Page 8 of His Perfect Princess

I hurried to follow his order, my hands still clasped in front of me…possibly to keep from inching under my skirt to pull apart my bloomers and fondle my engorged folds. Yessssss, I wanted to shout. Tell me what else I can do for you, my prince!

“That’s right. That’s a good lass.”

He stepped back, admiring my position, then cocked his head to one side, as if contemplating.

I was left feeling…well, watched. Which was silly, because of course I was being watched; that blue gaze hadn’t left me since he’d locked the door.

But why was he watching me like this? Why was I on my knees in front of him?

I cleared my throat, delicately, trying not to show how much I craved his approval. Uncertain if it was the proper thing to do.

“Your Majesty? Why are you asking me to do these things?”

His expression didn’t change. “Are ye saying ye willnae follow my orders?” he asked mildly, as if the question meant nothing.

But I immediately shook my head. “Of course I will follow your orders, sir.” Just the thought of him commanding me, those perfect lips forming instructions, made my thighs quiver. “But what sort of job—”

"Ye’ll find out about the job when I decide if ye’re suitable.”

Again, his tone was mild, as he instructed me, but the intensity of his gaze made my breath quicken. I suddenly very much wanted to be suitable for this position, whatever it was.

Then Rickard shifted, his chin dropped slightly to study me further. “Clarissa, I dinnae want to do anything which will make ye uncomfortable. The position I have in mind…requires ye to be comfortable with me. With all of me. If ye are no' interested, ye’re welcome to walk out the door.”

Well now I most definitely was having trouble breathing. All of him? Yes, please! I barely knew the man, but I found I trusted him implicitly.

“I’ll stay, sir,” I whispered, eyes wide and lips parted, wondering if he could see how excited the idea made me.

He grinned again, the slow, proud grin which made me preen. “Good lass. Now, in order to really ken if ye’re right for this position, I need ye to take down your coiffure. I’d love to see it all soft and flowing around yer shoulders.”

I unclasped my hands and hurried to comply. My hair was one of my glories: long and pin-straight and pale blonde. I combed it a hundred strokes every night, which I found very soothing.

When I had it out of the bun, I dropped the pins on the rug beside my knees and combed the strands out with my fingers, making sure to fan some out over my shoulders. I loved the way his eyes followed my movements, loved the way he sucked in a deep breath as he watched.

I licked my lips, thrilled with the knowledge he found me interesting. I was on my knees in front of him, a prince, but he was looking at me as if I were someone special. I squirmed a little, but didn’t dare move out of my position.

“Excellent.” His voice was a little hoarse as he took me in.

Then he reached across his body and pulled the book from under his arm. “This, my dear Clarissa, is a verra rare, verra naughty book. A Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts.”

When he opened it and turned it so I could see the illustration, I sucked in a breath and my eyes widened.

There, spread across two pages, was what was clearly a medieval-style piece of artwork. There was some words—in the loopy, Latin style I recognized from some of my studies—but that wasn’t what held my attention.

It was the woman.

She was on her knees—just as I was—kneeling in front of a man. The man had his hand atop her head…

And his—his manhood in her mouth.

My own lips had parted, and I realized I was breathing heavily—panting?—as I studied the artwork.

I should be outraged. I should be humiliated.

I absolutely should not be salivating at the thought of tasting the Crown Prince of Faencairn.

“This is called The Supplicant Swan, Clarissa.” His tone was conversational, casual. “The woman takes the man’s cock in her mouth and pleasures him.”

I could do nothing more than lick my lips.

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