Page 92 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

I shiver with delight as he kneads my breasts, stroking my fingers over his horns. It feels strange for my lover to not have a bit of hair upon his body, but I like the way Nemeth looks. I love the strong line of his nose and the harsh angles of his cheeks and brow. I even love his strangely fluid-looking horns that feel so hard to the touch. I’m so focused on caressing them that I lose track of what Nemeth is doing to my breasts until he takes the tip of one into his mouth and sucks on it.

With a whimper, my attention is solely his once more. “Nemeth!”

He flicks his tongue over my nipple, teasing circles around it. “How is it that you taste so good,milettahn?”

I open my mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a needy groan as he sucks on the tip, hard. I arch against his devouring mouth, needing more of it, squirming in the bed under him as he ministers to my breasts.

“Gods, I’m glad we’re married,” I pant. “You’ve made me wait long enough.”

“I would have waited a thousand years for you,” he tells me, voice husky with emotion as he presses a kiss to the tip of one breast. “You are worth waiting for, Candra.”

Sweet words, and clearly from a man besotted with his new bride. I don’t truly believe him. It’s a pretty saying because he finally got to fill me with his seed. He would have said it to any woman trapped in this tower with him…

The thought is a sobering one, and I push it out of my head quickly. It doesn’t matter if I’m special or not. I’m here with Nemeth and Meryliese (or Erynne) is not. He’s mine and I’m not giving him up. “I love you,” I blurt out as he kisses his way down my belly. “I love you, Nemeth.”

He grins up at me and then pushes my thighs apart. “Shall I check to see if you can take my knot again, my sweet one?” And he runs his tongue over my sore, well-used cunt.

I gasp. It’s always so surprising to me how assertive Nemeth can be in bed for a virgin. His people must have incredible natural instincts when it comes to mating. He laps at my pussy with long, slow strokes and then spreads my folds, feasting upon my clit. I cry out, my legs folding with the intensity of sensation. “Oh gods.”

“I’m going to get your cunt good and slick so you can take my knot again, Candra. I’m going to fill you every day with my seed, until my scent is irrevocably stamped upon your skin.”

“That…that’s a lot of seed,” I breathe, whimpering as he tongues my clit with gentle circles.

“You can take it.”

Gods, why is that so damned sexy? I moan as he sucks my clit into his mouth and teases it with the tip of his tongue. He works me with his mouth until I’m crying out, and this time when he mounts me, I know what to expect. I know that his first thrust will be shallow and delicious, followed by the increasing size of his cock, until my body is straining to take him. I know that when I feel completely speared upon his size, he’s going to press further, demanding that I should take his knot deep inside me. And it’s going to be tight. And it’s going to feel like too much…until it isn’t.

This time, when he’s knotted deep inside me, he gazes down at my smaller form and smiles. It’s a triumphant sort of smile, as if he likes the sight of me stretched around him, my body taut around his invading cock. As he leans over me, he slides a hand between us and caresses my clit, his green eyes locked on mine with such a possessive stare that it steals the breath from my lungs.

I come instantly, and this time I come first.

When I wakeup in the middle of the night, Nemeth’s side of the bed is empty.

At first I think nothing of it. A garderobe excursion, nothing more. But as I roll over and hug my pillow, I wait for him. Half-awake, I smile to myself and think drowsy, sultry thoughts. Maybe he’ll awaken me with his head between my thighs. Maybe I’ll wake up first and surprise him. Then again, what’s the point in waiting? I might just snag him when he returns and insist that he let me try his knot one more time.

I wonder if it would be pleasurable for him if I rode him. Only one way to find out.

I stretch in bed, deliciously sore between my thighs in ways I haven’t felt in ages. There’s nothing quite like the stretch of well-used muscles from bedsport, and I feel wondrous. The minutes slip past, though, and Nemeth doesn’t return. I frown to myself, curious. Surely he’s not touching himself in the storage room again? When I’m right here and hungry for more? It doesn’t seem like something he would do.

So, curious, I get to my feet and pad into the darkness, listening for sounds of Nemeth’s wings. I don’t take a lamp with me. There’s nothing in the darkness in the tower that can frighten me.

I’m only a few steps into the hall, my hand on the wall to guide me, when I hear Nemeth’s voice. It’s coming from downstairs, the first floor. Curious, I head in that direction, wondering who or what he could possibly be talking to at this moment. Have the other Fellians returned? Are we no longer safe?

I creep down the stairs as quietly as I can, listening as Nemeth continues to talk. I can’t make out his words, and I realize he’s speaking in Fellian. Well, he’s taught me a few words of his language in our flirty moments. Maybe I can pick a few of them out. I press my ear to the stones, listening as Nemeth’s words spill through the darkness.

Wait…was that the word for wife?

I peer around the corner, into the large chamber, and see Nemeth stands in front of the altar, a single candle flickering in front of him. He does not have his hands clasped in prayer but atop the altar itself, and his expression is troubled.

The moment I look around the corner, he sees me and goes silent, a look of guilt flashing across his face. “Candra.Milettahn.I woke you up?”

I cross over to his side, fighting back a yawn. “I woke up and you weren’t in bed. Who are you talking to?”

He looks flustered by my question. “I…the gods.”

I arch an eyebrow at his answer. “The gods? Truly? You have never been particularly religious before.”

“Yes. It seemed like a day to pray.” Nemeth strokes my cheek with his knuckle. “I am sorry if I worried you. Prayers for my people are…private things, and I wished a moment alone.”

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