Page 31 of Crown of Thorns
He eyes me warily as I move through the main room and into the bedroom. I pull off my gown and all its trappings, laying it over a chair in the corner of the dressing room. I pull on a pair of old fashioned, men’s style pajamas in ballet pink and baby blue stripes.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Getting ready for bed while I lose my shit. Isn’t it obvious?” I mean he’s turned my life upside down, the least he could do is humor me as I do a D1 crash-outand a little bratty behavior.
“I mean with the nightwear,” he replies calmly.
“What about it?” I’m too far gone down my own personal rabbit hole from hell to pay attention to whatever it is he’s asking right now.
“You’re wasting your time, hen. I’m just going to peel you out of it.”
I roll my eyes. “Not tonight. As previously mentioned, I’m busy losing my shit,” I reply as I move into the bathroom and dip my fingers into the pot of makeup balm Dahlia gave me to scrub the heavy makeup off my face.
I run a washcloth under the warm water from the faucet and begin to wipe off all the paint. “I swear I’ve worn more makeup since I got here than I have in my entire life.”
Rhys just continues to silently watch me as I rub cleanser into my face. I lose sight of him when I dip my head toward the sink to splash it away with the water from the faucet. When I pop back up and open my eyes, I see in the mirror that he’s moved. Rhys is now right behind me, and I let out a small squeal as he startles me.
He hands me a small towel to pat my face dry and when I’m done, he hangs it back up for me. Then he gently places his hands on my hips while I pour oils and serums into my palms to press into my skin. Then my night moisturizer, because God forbid the king’s future wife age. I rub the excess into the backs of myhands because I’ll admit that even though it’s expensive and decadent, I love the way it feels and smells.
When my hands move to my hair, he brushes them away and it’s my turn to watch from the mirror as this powerful man of the world, still fully dressed in his dinner suit while I’m in cotton pajamas, pulls the pins from my hair one by one. When the last curl tumbles free, he spears his thick fingers through my dark hair and presses the pads of them to my scalp, massaging out the sting from carrying the weight of it. I close my eyes and feel some of the weight of the afternoon and evening melt away.
“Better?” he asks softly.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
And then he picks up the boar bristle brush with the worn wooden handle that I’d thrown in my bag when we rushed through my old apartment in order to make it here before his father passed away.Lord, that feels like a lifetime ago. Rhys carefully brushes all of the snags and tangles from my hair, stroke by gentle stroke.
When he’s done, he gathers it all into one big hank in his strong fist and pulls, maneuvering my head back so that my eyes meet his in the bathroom mirror.
“Now,” he says, his voice deeper and rougher than a moment ago. “Are you ready to come?”
“Yes,” I whisper, feeling the heat pool low in my belly.
He lets go of my hair and scoops me up in his arms so delicately that it’s a marked contradiction from the way that he took me in the hall, and he carries me back to the bed where he sets me down on my feet. Standing so close to me that the tips of our toes touch and I can feel his breath whisper across my face, he slowly undresses, letting his jacket fall to the floor before plucking at the knot of his tie. His cufflinks clatter to the floor as he rolls his sleeves back and then his strong fingers are on me, plucking the buttons down the front of my pajamas one by one before he pushes the cotton to slide down my arms.
“Lie back,” he softly commands, and I climb onto the bed surrounded by the lush pillows. “Now roll over.”
I do, rolling to my belly as he pulls off his shoes and socks. I close my eyes and wait. I smell the faint cinnamon and vanilla of my lotion as he opens the jar and warms some between his palms before he presses them into the tight muscles of my back. I groan as he massages me and sink into the soft mattress.
The cool air whispers across my skin as he slides my pajama pants down my legs and then continues to glide his hands over my body, digging his fingers into the sore and tenses spots. But every so often, his fingers whisper over the place that he denied me so ruthlessly earlier.
By the time he rolls me to my back, I’m all but panting for him. I try and hide how worked up he hasme, but by the arrogant smirk on his face, he knows.
I press my thighs together as he strips away the last of his clothes and settles between my thighs. He presses the hard length of his cock against me, and I groan as I try and press against him for some kind of friction.
“Are you ready for me, hen?” he whispers.
“You know I am.”
“Aye,” he says as he presses the thick tip of him to me and slowly slides inside of me.
I lose all form of thought as he rocks our bodies together. Having left me in a heightened state earlier, my body only wants one thing and I’m nearing the pinnacle when he presses his firm body to mine and leans down so that his lips brush against the shell of my ear as he thrusts in and out of my body.
“I told you,” he says.
I don’t understand what he means.
