Someday My Prince

by Christina Dodd

  One of his hands tangled in her hair. The other ... where was the other? Between them, opening her, finding her again, entering her and drawing out the moisture that hadn’t dissipated. Her body hadn’t got the message that she’d changed her mind. She squirmed when his thumb brushed the nubbin he had licked, and squirmed more when he did it again. She said, “Dom, stop.” But to her dismay, her voice had lost its authority. She sounded languid and almost ... lustful.

  His finger eased out of her. He replaced it with his shaft, shocking, large, too intimate.

  He must have heard her swift intake of breath, or perhaps he’d felt it as she felt his speech, through the closeness so cogent she didn’t know where she ended and he began.

  His hand in her hair moved, a slow massage in her scalp. “How can you think I would hurt you? I’m going to make you happy.”

  Below, the remorseless invasion began, eased by her body’s readiness. His words should have eased her mind, too, but he watched her with a gaze that pinned her to the mattress. He watched every expression, observed every newborn emotion as it clawed its way to the surface. He wanted to know everything she felt, he wanted to observe her passion, and he violently, completely wanted to spend himself in her.

  Why did she read him so well?

  Why did he fathom the depths of her mind when she barely understood them herself?

  He was too big. This was too personal. She felt too much, she wanted to hide until she could comprehend the untried emotions and raw instincts that twisted within her. Yet when she turned away, he caught her chin and turned her back. His pure blue eyes watched her even as his body listened to her body.

  After the first assault, he held himself at ready. “Relax. I know it’s been a long time, but if you’ll just relax those muscles, it’ll be easier for you.”

  “I can’t.” But her body was his body’s ally, and inevitably, as the initial pain abated, her muscles softened and yielded.

  Taking her hands, he placed them around his neck, forcing her to embrace him even as he moved forward again, relentless, a mercenary on the march.

  The sensation of fullness grew. Her fingers moved restively in his hair, catching the ends and tugging. She found herself flexing her legs around his hips, seeking relief or satisfaction or ... something. Snaring her knee, he brought it up to his waist, propelling himself further toward his goal.

  Inside her, something tore, a swift pain that severed her innocence.

  Dom stilled. All sounds around them vanished. The world fell away. Only Dom and Laurentia remained, their gazes locked, their bodies intertwined.

  The word fell softly from his lips, comprehension and awe mixed. “Virgin,” he said.

  At last he understood. At last.

  Painstakingly, she tilted her hips toward him, bringing him all the way inside her, so far inside he touched the entrance of her womb. Her inner muscles clenched and relaxed, holding him still for her proposal.

  Taking his face in her two hands, she held him as he held her, and with the voice of a princess and the desires of a woman, she said, “Dominic, I love you. Marry me.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Dom stared down at Laurentia. At this princess of Bertinierre’s royal house, crushed beneath him, subjected to his dominance.

  This was what he liked. The crowning moment of any royal seduction, when the princess became a woman like any other, subject to him and his skill. And this princess ... she’d fought him. Tried to hide herself from him. Tried to avoid a wanton response, until he’d dragged her beneath him and forced her to respond. Any man would revel in that kind of power, but the king’s bastard gloried in it. Dominic taught the untutored princess passion.

  In that service, he had justified himself and his breach of faith.

  Now he stared into those shining green eyes, damp with tears. Against his breastbone, he felt the beat of her heart. Within her, the dampness of her passion mixed with her virgin blood, her muscles quivered under the shock of his penetration, and in the deepest part of her, her womb awaited his seed.

  Although he hadn’t understood, she had, and she had freely given him her virginity. Her virginity, her love, and, if he consented, her troth.

  Revenge? Dominance? He couldn’t remember why he had ever wanted them.

  Passion. Possession. They mastered him as if the others had never been.

  In a voice he scarcely recognized as his, he said, “You had better mean that, Your Highness, because you are never escaping me now.”

  He pressed into her, in so far there was no more.

  Her eyes widened. “You’ll do it?”

  Gradually he withdrew. “Marry you? With the greatest of pleasure, Your Highness. While giving the greatest of pleasure”—leaning down to her, he kissed her quivering mouth—“Your Highness.”

  He thrust again, still slow, and she braced herself against his assault. “No,” he whispered. “Relax.”

  She had to relax. The way was slick and tight. Shock no longer held him suspended. Desire grabbed him by the balls and held him in thrall, and for the first time since his first time, he knew he would lose control.

  He didn’t want to hurt her. Please, God, he didn’t want to hurt her, so she had to relax.

  He withdrew and thrust again.

  Her eyes widened, then fluttered shut.

  Again.

  Her leg moved against him, a restless unguarded motion.

  Again.

  She bit her lip, and he kissed it softly.

  Again.

  She lifted her hips in the instinctive rhythm of love.

  His discipline crashed around him. He reached under her and brought her hips up, tilting them up to the right angle. Not to make it easier for her, but because he had to be inside her. Now. Now.

  She moaned. Was she struggling? She clawed at him. Was she fighting? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. She was his. He would make her his. And when he was done—he would make her his again.

  Then, deep within her, the changes started. Her muscles clamped down, trying to hold him.

  Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms reached over her head. She clutched the blanket, tearing at it while she cried out, and he recognized that sweet expression of absolute abandon.

  He’d done it. He’d done it!

  And on a wave of triumph, he penetrated to his full length, and convulsed in the primal sowing of his seed.

  She thought he would move off her now that the deed was done. And he did lift himself, but only enough to ease the bone-deep ache caused by his weight and by... she didn’t know by what. The frenzied activity, she supposed. Certainly he didn’t seem to be worried about what had happened inside her. He remained firmly in possession, although without his former proportions, and through her closed eyelids she could almost see the intense concentration he bent on her.

  “Did you mean it?” he asked.

  A fair question, she supposed. How many other women proposed marriage at such a time? “I want you to wed me.”

  “No, the other.”

  Cautiously she opened her eyes. He looked just as she had known he would, brooding, fierce, demanding, and at once she lost the thread of the conversation. “What?” she asked weakly.

  “What you said first. Before the proposal.”

  “Oh.” He couldn’t even speak the word, she noted. “That I love you? Yes, I do.”

  Some of the fierceness faded, and he put his forehead against hers. “Thank God. I thought the swelling had spread to my brain.”

  She couldn’t help it. Although he hadn’t returned her declaration, although she doubted he knew the meaning of love, he amused her, and she giggled.

  He watched her, a half-smile tugging at his lips. Carefully he withdrew from her and moved to one side, closing her legs and tugging down her chemise. He moved to the edge of the mattress, and she heard the thump of his boots as he discarded them at last. He stood. She hoped he would pull up his trousers. He removed them. He walked away from her out of th
e cottage, his slight limp in evidence, and she found her gaze riveted on the motion of his nether cheeks.

  Before, she’d been infatuated with his shoulders. Now, it appeared her obsession had moved lower. She hoped it would stop there, and wondered what his feet were like.

  Almost at once he returned, carrying the bucket and an armful of towels. He held the towels to his chest. She kept her gaze fixed on his face.

  He stood over the top of her and blessed her with one of those genuine Dominic-smiles. “It’s a little late for that,” he said. “You might as well look at the whole packet.”

  She glanced. She didn’t mean to, but her gaze just dropped by itself. Everything below his waist looked a lot different now. Not nearly as frightening, until one pondered the magical ability of his body parts to change sizes. The fact that each muscle on his frame was well defined and powerful could alarm a less adventurous woman than she had proved to be. And a scar, memento of his mercenary days, reached long and jagged across his hip.

  He put the bucket on the floor and dropped the towels on the bed. Placing one knee on the mattress, he wet the washcloth and wrung it out over the bucket. “You did tell me,” he said.

  She observed him with alarm, and her overburdened brain at last deciphered what he meant. “About the virginity, you mean.”

  Leaning over her, he wrested the hem of the chemise from her grip. “I didn’t understand.”

  What was he doing? He couldn’t do that. “I know you didn’t.”

  “Part your legs, you little innocent. This will make you feel better.”

  She looked at that washcloth spread over his hand. “No.”

  “It would be better if I picked you up and carried you outside to the pool...” he mused.

  She dragged a pillow over her face, and contemplated not coming out until her blush had faded. That was to say, never.

  “Laurentia?”

  She inched her legs apart.

  He pressed the washcloth between them. “I feared I was hurting you.”

  She spoke into the pillow. “Yes.” He was right. Of course. The coolness did ease the sting. “But what you did before ... it was so much that... well, you promised me pleasure and ...” She peeked out.

  His eyes half-closed as he listened to her stammered explanation, and that half-smile lifted his lips again. “You don’t need to be afraid I’ll hurt you again.” He dropped the cloth in the bucket and eased the chemise out from underneath her.

  “Dom,” she groaned, and pressed the pillow over her eyes again.

  He paid no heed to her distress, but moved the pillow and pulled the chemise over her head. She brought the pillow back immediately and held it to her face, hoping to cool her blush against the muslin.

  Silence followed, the kind of silence that had her poking her head out in a sort of dreadful curiosity.

  He was looking at her. His gaze touched her shoulders, her nipples, the narrow waist and womanly hips.

  She could scarcely breathe, wanting him to like what he saw.

  “Perfect,” he said. And, “Mine.”

  He reached for her. His fingers trickled like cool water over her collarbone, along the outer curve of her breasts, and down to her hips. “We won’t even try to dance the mattress jig until tomorrow morning.”

  The phrases he used!

  “And only then if you’re not in pain.”

  He sounded matter-of-fact, but she noted a small tremble in his fingers, and he touched her nipples once more, circling them with one finger until they tightened the cord that reached low in her belly.

  Then again he lifted her, pulled the covers down, and placed her on the sheets. “In the meantime ...” He wrung out the cloth, and this time when he brought it back, he opened her and washed everything. Everything!

  She squeaked and tried to object, but as soon as she began to speak, he discarded the cloth and placed his head between her legs.

  And this time he brought on that glorious and exhausting sensation with his mouth, just as he had promised he would.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  When Laurentia woke, evening had fallen. Although the sun had gone down, light lingered, bathing everything with a golden glow that seemed fitting for her mood. Gingerly she sat up, pushing the hair out of her face, listening without interest to the complaints of her muscles. Better that every bone in her body ache than she should have remained unenlightened for even one more day.

  What had awakened her, she realized, was the absence of Dom’s heartbeat under her ear. She groped in the bed and, finding his pillow still warm, she called, “Dom?”

  He came through the doorway at once, carrying a tray, with his saddle bag dangling off his arm.

  If he wanted to wash her again, she would have to object. Or maybe not.

  He was still nude, and this time she wasn’t quite so shy. She noted that his muscles defined his body shape, sleek, strong, and graceful. Scars of various shapes and origins occurred everywhere, but especially on his arms and chest. That ugly scar sliced across his hip. Hair liberally sprinkled his chest, hugged the line of his stomach down to his groin, and surrounded his privates, which shifted and moved as she stared.

  Her observation, she realized, aroused him. In that they were alike.

  “There’s no use looking at me in that manner. I am determined that my virgin princess should rest tonight. Besides”—he set the tray and the saddlebag on the floor beside the mattress—“I want to talk.”

  From his amused expression, she got the impression he was paying her back for something, although what she couldn’t imagine. “We can talk,” she agreed cautiously. “But aren’t you cold?” With the sun down, the mountain air quickly cooled, and already she was grateful for the layers of blankets on the bed.

  “I’m naturally warm.” He lifted the covers, slipped in beside her, and put his cold feet on her legs.

  She squealed and pushed at him.

  He laughed and hugged her.

  It was all so natural, as if they’d been lovers for years, yet underneath the normalcy lurked a sense of the exotic. They had known each other for three days only; they knew each other better than any two people in the world. They had discovered everything about each other that mattered; they had everything to discover about each other.

  Lifting the tray, he placed it between them on the mattress. “This cheese you brought stinks like a soldier’s socks.”

  The cold air crept down under the covers, and she hugged her arms around her waist and shivered.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those men who only eats prissy cheese.”

  He dug through his saddlebag and pulled out a shirt. “I’ve eaten enough disgusting things in my life without subjecting myself to rotten cheese.”

  “Like awful eggs?” she asked slyly, remembering their breakfast together.

  He whipped his head around. “You did know!”

  She laughed and contented herself with a noncommittal “Huh.”

  “It’s too late for that.” He wrapped his shirt around her shoulders. “I’ve caught you now.”

  “I let you catch me,” she corrected, gratefully sticking her arms in the sleeves.

  “And you’ll stay caught.”

  He sounded pleasant enough, but she heard the undercurrent in his voice, and she experienced a surge of protectiveness. The poor man couldn’t believe she had committed herself to him. She groped under the covers, found his hand and squeezed it. “Nothing could happen that would change my mind.”

  “I wouldn’t allow it,” he said coolly. “There’s your stinky cheese. I cut some bread, and I dug out these brown things.”

  “Brown things?” She didn’t remember bringing brown things, and twilight was falling quickly. She couldn’t quite see what they were.

  “Dried apples.”

  “Don’t you like dried apples?”

  “I eat anything. I like meat.” He popped an apple in his mouth and chewed. “I’ll go hunting tomorrow.”

 
“Tomorrow?” She was startled. “I thought we’d start for Omnia tomorrow.”

  “No. We’ll stay here for a day. As a honeymoon. I need you to know whose woman you are.”

  His wish to remain seemed a sign of insecurity, but he sounded so decisive, she had to say, “Before we go back to all my suitors, you mean.”

  “Your suitors.” He shook his head. “You never wanted any of them.”

  “No, but—”

  “Eat.” He broke off a piece of cheese and brought it to her lips, waiting until she accepted it. “You’ll need your strength.” He fed her, alternating bites of apple, bread, and cheese, and when she began to flag, he said, “I would like to know. Why were you a virgin?”

  She pulled back from the bite he offered.

  Still he proffered the bread.

  Her appetite gone, she pushed his hand away. She would tell him, but only the barest outline. Anything else would constitute whining, and princesses did not whine. Not when, raised by the turmoil of passion and surrender, their emotions already drifted close to the surface. “Madness afflicted my husband’s family. His Majesty believes Beaumont married me for security and eschewed my bed to avoid producing more ... tormented souls.”

  “Was Beaumont tormented?”

  The night grew darker by the minute. She was glad, for she didn’t want Dom to read her face. “He suffered from bouts of dementia.”

  Dom dusted his fingers over the tray, then lifted it and set it on the floor, removing the barrier between them. “Why did His Majesty let you marry him?”

  “Papa didn’t know. He sent someone to England check up on Beaumont’s antecedents, and our courier came back confirming that Beaumont was indeed titled, of ancient family and the last of his line. Everything Beaumont told us was true. It was what he didn’t tell us.”

  “His Majesty would not marry his beloved daughter to a stranger on that flimsy evidence.”