Page 34 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
He reaches into the water, right between my legs, and plucks the razor from the bottom of the tub. He doesn’t touch me, yet my inner thighs and my entire sex come alive with tremulous sensation at the mere proximity of his hand.
His gaze lingers unmistakably on the delicate folds between my thighs. He takes his time admiring every contour of my body, from my legs, to my flat stomach, then up my ribs to my chest.
And I don’t say a word in protest.
“I should check the depth of that cut.” He cups my arm and lifts it. “May I?”
He doesn’t need to touch me. It’s an excuse, and we both know it.
I nod anyway.
When his fingers contact the thin skin of my breast, I bite back a little gasp. His fingers shift, grazing the heavy lower curve, then gliding around my areola. My nipples tighten to beads, and I pin my thighs together, conscious of slickness between my folds, under the water.
His thumb slides over the cut, which is a faint scratch now. “All healed,” he murmurs, withdrawing his hands from my breast and my arm. “I’ll let you dry off now. Your room is down the hall to the right. Third door on the left.”
He’s getting up. His wings have lifted, fanning gently behind him.
As he moves to the door, I murmur, “Please… stay.”
Slowly he turns, biting his lip, heat in his eyes.
“In case I have another accident,” I say.
“You do seem rather prone to peril. You realize I’ve saved your life twice? Three times, if we count feeding you sugarplums before you perished from hunger.”
A smile starts deep inside me, spreading like sunshine until it reaches my face. He catches his breath and then exhales, slowly. “Stars, you’re exquisite.”
I rise unsteadily in the tub, and he moves in, catching my hand, my arm, helping me step out. There’s a towel spread on the floor, still damp from when my sister stepped onto it.
I’m not sure what I’m doing. I don’t dothis—the reckless lust, the seduction of strangers. I’m not even sure who’s seducing whom. This feels more like a gradual intertwining of desires and actions and movements. Like a dance.
The Sugarplum Faerie turns me so my back is against his chest. We’re facing a full-length mirror I didn’t notice before, a lovely gilt-edged thing heavy with gold roses and gemstones. I see him in it—indecently beautiful, with his feathery pink hair and soft pink lips. He’s framed by those gauzy wings, and his black claws clasp my shoulders delicately.
I’m on full display—my slim, pale, human shape—full breasts, tapered waist, hips slightly tilted, long legs. My auburn hair is darkly wet, plastered to my sides and back, a few curls clinging to one breast and then dangling down to my waist.
“You see yourself,” murmurs the faerie in my ear. “You see how beautiful you are.”
Magic ripples over one of his hands, smoothing the nails, and he slides that hand down my body, squeezing my breast lightly, smoothing over my stomach, headed for lower parts. Part of me wants to tighten my thighs to prevent access—but that is the Clara from another world, another time.
This new Clara hungers for his touch.
I widen my stance a little, opening my pussy for him, and he hums against my cheek as three of his fingers slip between my folds, parting them. I release a tiny whimper as his central finger strokes deeper, slowly, tenderly.
“Look at this little swollen bud,” he murmurs, patting it with a fingertip. “These wet lips, so beautifully soaked. I’ll make you come so sweetly for me, darling.”
“I thought you wanted Louisa,” I say, breathless. “She knows how to make love better than I do.”
“You’re much more interesting, sugar.”
Never in my life has anyone told me that. Louisa is the conversationalist, the fun one, the flamboyant one. I am the quiet one, the dull one, the reader and painter.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I whisper.
“Does it have to?” He’s still stroking me, gentle slick circles over my sex, each one sending a slow surge of pleasure through my belly. “Hush, sugar, and watch yourself come.”
And he thrusts two fingers deep inside.
Another tiny sound escapes me as my body sucks him in, welcomes the invasion with a fresh flood of wetness.
