Slumber

by Cassandra Dean

  Ignore it. Striding to the dresser, he shrugged off his coat. “You missed yet another wonderful dinner. Really, you must rethink this policy of refusing the captain’s invitations.”

  “I am quite content with my tray, thank you.” Looking back at her book, she turned a page as she shifted on the bed.

  Gods, her move had pushed her skirt higher. Dragging his gaze from where it lay upon her upper thigh, he turned to face the dresser. “Ah. Well, there’s an invitation for whiskey and cigars. I’m off to that after I change my coat.”

  “Ah,” she echoed, and in the mirror over the dresser, he saw a half-smile tug at the corner of her mouth as her gaze ran over his back. Slowly, her smile died, and she licked the corner of her mouth.

  The sight of her tongue went straight to his cock. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said, meeting his gaze through her lashes.

  Gritting his teeth, he grasped the edge of the dresser. Everything she did enticed him. “Stop that.”

  A full smile played about her lips, and, by all that was holy, he wanted to destroy it with his tongue. “What?”

  “That. Stop that.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  Abruptly, he knew she knew what she was doing to him. Anger twined with frustrated lust and found expression in the tight tone of his voice. “You are, and you know it.”

  She raised a brow. “I’m seated here, reading happily, when you enter the room and start to disrobe. How, pray tell, am I doing anything?”

  “You are!” The frustration of the last few days exploded within him, the wanting and not having. The casual bearing of skin, the kiss they’d shared earlier that day, the way his cock was so hard he could hammer nails. “You bloody well are, and you know it!”

  Something flickered in her eyes. Deliberately, she placed the book on the table beside the bed. “I am not doing anything.”

  Pushing herself to her knees, she undid the ties of her shirt and stripped it from her, leaving her clothed only in a too-thin chemise. Almost transparent from repeated washings, the chemise displayed the dark circles of her nipples clearly, the puckered flesh pressing against the thin fabric.

  His mouth went dry. Fingers laced about her neck, she squared her shoulders. “If I was to do something…I would do this.” Eyes locked on his, she ran her hands down to cover her breasts.

  He couldn’t, for the life of him, tear his gaze from the sight. Cupping herself, she pushed the soft flesh up, her eyes gleaming as her head fell back. She moaned as her thumbs brushed her nipples, circled them, and then she gasped as she pinched the tips.

  Licking her lips, she fell to brace herself on the bed. “I would do this.” She prowled across the bed, and he watched her approach, his blood a thrum through his veins, his arousal almost painful. When she reached the edge, she rose to her knees again and beckoned.

  He, like the lust-filled fool he was, went to her.

  Eyes locked with his, she slid her touch over his chest, his shoulders, into his hair. “I would do this,” she whispered against his lips before she took them with her own.

  Desire exploded. Gripping her waist, her chemise bunched in his hands, he hauled her against him, her hips and stomach and breasts pressed tight to his hips and stomach and chest. She moaned into his mouth, the sound ripping through him like a drug. Bending her over his arm, he devoured her mouth, her taste, his tongue tangling with hers as her fingers speared through his hair.

  Wrenching himself from her mouth, he followed a path down her neck, her chest, and then he found her breast, enveloping her nipple in his mouth. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and she gasped, holding him to her as he licked and sucked and played with her. The slight pain drove him on, drove him wild, and he wanted inside her, his cock iron-hard.

  He pushed her to the bed, and she fell with her legs spread, scrambling to pull her skirt up and her undergarments off. Helping, he groaned at the silky-smooth feel of her legs, thanking all the gods she wore the skirts of her disguise rather than her usual trousers.

  Undergarments dealt with, she sat up as she pulled at his trousers, undoing the buttons and shoving them down. Bending over her, he tugged her legs about him as she arched into him, her hands curling around the arm he’d braced beside her. Sliding his hands down her body, he found her wet and hot, and he needed inside her, he needed her, he needed…. Reaching between them, he positioned himself and, meeting her gaze, he entered her.

  She moaned as he pushed inside her. She felt so good around him, hot and grasping and greedy, and finally he was buried within her, his hips flush against hers. Slow, so slow, he pulled back, and she moaned, her head thrashing on the bed.

  Braced above her, he drove back in, watching her for what she liked best. He twisted his hips, and she went wild beneath him, her nails scouring his back, her legs tightening about his hips, and he pounded into her, her frenzy propelling his. God, he wanted her, he wanted her so much, and she felt so good, so hot and wet, and he needed more. Grasping the soft flesh of her bottom, he pulled her into each heavy thrust, and her heels drummed his buttocks, a silent demand he move harder, faster, and he could feel it coming, could feel it rushing to him.

  Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to focus on her.

  “Not yet, not yet,” she chanted, her skin flushed. “Gods, not yet.”

  “Not yet,” he said grimly, his whole world focused on staving off release.

  She slid a hand between them, and he almost came when he realized she was touching herself. “Harder. Please, please, harder.”

  Shoving himself into her, he tried not to think about what he was doing, tried not to notice her fingers as she played at the spot where they joined.

  Suddenly, she stiffened, her mouth opening on a silent scream. He wanted to watch her, wanted to see her when she came this first time, but his own pleasure was too close and now that he didn’t have to wait, it crashed over him, intense and consuming. It went on forever, an endless stream that broke him apart and made him whole again.

  It could have been a moment or it could have been forever before he returned to himself. He’d collapsed upon her, and she smoothed his hair as she placed small kisses on his cheek, his jaw.

  Turning his head, he caught her mouth with his, even as he thought, What the hell have I done?

  His second thought, Who the hell cares? as she flicked her tongue against his.

  ***

  Sebastian’s arm lay over her waist, his chest solid against her back. Thalia laced her fingers with his, parted, laced them again, measuring his pale, fine skin against the rough darkness of her own. She didn’t want to move. Ever.

  His arm tightened around her. “Tell me something.”

  Lacing her hands with his once more, she ducked her head. Maybe he didn’t want to move either. “Anything in particular?”

  She felt him shrug, his breath warm as his lips brushed her neck. “A tale of your life. Whatever you want.”

  She thought for a moment. “I didn’t know Bharia and Stahg before I left Queenstor.”

  “Oh?”

  She shook her head against the pillow. “The first day we met was the day we left. They were unhappy with their duty. They didn’t explicitly say so, but I could tell.” Running through a hundred memories, she smiled. “I think they’re pleased now, though.”

  “Because they know you?”

  She gave a small laugh. “Oh, no, it has nothing to do with me. They…Bharia only postures around Stahg, and he only smiles around her.”

  “Oh?” She almost heard him discover her meaning. “Oh. Really?”

  “Really.” She tugged his arm tighter. “But they don’t know how the other feels. They think the other believes them just a friend, yet it’s been three years since I noticed. You’d think one of them would have said something.”

  “You’ve not spoken of it to them?”

  “Gods, no. Would you? They’d probably kill the messenger for interfering.”

  He smiled a
gainst her neck. “And what did you think of them when first you met?”

  “I?” She’d not thought much of anything. They’d been simply part of the Thorn Guard, those chosen to guard the palace and the king, interchangeable and faceless. Then they’d been chosen as her guard, those who were to accompany her on the Trip. She remembered riding between them through the streets of Queenstor, the adoring crowd cheering their way. Then, the crowd had fallen away, and it had been she and them alone on the Kings Road, bound for nowhere in particular. It was only then it had dawned on her how very alone she’d become.

  Sebastian cleared his throat, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question. “I thought them…big.”

  “Ah.” He fell silent.

  Staring at the wall, she wracked her head for something to say. It couldn’t be awkward between them. She wouldn’t allow it. She didn’t want it to be—

  “Do you like gear work?” he said.

  She blinked. “Gear work?”

  “Yes. You were undertaking such work when I found you. It seemed it…fit. You, I mean. It fit you. It….” He grimaced.

  So she wasn’t the only one with a desire to fill an awkward silence. A rush of affection filled her and found expression in a smile. “I do. I do like gear work.” Her smile died. “It’s of no consequence, though. I cannot do such when I am queen.”

  “Why not?”

  A laugh stuttered from her. “What do you mean, why not? A queen is far too high to undertake such a common pastime as gear work.”

  “As a trade, yes, but what is preventing you from undertaking it for pleasure?”

  She stared straight ahead. “It’s not that simple, Sebastian.”

  “It’s not?”

  Her brows drew together. It wasn’t that simple. Was it?

  He brushed his lips over her ear. “It’s something to think about anyway.”

  “I suppose.” Curling into him, she placed her hand over his. “What about you?”

  His hand jerked beneath hers. “What about me?”

  “Tell me a tale of your life.”

  “Nothing to tell.”

  She frowned. “You’re tailor. There must be something.” Casting about for a tale, she spoke the first that occurred. “Tell me of your first apprenticeship.”

  “It’s not an interesting story, Princess.”

  Her brows shot up. “Princess? Really?”

  “Well, you are a princess.” He flipped her over so he loomed above her, his smile devilish.

  Under him, she trailed her fingers over his chest, amazed she could touch him this way. “I am. It’s true.”

  “Do you have a command for me, Highness?” He licked her neck.

  Her breath caught. “Command?”

  “Yes.” He moved lower. “A command.”

  “I…um…. What you’re doing is good.”

  “No.” He lifted his head, and his eyes burned. “Command me.”

  Heat rushed through her. “Pleasure me, Tailor.”

  He smiled, a wicked, wicked smile. And then he did.

  Chapter Nine

  Sunlight played across Thalia’s closed lids, and, reluctantly, she admitted defeat. Sleep had fled, and she’d no recourse but to begin her day. Opening her eyes, she turned from her side to her back, the sheet tangling about her as her arm fell on the empty space next to her.

  Surprise had her struggling to sit. Sebastian sat in the chair opposite the bed, the sketchbook balanced on his drawn-up knee. He wore only his trousers, his pale chest golden in the early morning light. Brow creased in concentration, his strong hand feathered the pencil over the page.

  She watched him for a time, delighting in the play of smooth muscle. “What are you drawing?”

  A ghost of a smile danced over his lips, showing he’d known her gaze had been upon him. “Nothing.”

  “No, what are you drawing? Let me see.” Tugging at the sheet to ensure it came with her, she awkwardly walked on her knees to the edge of the bed and then stumbled to his side.

  Smile firming, he watched her progress. “Have a care how you step, Princess.”

  She ignored him. Ensuring the sheet was gathered over her chest, she looked at what he’d drawn. “Oh.” Her throat worked, strange emotion choking her. “You’ve drawn me.”

  He’d drawn her asleep, her cheek against the pillow and the sheets draped around her. He’d drawn her with a gentle glow about her. He’d drawn her so she looked...beautiful.

  Glancing at him, she found him regarding her, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched her reaction. “I’ve also started your gown,” he said.

  “My gown?”

  “For your Confirmation.”

  Still swamped with emotion, she swallowed. “Oh?”

  “Here.” Moving the book, he tugged her into his lap. Arms encircling her, he held the book before them and flipped to the page holding the design.

  Breath shallow, she tried to focus on the sketch, but the feel of his strong arms about her distracted her to no end. Beneath her, she could feel the beginnings of his arousal, his shaft growing solid and thick. He did nothing about it, though, and she fought to do nothing, too.

  He pointed, the move brushing his arm against her side. “See this brace? It’s to be of leather, and mimic the harness of your gearsmock.” Lips whispered against her cheek as he spoke, and her breath seized in her throat. Her heart roared in her ears.

  He traced a line just under her collarbone. “The neckline will rest here, following the natural slope, while the bodice’s fit will be snug enough to show your shape, but loose enough to be comfortable.”

  His hand curled around her ribcage, his fingers dipping into her waist. Fire followed in the wake of his touch, and she bit back a moan.

  His hand made a path over her belly. “I’m not certain of the waistline. Should it be natural? Raised? Drawn to a vee?” He traced out each one, his fingers dancing over her flesh.

  She could stand no more. Turning in his arms, she took his mouth with hers.

  He dropped the sketchbook and, pushing the sheet aside, he covered her breast with his hand, his thumb worrying her nipple. She gasped, pushing herself into his touch, wanting more, needing more.

  His hand trailed up her thigh. “I’m glad you decided to show me the difference.”

  “What?” she managed, focused wholly on the progress of his hand.

  “The difference.” His fingers feathered over her core.

  “What?” Gods, what was he talking about? Shifting, she let her legs fall open and pushed herself against him.

  “Between not intending to seduce me”—he pushed through her wet folds, finding the center of her pleasure—“and intending to.”

  Gasping, she grabbed his wrist, writhing beneath his touch as he played with her, circling her over and again until she writhed in his arms, moans tearing from her as pleasure spiraled. Leaning forward, he enveloped her breast with his lips, his tongue flicking against her nipple as he tormented her wet flesh. His finger pushed inside, and she undulated her hips, forcing him deeper. Release came upon her suddenly, a storm through her flesh.

  Tugging his head up, she kissed him desperately, her body quivering in reaction. His hand clenched at her waist, and he returned the kiss just as desperately.

  Pulling back, she slid down his chest, widening his legs to kneel between them. Slowly, she undid his trousers, revealing his hardened flesh. He groaned as she encircled his shaft with her hand, as she measured his size. Gods, he was so thick. So hard. So hot. She wet her lips.

  He curled her hair about her ear. “You don’t have to.”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t.” Lowering her head, she licked him.

  He hissed, his hand tightening in her hair. He was salty upon her tongue and hot, so hot. She closed her mouth about him, loving the feel of him inside her. She learned his shape, his taste, the way he would gasp if she licked here, the way he would moan if she kissed there.

  “Thalia,
you have to…. I’m going…. Thalia, stop.” He pulled her from him and, reluctant, she let him go. He drew her up, and she straddled his hips, his shaft against her. Eyes on his, she lowered herself over him.

  They both sighed when he’d entered her fully, the length throbbing within her. Slowly, she raised herself, biting her lip at the drag of him leaving her body. Gently, she pushed back down, relishing every inch of his re-entry. Over and again, she rose and fell, her thighs shaking with the effort as his hands rested on her hips, his gaze hot as he watched her through heavy lids.

  “You feel so good inside me.” She raised her hands to her breasts, cupping the soft flesh.

  Leaning his head back, he tightened his hands on her hips.

  “So hot. So hard.” Gasping, she squeezed her nipples between her fingers. Leaning forward, she whispered against his ear, “Gods, Sebastian. I burn.”

  Something inside him seemed to snap. Gathering her in his arms, he vaulted from the chair and staggered them forward, finding the dresser and laying her upon it. Shoving her right leg about her hip, he raised her other so her ankle was on his shoulder. Then, he shoved inside her.

  Grabbing the edge of the dresser, she braced herself against his thrusts, arching her back as his actions drove her mad. Passion built between them, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, gathering at her core as he thrust and thrust and thrust and, oh gods, it was never going to end, she would have to endure this sweet agony forever. He growled at her, ordered her to come, but she couldn’t, she could only feel him inside her, and then it broke over her. Release came in a rush, and she screamed, her leg tightening around him as she came. He grunted and sped his thrusts, and then he joined her, shuddering through his own release.

  Slowly, reality returned, and she realized she hurt. Sebastian had collapsed over her, his head on her chest as she lay shoved on the dresser, her back bent awkwardly.

  Arms wrapped about him, she let her legs drop, her toes tracing a path down the back of his calves. “Sebastian?”

  He grunted.

  “Can we move?”