Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

Chapter

Fifty-Eight

I’m holding my breath.

Holding my breath, my eyes tightly closed, and I wait for something to happen. Time feels as if it’s slowed, my pulse pounding in my ears. My slippers—made for walking on the even stone floors of the tower—sink into the sands of the beach. A breeze ruffles my hair, pulling a few strands loose from my braid. Somewhere in the distance, a sea bird cries out.

I wait for the goddess’s wrath to fall upon us. I wait for lightning to strike us down. For the skies to rumble with thunder and the wind to wail, letting us know she’s displeased that we’ve broken our vow to remain in the tower. I wait for anything, any sign at all.

Nothing happens.

I exhale and open my eyes.

It’s…a nice day. The sun shines down from above without a cloud in the sky. The breeze is cool for the otherwise warm day. The sandy beach surrounding the tower looks pristine and untouched, and if the waves seem to be a little high and white-capped, it makes for a pretty scene.

Shouldn’t it be…awful? Out here? As punishment? “I don’t understand,” I say to Nemeth, my clammy hand still clutched in his. “I thought we’d feel something.”

“I did, too,” he confesses. His gaze moves over the bright blue skies and he squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes. “Perhaps the goddess has not noticed yet. Or perhaps she understands our problem and forgives us.”

Out of nowhere, thunder rumbles overhead, loud and crackling.

“Or not,” I say tightly, clutching at his hand as I stare up at the still-blue sky. “Dragon shite.”

Nemeth extends a wing over my head as fat drops of rain begin to fall from above. It seems impossible for it to rain on us without clouds overhead, but I guess the gods can do whatever they want. I peer out from under Nemeth’s wing, thinking of the small pack I have on my back with my cloak and a change of clothing. Nemeth insists upon carrying everything heavy but I don’t mind carrying my fair share. I glance up at my lover, and the rain is sluicing down his dark gray skin in rivulets. “Do we…go back inside and wait out the rain or do we just soldier on through?”

He shakes his head slowly. “It seems insulting to retreat back to the tower after taking two steps out. We’ll continue onward. Let us give the rain a moment.”

Sure enough, the patter of rain stops as quickly as it started, and Nemeth shakes off his wings before folding them up again. “Shall we have a look around?”

I nod, not trusting my voice when a knot rises in my throat. We really are leaving. We’ve done it now. There’s no turning back. It doesn’t matter that we had no choice. The goddess would probably argue that our choice could have been to starve. The Golden Moon Goddess has never been a goddess of kindness and understanding, after all.

I cling to Nemeth’s hand for a moment longer, and when I take a step forward, my shoe scrapes on something hard. I glance down and realize it’s one of the bricks that used to cover the door. It’s nearly covered in sand, and a quick look around shows that more of them are scattered against the wall of the tower and off to the side, most of them covered in grit or half-buried.

It reminds me of the dead men who should still be on this beach.

Instead of investigating our surroundings, I scan the sands for dead bodies. They would have rotted, I think, though I have no idea how much or how little would remain. I doubt they would have coin, but they might have weapons. More knives. We can always use more knives.

So while Nemeth looks around on the beach, his mood as apprehensive as mine, I go hunting. A short distance from the door, I find what looks like a ribcage half-buried in the sands. I use my shoe to kick some of the sand away, and the moment I do, I see a dirty piece of cloth…and then a faded symbol embroidered on the cuff of a sleeve.

It’s the cuff of one of Castle Lios’s guardsmen. Surely he couldn’t have been one of the men that broke in? I remember them as skinny and disheveled, with ragged beards and a terrible need for a bath.

“Candra?” Nemeth calls. “What are you doing?”

I kick the sand back over the bit of rotten fabric. “I thought I saw a pretty shell,” I call out. “It’s nothing.” Gathering my skirts, I return to his side, slogging through the sand. It fills my slippers and makes walking difficult, but I manage a bright smile for Nemeth. “I don’t suppose you see a raft anywhere?”

“A raft?” Nemeth echoes.

Nodding, I glance around the lonely stretch of beach. There’s nothing here but a few waving grasses and a distant seagull on the far end of the beach. I vaguely remember the old, weathered dock on the far side of the shore, and how there wasn’t one on this side. “Something we can use to get across the water? I can’t swim.” I want to point out that the men who arrived to attack us would have needed a raft or a boat of some kind, but I don’t want to bring Nemeth’s attention to the dead. For some reason, I don’t want him to know that they were from Lios. They were human, so it stands to reason that they were my people, but…still. “Any ideas?”

Nemeth chuckles. “I cannot believe you even have to ask.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what he means when he picks me up into his arms, grinning. My shoes stream sand and I cling to his neck as he spreads his wings and moves into the shadows of the tower⁠—

–the world flips upside down and my stomach heaves. Everything spins and it feels as if all gravity has disappeared.

A moment later, everything is heavy once more. The tumbling world sets itself right again, and when I blink away the confusion, I see we’re still on the sandy shore, but now we’re in the shadow of a cliff, and across the long stretch of water in front of us is the distant tower.

He’s shifted us into shadows.

“See?” Nemeth murmurs against my ear.

I smack his arm, furious (and a little queasy). “You said you wouldn’t do that! You’re not supposed to risk your life.”

“There was no risk. I could see the beach from here.” He ignores my anger, setting me down. “And with how weak you’ve been, I don’t want you swimming.”

I don’t point out that he has wings. We both know he does. The fact that he wouldn’t fly us over the water means he doesn’t trust them, which makes me ache inside. How horrible must it be to have wings and not be able to use them? To be stuck with nothing but your two feet to travel? I want to ask him how he’s feeling, but I also don’t want to prod an open wound. So I give him a huffy look, straightening my rain-dampened clothes. “Next time you do that, please warn me.”

“So you can panic?”

So arrogant and confident in himself. I love it, even if I want to wrap my hands around his neck and choke him right now. “So I can talk you out of it.”

Nemeth snorts with amusement. His gaze moves over the rocky shore, eyeing the Liosian land. On this side of the channel, it’s not nearly as mountainous. The Fellian landscape is nothing but mountains, his people living deep in the belly of the rocky giants instead of on their sloping surface. Meanwhile the Lios lands are far more temperate. There are some steep cliffs near the waters, sure, but Castle Lios itself is tucked into a rolling green valley surrounded by a thick forest on one side and hills upon the other, with an impressive dockyard to the south leading to deep waters and a harbor constantly full of ships. Here, though, days away from the castle and the city it protects, there’s nothing but desolate beaches that lead up to equally desolate plains. Here, there are no ships on the water, no farms for as far as the eye can see. It’s remote and deserted.

It worries me a little. When I was brought out here, there was a carriage with strong horses, and it still took two days to arrive. How long will we be traveling on foot across this land? How long will it take for us to return to Castle Lios?

And how are things going to go when I arrive five years early with a Fellian at my side?

Hot panic bubbles up inside me, but I push it down. I’ll worry about that when I have time. For now, I’m here with Nemeth, and we need to conquer one issue at a time.

“There’s no one here,” Nemeth says, gazing along the empty shore. “Is this normal?”

I shrug. “As normal as to be expected, I think. There’s nothing out here.”

He nods, then studies my face. “Are you tired? Do you need to rest? Your face is flushed.”

Is it? “I’m just anxious.” I gesture at the coast. “Castle Lios is a few days on horseback to the north. I suppose we can start in that direction.”

“Are you all right?”

“No,” I admit. “But neither are you. We’re out of choices.”

“Are you tired? It has been a long time since either one of us were outside. This is a lot.” His voice is gentle. “If you need a moment, I understand.”

I do need a moment. I also need five more years of food supplies and to have not left the tower. I need to not have a blood curse. I need to not be pregnant with a Fellian’s baby. But these are not choices I have, so I shake them off. “No, I can walk. Let’s go, shall we?”

I’m a terrible traveling companion. I know I am. Before we walk very far at all, my feet are hurting, my shoes useless. My legs ache with fatigue. I’m hot and sweaty and I dislike being hot and sweaty. Nemeth makes excuses for me because he loves me. I’m fatigued due to my illness. I’m fatigued due to years in the tower. I point out to him that I’m also a princess, and a princess never walks farther than across a ballroom. That, I think, startles him. As a Fellian prince, he has been trained in all kinds of combat, even from his days in the Alabaster Citadel. He has traveled to his homeland and back again.

But he is also a man, and not one with cursed blood. I have been sheltered all my life, and even in the tower, it was a sort of shelter once more.

So traveling? Not my favorite. It’s difficult and unpleasant and I want to scream when we finally find a rutted dirt road that’s more rock and mud than actual road and it stretches across the endless horizon without a single town or village in sight. I know I should be glad that we can travel without a Fellian being noticed, but when I pull the sixteenth rock out of my flimsy, useless shoe, I would give my smallest toe for a run-down inn with a free bed. Any kind of bed, no matter how filthy. Just a bed.

No, a chair, I decide. I would give two small toes for a chair.

I want to ask if Nemeth isn’t flying because I’m with him, or if he’s afraid of his injured wing. He hasn’t even attempted flight, despite spreading his wings a few times. Maybe we’re both on edge and doubting ourselves. Certainly our communication skills have been strained. Normally in the tower we can’t stop talking to one another, but ever since we’ve crossed the threshold, we’ve been more or less silent. It worries me.

Then again, all of this is worrying.

Like the shrines we passed as we looked for a road. Small roadside shrines to the gods are common, as travelers make offerings so they will be protected in their journeys. The shrines we’ve passed aren’t filling me with reassurance, though. They’re covered in leaves and detritus, the offerings left behind withered and ancient. The flowering bushes near each stone effigy that are tended to by travelers out of courtesy are overgrown and abandoned, and even the earthenware offering bowls on the altars themselves are cracked and look as if they’ve seen better days.

With how abandoned things are, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear we’d been in that tower for a hundred years and not just two.

“Not exactly a reassuring sight,” I tell Nemeth as we pause in front of the latest set of altars. Whatever has been left in the offering bowl of the Gray God rotted into a pile of goo long ago. I wrinkle my nose. “Surely the gods can’t be pleased with this.”

“I imagine whoever was here last did the best they could,” Nemeth says at my side. “Do you want to stop for a time and tend to it? Do our duty?”

I don’t. I really don’t. I’m tired and cranky and I just want to sit somewhere and rest. But we’re not exactly the favorites of the gods right now as it is, so I suppose it couldn’t hurt to kiss up a little. “Why not.”

We pause by the shrines for a time, tidying up. I brush the three altars—one for each of the gods—tidy of debris and clean the offering bowls, rinsing them out with water. Nemeth uses a knife to tend to the overgrown plants, trimming vines and cutting down overgrown branches from the flowering bushes. When we’re done, the altars look less forlorn. Even though we don’t have much food left, we offer a few withered vegetables from our depleted store. Part of me hates to leave those behind. We need them more than the gods—or whatever birds will pick them off because the gods won’t notice or care.

But Nemeth is more pious than me. He seems happy with our contribution, smiling at me. “If the gods have noticed us at all, perhaps they’ll notice our efforts, too.”

Noticed us? I don’t see how they couldn’t, given that we abandoned their tower. But I don’t say that aloud. You never say the bad things aloud.

Chapter

Fifty-Nine

Ashort time later, when the sun is setting on the horizon, we come across the first structure we’ve seen since leaving the tower, and it makes me wonder if the gods are looking out for us after all.

Granted, it’s not an inn. It’s a crumbling shed that probably once housed livestock. There’s no house nearby, though a large burnt spot a short distance away tells us what probably happened to it. There are no cattle, no horses, and the hay in the shed looks to be older than I am. But there’s most of a roof and at least three walls, and that’s better than sleeping out in the open.

Nemeth is pleased at the sight of it. “We’ll stop here tonight. Do you need me to clean it out for you? Make a bed?”

I shake my head, tossing down my much-lighter pack and using it as a seat as I rest in the old, moldy hay. “Just lay down a cloak. I don’t care. I’m too tired to care.”

He sets down his pack and crouches near me, a worried expression on his face. “Do you feel well?”

“My feet hurt,” I admit with frustration, even though I know it makes me sound like a whiny child. “They hurt and my shoes are dreadful. Ugly and dreadful. And my face feels hot. And my scalp does, too. And I’m tired and hungry and miserable and part of me wants to go back to the tower and just lay there and starve because it’s easier.”

Nemeth chuckles at my crabby response. “There’s no going back.”

“I know there’s not.” I sigh. “I wouldn’t go back even if we could. I’m just tired and not used to this. And why is my scalp hot?” I touch the top of my head, wincing when it feels scorching.

“You’re red,” Nemeth says, touching a finger gently under my chin and tipping my face toward his. “Your face is bright red and so is your scalp where your hair is parted. Why is this?”

I look down at my hands and sure enough, the backs are bright red with sunburn. I’m stunned—and then I laugh. “I haven’t seen sunlight in two years. I must be truly pale.” I flex my hands and wince at how hot and tight my skin feels. “That’s going to be painful in the morning.”

“What can we do for it? I do not like to see you in pain.”

I think of the delicate, floral-scented lotions I have back at the tower. I didn’t bring them because we only brought necessities, and why would lotion be one? But now I’m regretting it. I shrug. “Not much to do about it except wait for it to heal. Tomorrow I’ll wear a hood. It just felt nice to have the breeze and the sunlight on my face.”

It was really the only nice thing about today.

“I should have left you safe in the tower,” he mutters to himself. “Let me see your feet.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed,” I retort. And I’m wrong—the sunlight wasn’t the only nice thing about today. Being with him is always wonderful. I peek at him as he kneels in front of me, lifting my skirt and taking one of my aching feet in his hand.

He frowns down at them as if they’ve somehow failed me and then pulls one shoe off. “These are useless.”

“I noticed.” I wince when even more sand falls from inside the shoe though we left the beach hours ago. “They weren’t fun to walk in.”

“I will fix them for you before we leave in the morning.” As if it’s his job to tend to me, Nemeth wipes sand away from my toes and then rubs my foot, tsking at the red marks and blisters on my skin. “Tomorrow, when you get tired, I will carry you.”

A thoughtful offer, but it’s one that makes my mind spin into uncomfortable territory. We walked all day today, most of it in pensive silence. The silence bothers me less now than the fact that I have a winged man at my side…and we walked. Not once did he spread his wings, except to shield me from the rain. “Can I ask you a question?”

He looks up from my foot, his eyes glowing. “What is it?”

“I hope this isn’t too personal, but…your wings. You didn’t try to fly today?”

Nemeth is silent for a long moment. He continues to rub my foot, sending skitters of pleasure up my spine. He’s thoughtful as he continues to rub, and eventually speaks. “When we first arrived in the tower, I thought of nothing but my freedom. Of the day I would see wide-open skies above me and then I could fly into the air. Most of Darkfell’s mountains are hollow. Did you know that? The main caverns are hundreds of handspans high, and riddled with tunnels and caves so we can fly back and forth between each other’s homes. There are very few stairs because they are not needed except for the elderly and infirm. I always flew at home. Even at the Alabaster Citadel, my room was situated in a tower on one of the highest parapets. All I had to do was open a window and I could fly out. I flew constantly. It was as necessary as breathing. And then…”

He pauses.

“And then you were trapped in a horrible tower for two years because of the name you were born with,” I say bitterly.

“No,” Nemeth says quietly. “And then I met someone who showed me that perhaps it is not so bad to be on the ground. It is all about the company.”

I reach over and flick his shoulder. “That’s a lovely story.”

He smiles at me.

“And we both know it’s dragon shite,” I continue, my voice tart.

Nemeth’s smile widens into a grin. He laughs, and some of the unease I’ve felt all day melts away. “It’s not all dragon shite. I do enjoy being with you.”

“Are you afraid to try out your wing?”

He goes back to rubbing my foot, thinking. “It feels tight,” he admits after a moment. “It has for some time. Like it’s pulled taut in one spot. I’m afraid that I could damage it further if I try to use it without a healer looking at it. And as long as I don’t try it out, I don’t know how bad it could be. I can delay the truth for another day.”

“Oh, Nemeth.” My heart aches for him. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could have fixed it better for you.”

He shakes his head. “You did the very best you could. That is all anyone could ask for.” He sets my foot down and picks up my other, dusting it free of sand and then rubbing it as well. “How can I be upset? We have had to fend for ourselves for two years.” Tilting his head, he studies my face. “Which reminds me. We should heat your potion soon.”

“Soon,” I agree, and then wiggle my foot in his grasp. It feels good, the foot rub, but it also feels like a distraction, as if he’s determined to pull me away from a difficult conversation. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow what?”

I wiggle my foot again to get his attention. “Tomorrow you’ll try to fly? For me?”

“You must truly hate walking.”

That does it. Exasperated, I pull my foot out of his grasp and lean forward to cup his face, so he’ll look me in the eye. Why is it this man can lick my pussy with the confidence of a court lothario but gets shy when I ask about his wings? I meet his gaze, stroking his cheek. “It’s not about walking. It’s about knowing our limitations so we know what we have to push past in the future. Just because your wing is tight now doesn’t mean it always will be. It just gives you something to overcome.”

He smiles at me, his cheeks stretching. “How is it that you can make me feel so calm? Even on a day such as today?”

“Because we’re together,” I tell him. “We’re taking control of our destinies. Even if the Golden Moon Goddess frowns down upon us, maybe the Gray God will look after us.”

Nemeth gestures at the rickety barn. “He led us to this, did he not?”

“He could have led us to an inn,” I say tartly, but I let a smile curve my lips. “But this will do for now. So tomorrow morning you’ll fly for me, and then we’ll see how to proceed from there. It’s decided.”

“Stubborn mule,” he says, his voice loving. “But fine. In the morning, I will fly and we will see how it goes.”

“If you really want to speed up our travel, is it safe for you to slide through the shadows? Like you did in the tower?” I bite my lip, because it feels strange to even ask. The magic of it unnerves me, but he said it was safe as long as the area was wide open and visible, and our surroundings certainly are. “But only if it’s safe.”

This time, the look in his eyes grows dark. He shakes his head. “I’m not certain I wish to risk it. When we crossed the water, something felt different than the last time I carried you.”

“Different?” Everything inside me clenches up. Has he figured it out? Has Nemeth discovered my secret already? Does he know I’m pregnant? I keep my eyes wide with innocence, my face carefully blank. “Teleporting me feels different? How?”

He shrugs. “It’s hard to explain. All I know is I don’t wish to try it again. We’re not supposed to shadow-glide with a human anyhow.”

I want to tell him that I have Fellian blood. That somewhere down the line, one of my ancestors—likely the legendary Ravendor herself—had sex with a Fellian and gave birth to his child. That I’m pregnant with his child, too. But the words won’t come. They stick in my throat like honey. I’m afraid something will change between us. That he’ll realize I’m more fragile than he anticipated and leave me behind.

The thought terrifies me. I grab his hand and put a smile on my face to hide my fear. “I can walk.”

We gaze at each other for a long moment, and I scarcely dare breathe for fear he’ll read the secret on my face.

“Your medicine,” Nemeth finally says. “Are you ready for it?”

I nod. Anything to divert the conversation.

He pulls out the bag full of my carefully cleaned medical kit—the needles, the syringe, the cloths, and finally the vials of prepared potion that have to be warmed. I watch, wordless, as he starts a fire with a flick of magic. It burns inside the small pot we brought for such things, and he holds the vial over the flames for just a moment before attaching the needle to the end and flicking it to ensure there are no air bubbles. I untie my sleeve and roll it up, and we use a sip of our precious drinking water to wash my arm.

Nemeth readies the syringe and then gazes at me with a somber expression. “I’m sorry I cannot be a better mate to you, Candra. You deserve a prince with two working wings and stronger magic, and instead you got me.”

What? Does he think I asked about his wing because I’m mad at him for not flying?

Before he can administer my shot, I push his hand aside. “Wait a moment.”

He looks surprised at my hesitation. “Are you in pain? Do you need to vomit? Shall I find a bucket?” He glances around, getting to his feet. “Give me a moment⁠—”

I slide forward, onto my knees, and hold on to his leg. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop doubting yourself.” I gaze up at him. “I don’t care that you can’t fly. I only asked because I know it’s hard for you. I don’t care if you don’t have huge magic. I don’t have any. I don’t care if we have to walk every step of the way to Castle Lios. I just want to be with you. We’re in this together, the both of us. Every step of the way. Understand?” I cling to his leg, pressing my cheek against his strong, strangely bent thigh. I run my hands up and down his leg. I wonder if our child will have knees that bend backward like Nemeth, or if they will be like mine. I wonder if they will have wings.

I wonder if they will have his huge, giving heart.

I brush my lips over his skin. “I love you, Nemeth. I don’t want anyone but you. Understand? You and I are doing the best we can, no matter the situation. None of this is what was expected to happen. We were supposed to stay in the tower, but they were also supposed to bring us food. Now we’ve left, and we’ll figure it out. All of it. But I don’t want you blaming yourself. Not when you’re the best thing in my life.”

HIs hand lands atop my head, and I don’t even mind that it brushes over my sunburn. His fingers dig into my braid, his remaining claws tugging at my hair. “I would do anything for you,” he rasps. “You know that, yes?”

I love the hunger in his tone, the yearning. And even though I’m weary and sunburned, I want nothing more than to touch my mate right now, to pleasure him and show him how much I adore him. I slide my hand up under his kilt, brushing my fingers over the linen wrap underneath. “I want you.”

“Now? After the day we’ve had?” When I nod, he groans, and as I stroke my fingers over his cock, I can feel it hardening in my grasp. “I cannot give you my knot, milettahn. We do not dare the enemy finding us locked together and helpless.”

“Then don’t give me your knot,” I whisper, rubbing him through the fabric. “Just let me suck on you and give you pleasure.”

Nemeth groans, and I know he can’t resist.

I stroke him harder, gazing up. “Take your kilt off for me?”

He nods, and quickly divests himself of his belt and then the kilt itself. The linen wrap goes next, all the while I grab the pack I’d been sitting upon earlier and use it as a footstool. Now, when I’m on my knees, I’m the right height to pleasure my massive, tall mate. I sigh with anticipation at the sight of him naked, his cock rigid in front of me, his knot not yet full. Unable to help myself, I reach out and clasp him in my hands, rubbing my face against his shaft.

“I love this,” I whisper. “Love the feel of you in my hands, your hot skin against mine.” I run my cheek along his cock, just enjoying the feel of his hardness. “Love knowing that this is mine to play with.” Just touching him makes me ache, my pulse throbbing between my thighs. I could cheerfully worship his cock all night long, but something tells me he’s going to want more than just me rubbing on him like a kitten for hours. I grip him at the base, looking up at my mate’s glowing green eyes. I love the way he watches me as I lick him from knot to tip, then swirl my tongue around the head. A burst of pre-cum flavors his skin, and I lap it up, not surprised when another droplet replaces the first. He’s perfect, my beautiful Nemeth, the tapered tip of his cock all but begging for me to suck upon it.

So I do. I’m not one to deprive myself, after all.

I take him into my mouth and love the ragged sound he makes. Love that his hand carefully tightens in my hair. Love the sharp inhale of breath when I tongue the underside of his cock and then suck him deeper into my throat. I work him with my mouth and tongue, my hand squeezing over his now-taut knot. As I do, I gaze up at him, as if he’s the only thing in my world, because I know he likes to watch my face when I suck on him.

Nemeth’s eyes are fierce with need as he watches me. I suck him deeper, even though my jaw aches with the size of him, and the head of his cock buts against the back of my throat. My eyes water and saliva pools at the corners of my mouth and still I take him, my gaze locked on his.

“Candra,” he breathes, his voice reverent even as he rocks gently, shuttling into my mouth. His movements are careful, but I don’t want him careful. I want him unhinged. I want him lost in the moment. We both need to forget about the stress of today.

So I hike my skirts up and slip a hand between my thighs, stroking my clit even as his hand settles heavier on my head.

“Greedy thing,” he mutters, and then shows me that I’m not the only greedy one. He pushes on my head, forcing me to take more, and drool slides down my chin. He thrusts again, and I make a low noise around the cock stuffed in my mouth, my fingers moving faster over my clit. I can’t even get close to his knot, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he’s using me, fucking my mouth with his quick, jerking motions, and I love it. I love that he’s got a firm hold on my head now, his cock hammering against the back of my throat as he works towards his release. I love the grunts he makes, love how stretched my lips are, how red-hot his knot feels under my grip. I whimper as I rub my clit harder, close to the edge. I just need a little more⁠—

Nemeth’s breath hitches and then he lets out a low, guttural sound. In the next moment, my mouth floods with his release, his knot like a rock beneath my grasp. I immediately lose my orgasm, drawing back and coughing as his seed fills my mouth. He spills over my face and then onto the front of my dress as I draw back, one hand on his cock and squeezing his knot in the way I know he likes. I murmur his name over and over again as I milk him, not caring that my traveling dress is ruined. It’s just a dress, and Nemeth’s need at this moment is far more important than anything else. “I love you,” I tell him, gazing up adoringly with my messy face. I’m hit with a surge of emotion so intense it brings tears to my eyes. “I love you so very much.”

He groans again, then covers my hand, squeezing his cock one last time before heaving a tremendous sigh of release. His fingers stroke my cheek as he catches his breath, and I use my hem to wipe my face clean of his spend. His knot is swollen now, aching and huge, and I run my fingers over it as he shudders with aftershocks of pleasure. It takes time for his knot to go down, and I can probably make him come again just by teasing it with light, stroking touches as he waits.

But Nemeth pulls me away with gentle hands, shaking his head. He drops to kneel beside me, pressing my face with kisses despite the fact that I’ve just wiped away his cum. “You are incredible,” he tells me. “The most perfect, beautiful, talented creature.”