Page 24 of The Lost Prince
Ofcourseit was. The custom of naming every girl with a flower name irritated me. At least Clover was more original, though not technically a flower. It was a nod to her mixed heritage, no doubt. At least it gave them all names that described them perfectly—weak, easily crushed specimens that wilted and died as soon as you plucked them.
And pluck this one, I would.
“Clover, have you ever been with an apprentice?” I asked, my voice much deeper than it usually was.
Her head shook side to side, eyes wide. She kissed me and I let her, working with one hand to free my cock and shove my pants down my waist.
I grinned. “Would you like to be?”
I barely waited for her chin to bob up and down before I mauled her. My cock swelled hard and fast as I thrust my hips into hers, desperately seeking relief but not quite knowing how as I pinned her up against the stone wall.
Well, that was untrue. I’d seen enough diagrams in books to know the general idea and understand the basic mechanics. But actually doing it?
Euphoria rushed through me as I remembered the panicked look in the queen’s eyes, filling me with confidence and authority. With a quick yank, I had Clover’s dress hiked up to her knees, and her legs wrapped around my waist.
You just … put it inside her. That’s what it said to do.
What if I hurt her? My cock was firm and hard, and I was just supposed to—
Clover reached down with one hand and guided me straight into her wet, warm heat. All thoughts of being careful fled from my head as I sank into her as deeply as I could, her moans making it clear she wasn’t dead or dying.
I gave myself over to my urges, thrusting into her in a frenzy as her back slammed up against the stone wall repeatedly. It felt so good—no, words couldn’t even describe the ecstasy of having my cock surrounded by her yielding flesh. Now I understand all those tomes of lovesick poetry in the archives. A woman’s softness and heat were enough to drive you mad.
It was a madness I just might embrace.
Tension built inside of me building to a crescendo. I wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but if it didn’t, I’d die. It was one thing to read about it in a dusty tome; quite another to experience it.
“Please,” Clover begged, panting and gasping against me.
I knew what she wanted. The book had mentioned that as well, but it was much more vague about how to go about it.
I was nothing if not a fervent researcher.
One hand went to her center, my fingers gently prodding the small nub at the top of her opening as I kept moving inside her. Her breathing hitched, confirming I was on to something.
Now to run some experiments.
Using a slow, methodical approach, I stroked the smooth area of her lips just outside where my cock throbbed, alternating between circling her nub and pressing over it. Timing it up with my thrusts had her gasping and writhing against me.
I wanted to coax her further.
Keeping the same pattern of rubbing around and over her nub, I kept thrusting into her even as her hips worked furiously to match me. Leaning into her, I put my free hand around her neck and growled into her ear.
She cried out, her inner muscles spasming around me.
The book had mentioned nothing about that.
Unprepared for the sensation, my climax took me, hot seed spurting from my cock into her. I jerked out, hoping I wasn’t too late.
I didn’t care for Clover, but I wasn’t about to sidle her with a child, either.
We both collapsed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, breathing heavily. The scents of rosemary, sage, and lavender combined almost sickeningly, the scents as intermingled as Clover and I.
Carefully, I stood and offered a hand to her as well before tucking myself back into my breeches and smoothing down my scribe’s robe.
Her cap was askew, her red hair spilling out from underneath it. Her pale, freckled face was flushed pink, her dark eyes the only thing about her that spoke to questionable parentage, and why her place was in the kitchen instead of upstairs with the primas.
“I—”
