Page 42 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
While he’s still occupied with drinking, I slide my hand from his bicep along his side, then squeeze it between us, working it beneath his cloak until my fingers encounter the firm ridge of his cock beneath his clothes.
He freezes, his teeth still buried in my flesh. His hair is tickling my neck and cheek.
“Look at this,” I say softly. “Seems you still have wood here.”
A tremor runs over his body as I rub my palm along the bulge.
“I think I could make you come in your pants, Your Highness,” I whisper.
He unlatches his mouth from my shoulder and straightens, his chest heaving.
My fingertips slide upward, under the hem of his soldier’s jacket, to the edge of his pants. I tug them slightly down and away from his body. When he has my blood in him, the clothes are separate from his skin, no longer painted on. Yet he hasn’t changed his outfit, and I’m not sure why.
My fingers dip into his pants, grazing the flat heated skin of his lower abdomen.
And then I touch the head of his cock.
It’s a smooth, damp bulge, with a tiny slit that’s seeping wetness. I dab my fingertip over that spot, and the Prince shudders again.
I nudge the tip of his cock out, above the edge of his pants, so that it’s pinned to his belly by his waistband. I can’t see it in the dark, but I trace its shape with my fingertips again, pressing lightly just beneath the head, where it meets the shaft. I stroke that spot, now and then rubbing my palm over the ridge that’s still hidden under his trousers.
“Such a nice cock,” I murmur. “It’s so happy to see me. You should let it out to play more often.”
He doesn’t answer, only releases a shuddering breath.
“My clit is so tingly right now,” I whisper. “And my pussy is so wet. I want to slide this hard cock between my pussy lips, deep into my body. I want to suck it all the way into my tight hole.”
“Filthy mortal,” he gasps. “Stop it.”
I pause, unsure if he means it.
He pushes me back. It’s not a violent shove, merely a decisive one. There’s a rustle of fabric; he’s probably putting his dick away.
“I don’t have sex with dirty-mouthed human sluts.” His tone is harsh, a blow in the dark. “I only sleep with people I care about. And you will never be one of those people.”
He yanks open the door and flings himself out of the closet.
I crumple to the floor, listening to the beat of his boots recede as he returns to the common room.
13
The painting is nearly done.
Unfortunately I can hear the others returning—the banging of the front door downstairs, the clump of boot heels, and the light, merry voice of the Sugarplum Faerie, muffled by the ceiling and walls. A deeper voice responds—the Nutcracker Prince. I don’t hear my sister, though.
Footsteps on the stairs. Frantically I lay aside the brush and leap up, racing for the door. I reach it just as it opens, and I hold it firm, just a crack of space no wider than three fingers.
“I’m not finished yet!” I cry. “No one can come in!”
“But it’s my house.” A laughing male voice with a pleading note. “I want to see my painting.”
“Not yet.”
Rivulets of rainbow magic engulf the door, and it disappears entirely, leaving me standing far too close to the tall Sugarplum Faerie, who grins down at me.
“Please.” I back away, holding out my arms as if to block his progress. As if I could stop him. “Please, it’s nearly done. Please wait.”
His sly grin fades. “Have you eaten anything while we were gone? Drunk anything? You know I told you where to find food, water—”
