Page 84 of Princess Broken

My fingers trace over the junction separating her damp sex from her thighs, tracing one side then the other, moving back and forth, teasing her. And I love how she moans and squirms, how her eyelashes flutter and her pupils widen as she looks into my eyes.

I plan to draw this out, to stroke her softly until she needs my fingers inside her, my touch on her clit. I’ll tease her until she needs relief even more desperately than she needed my blood.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ana

My heartbreak at hearing Flame’s story, not to mention my desire to learn more about the brothers’ lives, is wiped away. Hearing his childhood stories intensified my own memories, newly revived.

I want to sort through them, to share them with Flame, so I can figure out which parts are real and which are nightmares, but all that can wait.

Right now, all I care about is Flame’s fingers, fingers that taunt me—teasing, stroking, flicking around the places I need him to touch.

Pleasure rises inside me, lifting me to heights I couldn’t fall from during his forceful penetration. And while I enjoyed that hard action more than I’m willing to admit—even to myself—I’m starting to understand my body well enough to know that what he’s doing to me now is more likely to bring me the relief I now crave.

But that relief is not yet in sight. His touch stays too light, his fingers stroking along the edges of my sex, teasing through my hair and over my mound. He hasn’t even parted my folds, never mind pushed a finger inside me—or fondled the places I most need him to touch.

“Stand up for me,” he says, his voice low and deep.

“Why?” Pressing my pelvis forward, I try to coax more pressure from his hand.

“I need to see you.” His hand moves away. “I want to see you,” he adds more gently.

And so I stand for him, resting one of my hands on his shoulder as he sits on the plush rug by the fire.

“Take off your dress,” he says softly.

Slipping the garment over my head, I toss it to the side, and then have a moment of surprise that I’m so willing to follow his demands. Following orders has never been my strong suit.

“You are so fucking beautiful.” He shifts to kneel in front of me.

I want to ask him to strip too, but I’m too eager to have his hands on me. I can’t do anything that might slow things down.

His hands stroke my bare skin and his fingers paint lines of pleasure wherever they touch. It’s like he’s tracing the reflected firelight as it flickers over my skin, like he’s pretending to be the flames himself, and it feels so tender as he shares his fire fascination with me in the most intimate way.

He repositions us both, so that the fire is to our sides, and then, finally, his fingers find their way back to my inner thighs, stroking me there.

I part my legs wider for him, hoping to speed his advance. But he continues to take his time, as if my skin is the best thing his fingers have ever touched.

Summoning patience, I close my eyes and rest my hands on his shoulders as he kneels before me. All thoughts, beyond what he’s doing to my body, drift out of my mind.

His fingers trace the seam of my folds, and I rotate my hips, hoping to shift his digits deeper, but his other hand wraps around my body, stilling me, and so I comply, trusting that he’ll eventually deliver what I so desperately need. What he’s all but commanded my body to do.

Finally, his fingers part me, stroking along the inside of one fold then the other, and I open my eyes to find him staring into the apex of my legs, watching his own hand as it slides over my soft, damp intimate skin. Firelight dances in his blond hair, highlighting the shape of his wavy curls and I slide one of my hands into his locks, loving the sensation on my fingers and palm.

Looking up, he meets my gaze with glazed eyes, pupils wide, lids hooded.

And then, when I’m not expecting it, one of his fingers slips inside me.

I gasp, my belly contracting, and a wicked grin paints his face. His finger slides out of me, slowly, then presses back in fast, this time joined by a second. Again I gasp, and he leaves his fingers inside me.

Instead of plunging them in and out, he swivels them against each other, spreading them slightly apart as they turn.

His thumb teases my entrance, and then presses in to join with his fingers already inside me. My hand drops out of his hair to his shoulder as I absorb the pressure of the added girth, but then his now dampened thumb slips back out and traces forward, finding my clit.

I moan. He grips my hips more tightly, trying to still them as his moistened thumb flicks over my sensitive nub, and his fingers still move inside me, back and forth, in and out, and twisting around.

My pleasure rises, taking me up that glorious mountain again, but before I can tumble over its top, his thumb shifts and his fingers pull out from inside me.

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