who asked for private performances had a kind of apology about them. They wanted me, wanted sex or titillation, but also hated themselves for it. Their shame ruined my pleasure, like I too should be ashamed for sharing my body.
I was not.
But the prince’s look carried none of that. I wasn’t sure shame entered his vocabulary. Much as he despised me, he wanted me, and his hate only made his want burn hotter.
It made me smile as I ran my finger along that same course again before slipping it inside. A soft sound escaped me at the fleeting entry. Not fullness, though. That was one of the things touching myself couldn’t grant—that stretching fullness, the sensation of being filled so completely, I couldn’t take any more. The image of his cock came to mind. I certainly couldn’t take more than that, but I’d savour the challenge of it.
Skin burning, I huffed a breath that was almost a laugh, and the prince’s gaze flicked to my face.
“What’s so funny, pet?”
Not that I was imagining him fucking me. I wouldn’t admit that while my finger circled my clit and dipped inside over and over.
“The fact I’ve spoiled your plans. You thought I’d be too embarrassed to do this. That this would be the thing to break me. But look.” I spread my folds and lifted my hips, and of course, he couldn’t help but look.
He exhaled with a smile. Not the look of a man who’d lost. “Oh, my dear Zita, you have it all wrong. I told you this was your reward and I meant it. I want you to come, and I want to see how you please yourself, what you like. I want to hear the sounds you make. I want to see your body falling apart. I want to know the exact creases that form between your eyebrows as they peak together.” He plucked the neglected sponge from the bathwater and squeezed it out as he moved to my side. “Show me.”
I frowned up at him, breaths ragged as I drew tighter.
He only swept the sponge over my breasts. Its slight roughness chafed my nipples, making them tighter, harder, crashing through my nerves.
I bit my lip against making a sound. I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of knowing he’d added to mine.
“I think you need another finger, love, don’t you?” Eyes hooded, he gave a lazy smile, his gaze passing from my tits as he lathed them with attention, to the hand between my legs.
