49
IRENA
“You should rest,” Valen says, his back to me as he begins to strip off his own clothes, damp from the steam and splashed water. “Or explore the magic wardrobe. See if you can find something for me in there while you’re at it.”
But I can’t move. I stand there like a statue wrapped in the soft towel, as he peels off his clothes. The muscles of his back are mesmerizing—the broad sweep of his shoulders…the deep groove of his spine…the fascinating play of tendons and sinew as he moves. His skin is a shade of warm bronze, marked here and there with old, silvery scars that only make him look more real, more dangerous. He unlaces his trousers and pushes them down his hips.
My mouth goes dry. I’ve seen him naked before of course—several times. But never fully in the light. In the golden glow of the magical flowers, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time.
Valen is… magnificent. It’s not a word I’ve ever applied to a man’s body before. But there is no other word that fits. He is tall and powerfully built, every muscle defined without being grotesque—the hard slabs of his abdomen…the cut of his hips…the powerful thighs. And between them…
I force my gaze away, trying not to remember last night, my cheeks burning, only to have my eyes catch on his long, black hair. Freed from its usual tie, it spills over his shoulders and down his back, black as a raven’s wing. He runs a hand through it, pushing it back from his face, and the simple gesture makes me squeeze my thighs together tightly.
He steps into the tub, sinking into the water with a low groan of relief. The magical plumbing swirls the used water away, replacing it with fresh, steaming clarity. He leans his head back against the rim, eyes closed, looking for all the world like a warrior at rest.
I wait tensely for the vines and flowers to react…but so far he’s just bathing. Nothing is happening.
Valen takes a cake of creamy white soap and begins to wash himself. I watch the sweep of his hands over his chest…the way his biceps flex as he scrubs his arms. He is thorough and unselfconscious. The soap suds slide over the planes of his stomach and then lower… I swallow hard and try not to look.
The peace is shattered by a soft, rustling sound.
My eyes dart back. From the leafy lining of the tub, a new vine is emerging. This one is thicker—a darker green than the ones that attended to me. It moves with a predatory grace, sliding through the water directly toward Valen.
He feels it—his eyes snap open, his body going taut. But he doesn’t move to stop it. He just watches, a strange, intense expression settling on his face, as the vine coils around his thigh.
A bud forms at its tip, swelling rapidly as petals of deep crimson unfurl to reveal a velvety, dark interior. The flower is huge—larger than my fist. It nudges against his hip, then drifts lower, through the water, seeking.
It finds him.
I bite my lower lip as I watch—he doesn’t seem to fear it, doesn’t try to fight it. He just lets it happen.
“What…what are you doing?” I ask, my voice coming out breathless. “You’re just going to let it…let it touch you?”
“Fuck yes, why wouldn’t I? I told you there was no shame in pleasure, didn’t I?” He gives me a wolfish grin. “I like to practice what I preach, sweetheart.”
Then he closes his eyes and his head falls back against the tub with a soft thump. A sharp hiss escapes his clenched teeth.
The crimson blossom has enveloped him, taking his semi-aroused length into its depths. I can see the outline of him through the translucent petals…can see the flower begin to pulse and contract as it sucks him.
“Fuuuck,” he breathes raggedly.
My own body clenches in sympathetic response as I watch him. I’m frozen, the towel clutched to my chest, unable to look away. He’s being taken, just as I was. But his reaction is different—there’s no fear…no struggle. There’s only raw pleasure as he surrenders completely.
His eyes find mine across the room. They’re blazing, full of a heat that has nothing to do with the steam from the bath.
“Look at that,” he growls, as the flower begins to suck in earnest, bobbing slowly on his cock. “Remind you of anything, Princess?”
I can’t speak. I can only stare, mesmerized by the rhythmic motion…the way his shaft glistens wetly each time the flower pulls back.
“Reminds me,” Valen continues, his voice dropping into a low, dirty rumble that vibrates in my own core. “Of a dark cave…of a proud little Princess on her knees. Of a hot, tight mouth sucking me just like this.” His hips give an involuntary jerk, driving himself deeper into the flower’s sucking embrace. “You remember how that felt, don’t you, baby? Your lips stretched around me…your tongue licking up my cream when I came down your throat?”
Each word is a violation—a shocking profanity that makes me wet, though I know I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t listen. I should leave. But somehow I can’t.
My feet are rooted to the spot.
“You loved it,” he growls, his breath coming faster as the flower’s pace increases. Its suction is audible now, a wet, rhythmic shlurp-shlurp-shlurp that fills the steamy room. “You loved the taste of me. You loved making me lose control. I saw it in your eyes when you swallowed.”
“Valen…” It’s a whimper, a plea for him to stop… to never stop.
