Page 49 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
“I should take Clara some food,” says Finias.
“Louisa said to leave her alone for now,” Lir responds. “By the old gods, both of you are maddening.” He rises from the sofa, snapping his fingers. “Fin, music.”
“Of course, music!” cries Finias. He yanks open a drawer, shuffles through the tissue-wrapped toffees inside, and selects one. “Here, we’ll share so we can all hear the same song.” He opens the paper and tears off stretchy pieces of the candy. “Chew these, and then we’ll dance.”
Curious, I chew the sticky treat. It’s delicious, and the minute my teeth sink into it, I begin to hear music—a distant, jaunty beat, growing slowly louder, joined by a flow of strings and a delicate flute. The music fills my mind, lighting up my body.
Lir’s green eyes meet mine. “Go on, little mortal. Dance.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. Moving to this exquisite music is the most natural thing in the world. My whole body yields to the melody, swaying, sinuous, flowing just like the notes, then sashaying to the beat. It’s a blessed relief to channel my jittery energy into the movements.
Finias is dancing, too, along the tops of the chairs and sofas, buoyed by occasional flutters of his gauzy wings. “Dance, cousin,” he commands, and Lir let himself go too, his dark lashes hooding his eyes. His motions are stiff, a little jerky, but somehow the moves fit the rapid, off-kilter beat of the song.
My skin is heating, flushing, so I strip off the overdress and leggings and toss them onto a chair, dancing in just my bustier and lacy undershorts. We’re in the center of the room now, all three of us, dancing in a circle, hands raised above our heads. Sometimes I catch Fin’s hand in mine, and sometimes my fingers lace with Lir’s. It’s dizzying, decadent, a haze of glorious motion, bodies sliding and slithering with the endless chain of notes.
I swallowed my bit of toffee a few minutes after Fin handed it to me, but the music continues for a long time—maybe hours. At last it fades, and I collapse on the couch, utterly happy and thoroughly exhausted. With a sidelong glance at me, Lir slinks off to his room, while Finias declares loudly, “NowI really am going to take some food and drink up to Clara.” He disappears in the direction of the kitchen.
With the departure of the two Fae, the lighted orbs in the living area dim slowly, until they’re barely glowing. In the soft, quiet darkness, in the faint amber glow, I trace my fingertips along my body, over my generous curves and soft swells. I love every part of me, and right now I feel more luscious, desirable, and aroused than I have in days. Must be the magic toffee.
The living area is silent and empty, so I tuck my fingers beneath the band of my lacy undershorts, and I begin to toy with my clit—two fingertips massaging lightly.
I hear Finias heading upstairs. Since Lir is in his room, that means I am truly alone. I let my fingers travel deeper, between my labia, nestling into the warm heat there, teasing out the slickness.
Tilting my head back, I let a soft moan of satisfaction escape me. This feels wonderful, and also naughty because I’m in a stranger’s house, right in the open, not behind any closed doors. I doubt Fin would mind, though, even if he knew.
I shimmy down my underwear and toss it aside. Then I tilt my pelvis up for better access, bending my knees and spreading my thighs apart. My eyes close as I slide my fingers through my folds, over and over, feeling the slow build of pleasure in my belly. Pushing two fingers into my slit, I open my eyes to watch them emerge, glossy and wet.
And when I open my eyes, Lir is standing at the end of the sofa, a tall dark figure in the gloom.
I’m splayed wide open, my fingers sliding out of my pussy, my breasts spilling over the top of my bustier, and my long golden hair scattered all over the sofa cushions.
I can see the Prince’s features dimly in the faint glow of the orbs overhead. He’s looking right at me—at my face, not the rest of me.
My breath catches, and I freeze, while my pussy flutters with delight at having an audience.
Lir doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
Tentatively I place the two wet fingers on my clit and begin to slide them in careful circles.
His eyes travel from my face to my swelling breasts, to my stomach, to my pussy. And there his gaze remains, while I tighten the circles I’m making—tighter, faster—I’m jiggling my clit desperately now, tiny soft sounds on my lips as my belly and my inner walls tighten.
The orgasm spears my clit—sharp and keen, tracing a lightning path up through my abdomen, shearing through my chest and my limbs. I buck on the sofa, gasping, my fingers still pinned to my clit while my sex quivers.
As the pleasure fades, I shift my fingers lower and spread my lips open so the Prince can see my insides pulsating through the final throes of bliss.
He already thinks I’m a slut. And I’ve just confirmed his opinion of me.
But he watched. Which means he is just as slutty as I am.
When his stormy eyes lift to my face again, I give him my sweetest, most cheerful smile.
“I hate you,” he whispers.
Maybe the words should upset me, but there’s an agonized rasp in his voice, a violent desire he’s barely restraining. So I consider those three words a victory. Vengeance for the way he has treated me today.
He might hate me. But he couldn’t resist watching me just now. And that gives me all the power I crave, and the peace I need to sleep soundly tonight.
I pull my undershorts back into place, pressing them over my wet pussy lips until a damp spot soaks through them. Then I rise from the sofa, pick up my dagger from a chair nearby, and walk past the Prince, letting my arm brush his. I half hope he’ll reach for me, but he doesn’t.
