Page 56 of Princess Broken

As much as I appreciated Timur introducing me to sex, what just happened was on a whole other level, another dimension, and while I miss Timur, his companionship, I no longer miss the thought of our never having sex again.

I shift, and wetness slides down my thighs, a slick mess that’s cooling quickly on my skin. It’s not hard to understand why Flame suggested a shower.

My insides pulse again. Impersonal or not, it’s clear that I want to have sex again—now.

Will Flame grant my wish?

Chapter Nineteen

Ana

My legs wobble as I follow Flame toward the barracks. Walking feels awkward, like there’s still something hard and thick between my legs, even though I know that there’s not.

But my soreness and bruising subsides as my vampiric body heals, leaving me only with a throbbing need and an even stronger desire to have Flame inside me.

He’s broken their code once, will he do it again?

Flame seemed to take some pleasure too—enough pleasure to make his seed erupt—although I’m puzzled and hurt by his indifference once we were done. His sounds, his rapid thrusting and violent eruption—those things indicate he felt pleasure. I think they do. I know so little of men.

Traversing the space where they sleep, I find the room far more like an actual barracks than I expected. While it’s not rows of tightly packed bunk beds, or anything like that, it appears that all four men sleep in the same room.

At each corner sits a large bed, but there’s little else in the massive room. Each corner is somewhat different, but I don’t take the time to drink in the details, or to figure out whose bed is whose.

Steam and the sound of water float from an opening to the side of the cave-like room, pulling me forward, and I enter the bathroom. If one can call it that.

The space fills me with awe. It looks like the photographs of fancy spas I’ve seen in magazines, far nicer than even the king’s bathing room I redesigned to my taste during the years he was missing.

Every surface is covered in crisp white tiles, but with accents of navy blue in blocks and stripes and patterns that draw my attention around the large area. The result is tasteful and interesting, giving the space a look of luxury.

Not one, but four large tubs sit at one end of the room not far from a fireplace. One of the tubs has candles along its edges, and while they’re not lit, it’s not difficult to guess which tub is Flame’s.

Between me and the tubs sits a massage table, and a row of four sinks lines the wall to my left, each with a few grooming products. The space around the sink at the far end has an electric shaver. I suspect that belongs to Phil. The big man was clean-shaven when I got up this morning, while he sported a full beard before bed.

Personally, I’ve never fussed about body hair removal, no one did back when I was human. And those at court did not have any preference, as far as I knew. Most vampires accept their bodies, including any hair, as they were the day they were turned. My sister, Selina, will have violet hair for the rest of eternity, because she dyed it that color the day she was turned.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to shave off a full beard one day, only to see it grow back the next, and I wonder if Phil’s chest is similarly covered by curly red hair. Whether those springs would be soft or coarse to the touch.

My fingers lift to my own hair, and I stroke the section where Blade sliced off a thick lock—a lock that fully regrew within hours.

Yesterday, it was Blade I most trusted. Who I fantasized might break their code. The way Blade looks at me makes me believe he cares for me, and yet he eagerly ran off with Phil and Crusher, leaving me behind with Flame.

I shrug off a prick of hurt feelings. Flame more than fulfilled my needs.

Slowly, I turn toward the area of the room I’ve been saving for last, then I suck in a shuddering breath.

Along the entire wall opposite the sinks stands a massive shower stall, separated from the rest of the room by glass, an opening at one end. The tiled wall behind the glass has at least six different showerheads, coming out at a high height both across the back and at the ends. And what looks like more outlets for water are scattered lower on the walls too. Tiled benches line the ends of the stall, the one farthest from the door extending around the corner.

And the word stall is grossly inadequate to describe what I’m seeing. It’s less a shower stall and more like a shower room, a shower palace. The scale steals my breath.

Both the scale of the shower—and the scale of Flame.

Standing under a stream of water, his back to me, Flame’s muscles ripple and flex as he shampoos his hair.

Frozen in place, I’m mesmerized by the suds sliding down his back, sluicing over his solidly formed buttocks and onto the backs of his legs. My gaze drapes up and down his body as the water, with help from his strong hands, rinses the soap away.

Turn, I think. Please turn. I want a glimpse of what was inside me.

Flame’s shape is even better nude than when it was clothed. His skin is fair, like custard, and that thought makes me want to lick him—everywhere.

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