He turned to look at me, his eyes dropping first to my chest, then up to my hair. I’d had to cut it really short right after he’d found me, for my least favorite reason: lice. Now, if I didn’t have on a dress, I could easily be mistaken for a boy. But not when I was naked.
I grinned down at my chest. My boobs were small, but perfectly formed, the left one the tiniest bit bigger than the right. I grabbed them both, examining them closely while Charles listened for his father. My girls had personality. Perky yet reliable. Small yet mighty. One a little shy, the other a total hussy.
I made a mental note to come up with names for them the next time I was making a guessing list for my Mystery Man.Rumple,I reminded myself. For now, he was Rumple.
“You’re not disgusting, you know. For a girl.”
I stopped admiring my tits and frowned up at Charles. He had maneuvered himself up on one elbow, looking casual, though I could tell he was still panicking.
I made a face, and he shook his head. “No, really. You’re quite fetching.” His eyes closed halfway, as he took in my form. “I’ve fucked far less beautiful women than you.”
My blood froze. “Wait. Uh…women?” The word came out strangled. My eyes dropped to his groin, and I realized his dick was starting to lengthen along his thigh.
“Of course. A gentleman may prefer sausage, but every once in a while, he can enjoy a bite or two of, how did you put it? Croissant.”
He wanted my hairy croissant? I felt the blood rushing toward my face to live in my hot cheeks. “Ah, so… this isn’t a pretend bedding moment? A show for dear old Dad? We’re actually going to?—”
“Have aménage àtoi?” he said with a grin, pulling me toward him. “Why not?” His hand threaded through my short hair, tugging at the ends, then dropped down my back to land on my ass. I didn’t have much back there, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I thought he might like my almost-nonexistent curves. His dick got thicker and longer, anyway.
“Do you not find me attractive?” he asked with a smile that made it clear he’d seen how many times I’d ogled him in the past month. “Do you not want to see what I can do to you?” He hesitated. “Although I must warn you, I take a very long time to finish with a woman. We might be fucking for an hour. Possibly more.”
“Ah…” I had nothing to say. I was busy doing mental math. I’d tried to have sex four times in this life. The first guy I’d been with had popped his cork in less time than it took to saymerde. The last guy had started making his O face the instant I wrapped my fingers around his weiner.
“That sounds nice,” I managed. I had a feeling, if Charles could last a really long time, and I could get a hand down there for an assist, theun-deuxcombo might be just what it took for me to find mypetit mort.
Charles didn’t seem at all interested in reaching down and exploring my cave of wonders, though. In fact, the instant I spoke, he flipped me over onto my stomach and pressed himself along my back. “You feel good. Such a tight little body.”
“Oof,” I replied, his weight pressing me into the down comforter.
He knocked my knees apart and began thrusting his now-hard cock toward the target.
Well, sort of. “That’s not it,” I said, trying to sound sexy and cute. If that was possible with a mushroom-shaped rod trying to find its way into my back passage. He kept going, so I repeated myself, louder.
“It is,” he grunted, stabbing at me again.
I grimaced, twisting my hips to one side. “I may not have much experience, but I know which hole is for sexy times and which one is for the least sexy of all times.”
He huffed. “It can be sexy, you just have to?—”
“That’s. Not. It.” I shifted, making certain the target was lined up, and when I felt his head at my entrance, yelled into the down mattress, “That’s it! That’s the spot!”
Before Charles could reply, the door flew open, and a demon rushed inside. For a moment, I wondered if it was one of the St. Valentine’s fête partygoers. The Dauphine’s cousin had instructed all her guests to come dressed as angels or devils, for St. Valentine’s Day itself. But that wasn’t until tomorrow.
And when I blinked, I realized I’d been seeing the intruder’s soul, not his exterior. This man was sturdily built, tall, with an Aquiline nose and sharp, dark eyes, but dressed in a fine black suit and cravat. He wore gold chains on his neck and both hands were covered with gold rings, some of them with cut stones. He was an older version of his handsome son, and he’d aged like fine wine.
A very, very hot Daddy on the outside.
But inside, he was so tainted and out of balance, his soul made me think of hot tar, roiling in a bucket.
“Father?” Charles gasped.
The Comte du Périgord glared at us in the bed, and cursed, “Fucking a boy again, just like they said. You useless piece of shit, I told you what would happen. I warned you!”
Wait.He thought I was a boy?
He crossed the room in three steps, grabbing the poker from beside the fireplace. “I’ll beat the sin out of you.”
To his credit, Charles shoved me off the bed, away from his father. “She’s not a boy!” he tried to say, but his father was already at the bed, the poker raised. I scrambled to my feet, while Charles ducked down, cowering on the bed.
