My mouth went dry. I licked my lips, trying to restore moisture, and Alain groaned at the sight.
“God, when you do that, it ruins me,” he said, his strokes speeding up slightly. “Do you want to taste it? To try me?”
I’d never considered such a thing before.
Nodding, I bent forward, bringing my face closer to his hand. Up close, I could smell him. Clean sweat and something uniquely male, oddly appealing mixed with the river’s touch.Cautiously, I extended my tongue, lapping at the drop of fluid on his tip.
The taste surprised me. Salty, a bit tangy, but not unpleasant. More than that, the act itself sent a fresh wave of heat between my thighs, making me squirm atop him.
“Fuck, Isabeau,” Alain groaned with a curse I rarely heard, his free hand tangling in my hair. Not pulling or forcing, just holding. Connecting. “That’s it. Just like that.”
Emboldened, I took more of him into my mouth, just the head at first, testing the sensation. Alain made a sound like he was dying, his hips jerking slightly before he controlled himself. The power I felt in that moment was intoxicating. I, who had been powerless for so long, could reduce this prince to trembling need with just my mouth.
I experimented, taking him deeper, using my tongue the way I’d seen my Laurent sometimes lick my womanhood. The thought of my beasts sent a pang through my chest. Not guilt, exactly, but longing. This was different from what we shared. Different, but no less real.
The throbbing between my legs grew insistent, an ache that demanded attention. I shifted, trying to ease it, but the movement only intensified the sensation. I remembered how Laurent had licked between my thighs, how the pleasure had been so intense I’d nearly fainted. Would Alain...?
As if reading my thoughts, he gently pulled me up from his cock. “You’re shifting,” he said, his voice gruff with desire. “Are you uncomfortable?”
I shook my head, embarrassed to explain the need pulsing through me. “It’s just... I feel...”
His hand moved to my thigh, thumb stroking along the sensitive inner skin. “May I touch you here?” he asked, moving his hand higher, closer to where I ached.
“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely audible. “Please.”
The first brush of his fingers against my core drew a cry from my lips that I barely recognized as my own. I was soaking wet, my folds slick and swollen with desire. Alain’s eyes widened slightly at the discovery, his expression one of wonder mixed with raw hunger.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured, sliding one finger through my outer folds, exploring. “Is this all for me?”
I nodded, beyond words as he found the sensitive bud at the top of my aching core. His touch was more precise than anything I’d experienced before. Deliberate where my beasts had been instinctual. When he slipped a finger inside me, I gasped, my inner walls clenching around the invasion.
“Another,” I demanded, surprising myself with my boldness. “I need more.”
He obliged, adding a second finger, stretching me in a way that hinted at what was to come. I began moving on his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. My body knew what it wanted even if my mind couldn’t quite articulate it.
“That’s it,” Alain encouraged, his eyes fixed on where his fingers disappeared inside me. “Take your pleasure. Show me what you need.”
His words unleashed something in me. I rode his hand shamelessly, chasing the building pressure. Without thinking, I reached up to cup my breasts, squeezing them the way I sometimes did in private, pinching my nipples the way that always intensified my pleasure.
Alain cursed, a string of words I’d never heard from his royal lips before. “Fuck, Isabeau. You’re perfect. So perfect when you touch yourself like that.”
His praise washed over me, fueling the fire building in my core. His fingers curled inside me, finding a spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. I was close, so close to something I’d only felt before with my beasts.
But then he withdrew his fingers, leaving me empty and aching.
Before I could protest, he was moving, rolling us so that I lay beneath him on the soft moss floor of our tree sanctuary. His trousers were fully lowered around his knees now, and he knelt between my spread thighs, his cock poised at my entrance.
“The first time you come for me,” he said, his voice roughened by desire, “it’s going to be with my cock buried inside you. Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” I gasped, beyond shame or hesitation. “Please, my prince. I need—”
He pushed forward, the broad head of him stretching me wider than his fingers had. There was a moment of resistance, my body adjusting to his size, and then he thrust home in one smooth movement.
The sensation was overwhelming. Fullness and pressure and a slight edge of pain that quickly transformed into pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. I cried out, my back arching off the moss, my hands fisting in the material of my dress still bunched around my waist.
“Isabeau,” Alain groaned, holding himself still inside me with visible effort. “My woman of beauty, you’re so tight. So perfect.”
The pressure inside me built rapidly, a tidal wave I couldn’t stop. When Alain began to move, withdrawing almost completely before driving back in, I shattered. My release crashed through me with a violence that left me gasping, crying out his name like a prayer or a curse.
