Page 71 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
Both times, he stroked the same spot he’d smacked and sent my pussy throbbing. The sweet touch after the sharp pain.
“Hmm.” His hand left me, and I braced for the next strike. “You like that too much, witch. No, a different punishment for you, I think.”
I heard the way he smiled around the words. Even with my back to him, I could see the exact curve of his lips, the way his teeth showed, the way the canines dimpled his lower lip as he said “witch.” In several weeks, I’d learned him well.
There was a whisper of touch over my spine, flooding me with goosebumps, then the tearing of cloth ripped the silence. He spread the tattered edges of my dress, exposing my back.
I refused to look over my shoulder. I couldn’t let him see the part of me that had come to crave whatever he had to give, the darkness in me that saw the darkness in him. Even worse, I didn’t want him to see how it snaked around my fear, nursing it, suckling life from it, relishing in the chill that raced through me.
The lightest touch traced over the hairs at the nape of my neck, right above my collar. “These give you away, pet. All set on end, and your scent.” He bent over me, his hair tickling my shoulders, breaths hot upon my neck. “I already told you how sweet your fear was, but mingled with your arousal… Fuck. It’s intoxicating.” A dark chuckle breathed over my skin as he rose and his hand came into view, pulling a candle from its holder. “What happened to make you such a sick little bird, I wonder?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, shame burning my cheeks. Of course, he didn’t need to see my darkness or my fear—he could scent them on the air, like a predator scented prey or freshwater or a female in heat.
An instant later, something blazing hot patted onto my back. I gasped, eyes flying open, shame forgotten. “What—?”
I bit down on my tongue to keep in the rest of the sentence. Asking what he was doing was weakness. The shock of the sudden heat had driven the gasp into me and that single word out, but I was back in control now.
“You know what this is.” His voice was a low murmur, purring through the stillness.
He dotted a trail of heat over my back, and it took me a second to understand.
Candle wax.
And now I was expecting it, it wasn’t as hot as I’d first thought. That first drip had felt like actual fire, but this now was uncomfortably hot, yet not unbearable, a lot like the bath temperature I preferred.
I panted through the points of pain, the sudden scorch. The hairs on my arms rose.
As he worked across my back and shoulders, I became singularly aware of everything. The brush of his trousers on the back of my legs. The cool air on my exposed skin. The dim throb of my backside.
The time between drips opened up like a held breath, making each moment exquisitely sharp. It honed my attention, so when he reached over and his foot came between mine, it was as overwhelming as if he’d spread my legs and placed himself between them.
He painted me and I flinched, unable to help myself. The torn edges of my dress whispered over my skin with each involuntary movement.
This moment was everything, like each drop was an anchor point to now.
There was no past.
There was no future.
No plans. No plots.
No failure. No victory.
Only sensation. Only his touch. Only the deep, dark aftertaste of berry wine. Only the bright gold of candlesticks and vases of fiery summer flowers, even though it was deep autumn. Only the afternoon light shafting through the windows and bouncing off the chandeliers. Only the warm, musky scent of him curling over me, mingling with the steady sound of his breaths.
The heat melted away all else.
His claws scraped over me, tugging away the solidified wax, pulling a soft whimper from my throat. The soft caress as he smoothed my hot flesh scored through my very existence.
“Your skin is so pink, Zita.” The drips started afresh, making me jolt, working their way down my spine. “Tell me to stop. Take back your curse.”
But I didn’t want him to stop.
Not just for stubbornness, but for the thrill of it. I lived in the anticipation of the next drop and where it would land. I was the pain and the soothing that came after as he rubbed away the wax. I didn’t have space in my mind to think about curses or death or princes.
I was entirely here. Entirely now. Entirely alive.
That was why I turned over.
