Page 4 of His Savage Sweet

Oh my God, the way his gaze raked over my face and my tits made me so fooking hot.

Maybe it was the memory of those self-pleasuring sessions with the book open in front of me so I could imagine his face on the illustration.

Maybe it was the memory of pretending it was his hand on my thighs, and his fingers on my core, that made me burn so hot right now. Made my stomach tingle, made my finger itch to lift up my favorite apron and inch up the black skirts and see if I’m as wet as I’m guessing.

Holy God, but the man was so sensual. Just having him here in person was going to be the fodder for so many more fooking-my-own-hand sessions in the future.

From her place by the door leading to the kitchens, with all the other cooks peering in behind her, Alisa spoke up. “Prince Beowulf is here because there was some sort of problem with the savories ye made tonight.”

I barely registered her words. Problem? Savories? Those things were relevant to me, somehow, but I couldn’t seem to make my mind focus right now. Not with him standing there looking so appealing.

And Prince Beowulf, bless him, appeared to agree. Without dropping his gaze from mine, without even moving from where he stood, legs planted on the brick floor like some kind of mighty oak tree, he reached out and shut the door in Alisa’s face.

Just like that, we were alone. Alone in a room so cold I could see my breath, though I was burning up inside.

My palms were sweating and without thinking, I ran my hands down the front of my apron. It felt so good, I did it again, cupping my breasts slightly through the material, the pressure against the sides of my breasts half-divine.

It had been an unconscious move but it drew his attention, and I couldn’t be sorry when his eyes locked on my chest. His tongue dragged across his lip as if he was anxious to taste something sweet.

Oh, I have something sweet ye can taste, my prince.

It was naughty. It was wrong. I’d been such a good girl up until now, rebuffing advances from some of the footmen and stablehands who wanted a go at me. But this was the prince. If he wanted me, I wasn’t going to deny him.

As if he’d heard the thought, he finally moved, stalking across the coldroom like some sort of bear. A great, hairy-forearmed, erotic beast.

And I was perfectly fine with being his prey.

He stopped beside my table, and I turned to face him. Up close, he was huge. Only a few inches taller than me, but those arms, those muscles—! Amazing.

My gaze dropped to the bulge in his trousers, and couldn’t help but wonder if he was that big everywhere.

His hands came up and covered mine, where they rested against the sides of my breasts, and I drew in a shocked breath at the contact. I hadn’t even realized my hands were still there until he touched me.

He squeezed, pushing them together under my servant’s gown, and my breath turned into a moan.

He groaned in response and leaned closer, until his breath tickled my ear and the sensitive skin behind it.

Good God, he smelled so good. Like the the rich red wine he’d sipped with dinner.

“Anna…”

When he said my name, I swear something reached through my ear, down through my chest, and squeezed tight around my core. My knees buckled at the sheer strength of my reaction to him.

Just like that—just saying my name—he could spark such tingles through me, that it was a miracle I wasn’t rubbing up against him like a bitch in heat. All I knew was I wanted to drag my clit along his thigh—oh my God that huge thigh!—and let the delicious friction give me an orgasm.

Damnation, I was close enough as it was, just smelling the man!

But I was standing in my coldroom—a food preparation place!—with a man’s hands on my tits. And not just any man, but…

“Aye, Yer Highness?” I managed to choke out, wondering what the hell was happening.

“I want ye to call me Wulf,” he snarled against the sensitive skin of my neck.

Without meaning to my head dropped back slightly, giving him better access to my neck. “Aye, Wulf,” I sighed.

I saw him lick his lips right before he lowered them to my skin. He pressed a kiss to the spot under my ear, then another slightly lower. His touch branded me, heat radiating from each perfect kiss. On the third one, I gasped, and squeezed both my tits and my legs tighter together. I couldn’t take much more of this.

He pulled away only long enough to murmur, “Fooking delicious, just as I kenned it would be.”

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