It was that restraint that decided me. After Gaspard and his cruelty, after being taken and used and denied my own pleasure, Alain’s careful respect was like cool water on a burn. I could feel my core throbbing with need, my womanhood slick and ready in a way it had never been for any human man before.
“I’m certain,” I said, rolling my hips deliberately against his hardness, drawing a strangled groan from deep in his chest. “But I need... I need to be the one in control. I had a strange dream about us. Well, two, but in the second one, you were almost crueler.”
"You had the dreams too?" he asked in reverence. Then his face fell. "I woke from that second one feeling worst than what Gaspard had done to you. I didn't know you lived it too, Isabeau. I'd never hurt you like that. Be that rough…"
I touched his face for a mere minute, my mind still reeling that we had truly shared those intimate moments. Another layer to this impossible pull toward each other. "I know, but I want this to be my choice. My turn to control."
His hands tightened briefly at my waist, then relaxed. “Whatever you need. I’m yours.”
Those simple words unlocked something inside me. Something that had been caged and cowering since Gaspard first put his hands on me. I sat up straighter, still straddling Alain’s hips, and reached for the laces of my dress.
My fingers trembled as I worked the knots, not from fear but from a building anticipation. Alain watched me, his breathing shallow, his eyes darkening as each tug loosened the fabric further. I wasn’t seductive or practiced like the women who worked the taverns back in Thorndale, but the naked hunger in his gaze made me feel powerful. Desirable not just for my face or form, but for who I was. For what I wanted.
The dress slipped from my shoulders, pooling around my waist before he helped me gather the fabric to completely remove it over my head. My breasts fell free, heavy and full, nipples tightening in the cool air. Or perhaps from the heat in Alain’s eyes as he stared at them, his throat working in a hard swallow.
“Gods, Isabeau,” he breathed, the words nearly lost in the sound of his ragged breathing. “You’re so beautiful.”
I fought the urge to cover myself. Gaspard had said similar words, but they’d been possessive, objectifying. Alain’s praise felt different. Reverent, awed. He looked at my body not as a thing to own but as a marvel to worship.
“Can I touch you?” he asked, hands hovering inches from my skin.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. When his fingers finally brushed the underside of my breast, I gasped. Such a simple touch, yet it sent lightning through my veins, pooling low in my belly. He cupped the weight of me in his palm, his thumb brushing over my nipple with exquisite gentleness.
“Is this okay?” he whispered, worried about hurting me like in that dream.
“Yes,” I managed, the word breaking on a soft moan as he continued his exploration. “More than okay.”
I leaned forward, bracing my hands on his chest, my hair falling around us like a curtain of privacy. The movement pressed my breast more firmly into his hand, and we both made small sounds of pleasure. The heat between my legs was building, my core clenching around emptiness in a way that was becoming almost painful. My center was a void, but I didn’t want it to be hollow. I wanted it filled, achingly so.
Driven by an instinct I didn’t fully understand, I reached for his trousers, my fingers fumbling with the laces. Alain froze beneath me, his breath catching.
“Isabeau,” he said, my name rough in his throat. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I interrupted, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’ve never... not like this. Not willingly.”
Understanding darkened his eyes, followed by a flash of anger not directed at me. He nodded once, his hands moving to help guide mine through the unfamiliar fastenings. Together, we worked the laces free, and I slipped my hand beneath the fabric.
The heat of him surprised me. So hot and hard, yet the skin was impossibly soft. I wrapped my fingers around his length, marveling at how different it felt from what I’d known before.
“You’re so big,” I blurted, then felt heat rush to my cheeks. But it was true. Gaspard had been small, his pathetic shaft more of an annoyance than anything else. What I held now was at least three times that size, thick and heavy in my palm.
Alain let out a strained laugh. “Is that a problem?”
I shook my head, still exploring him with curious fingers. “No. The women who worked at the tavern used to whisper about men like you. They said a manhood this size could make a woman see stars.”
The crude words fell from my lips more easily than I’d expected, and something in Alain’s expression shifted. His eyes darkened further, his hands tightening on my waist.
“Say it again, but say the word cock,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Cock? You want your cock to make me see stars?” I repeated as a question, tasting the new word, surprised by how the word thrilled me. It was dirty, forbidden. The kind of language nice girls never used. But I wasn’t a nice girl anymore. I was a witch, a woman claimed by beasts, and now, perhaps, by this prince who looked at me like I was the answer to every question he’d ever asked.
“Lord help me, Isabeau. I’m going to cum just by your mouth learning filthy words.” Oh, how I’d like that.
I pushed his trousers down further, freeing him completely. He sprang up against his stomach, the head glistening with moisture. Alain’s hands moved to his shaft, wrapping around where mine had been, stroking slowly.
“Is this what you want to see?” he asked, his voice dropping to a register I hadn’t heard from him before. Something primal and masculine.
I couldn’t look away. His hand moved up and down his length with a practiced ease, thumb occasionally brushing over the head in a way that made his breath catch. A small drop of fluid formed at the tip, pearlescent in the amber light.
