Page 76 of The Princesses of Ruin
Emillia and her sweet cunt riding my mouth and dripping down my chin. Emillia and what her huntress body must look like under all those extra shirts. Emillia and the way she craved the sound of her name from my pleasured breath.
My shivering slows and I settle into the warmth my body is making for itself. After another moment, I take another deep breath and prepare myself for the top half. I shuck my upper layer off quickly, then my thick sweater, the second, thinner sweater, and finally the long-sleeved shirt that clings to my chest.
I’m as white as the gods-damned snow.
What if she doesn’t like what she sees?
Fuck, it’s too cold to think.
I grab a fistful of fresh snow and scrub it under one armpit. I repeat the process with the other, then scoop up two handfuls that I wipe all up and down my chest, over my neck, and into my hair.
The pain is too severe to withhold my screamed curse. A bird flees the nearby canopy with a hoot. Emillia certainly heard that.
I shiver and fumble my way back into my clothes. At least I’m clean. I’m clean and…shriveled. I’ll have to explain I’m cold.
It takes great effort, but I tremble my way back to our tent and step inside. Emillia is staring at me with curious concern when I look up from shaking out my boots. She’s thrusting a rod down the end of her blunderbuss’s barrel in rhythmic motions that send my mind to groin-warming places.
“Everything go well out there?”
“S-so well,” I chatter.
Her expression becomes pitying, a small smile on her lips. “I got the fire started.”
“Thank you.”
I strip off my outer layers and stumble to the heat. My hands are red and achy, but I hold them out to the fire anyway. It’s not the smartest move, but fuck, they’re so cold I worry I’ll lose them.
Emillia moves behind me and I hear her set the weapon aside. She sits next to me and grabs my wrists.
“You’ll hurt yourself,” she says, pulling my hands toward her stomach.
I lean into her, and she lifts her sweater, sliding my freezing fingers underneath. She sucks in a breath with a curse as I touch her skin. Her warmth burns, but I crave it so much, flattening my palms against her.
“Gods, Adrik, what did you do?”
My teeth won’t stop chattering. “M-mm clean now.”
“What?”
“Snow b-bath.”
She gasps. “You didn’t.”
I nod.
“You fool,” she chides, climbing on top of me. “Why didn’t you use your magic?”
“Tried. Used it all on protectssshion runes.”
She pushes up my shirt as she lays me down, then flattens herself against my chest. The heat of her stings, but it’s a feeling I relish. I’m alive, and clean, and she’s touching me. Her face tucks into the crook of my neck, and my trembling begins to settle.
“You know that I get off a boat after weeks of rag baths and fuck whores without a second thought.”
I move my hands around to her back, finding a new warm spot to absorb. “Not a who-ore.”
She tsks. “I know you’re not a whore.”
I was trying to sayshewasn’t a whore, and I wouldn’t treat her to two-day- old semen on my dick, but she’s speaking again before I can get my tongue to work.
