Loving the Forbidden Prince

ETAN

He'd been right about the nightdress. It was softer than the belly of a kitten, and thin as a breath. 

He groaned her name as he rushed across the room to gather her up, and the nightdress bunched in his fists.

"Please don't be angry," she whispered against his chest, her arms tight around his neck. "But I couldn't sleep without you."

"Neither could I," he rasped.

It was careless, and stupid, and a massive risk that she'd come… but he was so grateful.

It was his last chance. The Father of Lights had answered his prayers and made it possible. He would not question the gift.

"I'm sorry, I—"

But he caught her chin up and took her mouth, sighing as she melted against him, her fingers burrowing into his hair and pulling him down, hard against her lips.

She whimpered and her back arched, and Etan wrapped his arms around her lower back and pulled her in, tight against him.

For a while, they got lost in each other, whispering names, breathing each other's air, scalding hot hands exploring and gripping, clinging, to reassure themselves that they were really there, and really together.

But soon, as Ayleth's hands filled with his chest, his shoulders, his back, he grew frustrated with the thin fabric of her nightdress and gripped the skirt, fisting it, furling it up and up and up as he kissed her, until he had it at her waist and she raised her arms obediently.

He pulled out of the kiss just long enough to yank the nightdress up and over her head, tugging the gathered cuffs off her wrists, then he threw it across the room and they clashed back together, Ayleth giving a little sigh of relief when the finally met, skin to skin.

Her hands were back in his hair, pulling him down to her mouth again, but now she'd wrapped her knee around his thigh and pressed herself against him.

Etan groaned and cupped her ass with both hands, pulling her against him and they both sighed at the tingling pleasure that cascaded through them, centered on where their bodies met. Etan rubbed himself against her and her head tipped back. 

He was tempted to follow the shift of her weight and walk her backwards into the  wall, to lift her fully and seat himself inside her and take her, hard and fast…

But she was so new to this. Her hands trembled, and the tiny mewling sound she made when he kissed her neck made her sound as if she could be broken so easily.

She could not, he knew. She was strong and bold, and she loved him with abandon. 

But this was not the night for animalistic humping.

This was the night to make love. Just in case… in case it really was the last time.

So, with a sigh of restraint, Etan straightened.

The sight of her, silvered in moonlight, arched back, her neck bent to give him better access, her breasts pointing for the sky now that he'd pulled away. Her nipples peaked and hard… it almost sent him over the edge.

He shuddered, but urged her up, to straighten and take her own weight so he could lead her to the bed.

She blinked as he pulled her upright, confused and for a moment, uncertain. But he smiled and combed her hair back with his fingers. "Come to bed, wife," he murmured, then took her hand and kissed her knuckles, smiling at her as he did.

A slow, delighted smile spread on her face. "Only if you come too," she whispered back.

He wondered if she heard the innuendo in those words. He doubted it. In so many ways she was still so innocent.

But he led her to the high bed, then drank in the sight of her climbing two steps to reach its top, then crawling across the cover to the side that was as-yet undisturbed. 

She sat, leaning on one arm, her legs bent modestly, and looked back at him.

He felt like he'd been struck in the head by a poleaxe. Dumbstruck by her beauty. 

Her hair curled around her shoulders and drifted over her breasts, her nipples only peeking out from underneath it when she breathed.

Her smooth stomach and rounded waist called to him—here was the perfect place to rest his hand. And here, between her strong thighs, between the softest, silkiest skin on her body, was the place to rest his body. 

"Oh, Ayleth," he croaked. 

There was no more talking. He scrambled up onto the bed and into her arms, covering her. 

He trembled, and not just with the need he felt to have her, to own her, to make her his own. To brand himself on her. 

He trembled in awe, because she smiled and opened her arms, laid back on the pillow, her hair making a halo around her beautiful face, and she gave herself. Shamelessly pulled him to rest between her knees. He was still staring when she clung to his shoulders and lifted her head to take his mouth.

Then, his wife—his beautiful, strong, innocent wife wrapped her arms and legs around him and opened herself to him, arching to bring them together. And the sizzle that erupted in his skin, low in his belly, the ache that was an appetite only she could satisfy, overwhelmed him.

He took her face in his hands, tangled their tongues, then thrust all the way home.

Ayleth made a strangled cry of joy and her head tipped back, eyes closed at the sheer bliss of taking him in.

Still trembling, Etan tasted her chin, her jaw, kissed his way down her neck as they rocked together, long and slow. He pulled all the way out, then slowly, slowly eased back in, over and over again, until it seemed that the only thing left in the world was that space between them, where they joined, where they ached, and where only they could soothe each other. 

"Ayleth," he rasped. Her small fingers gripped his back, fists full of muscle and skin as she urged him towards more, deeper, faster.

But Etan gritted his teeth and forced himself to restraint. He would enjoy her. He would make this last. He would see her gasping before he gave himself over.

If this turned out to be his last chance, he would remember it with nothing but pleasure and perfect joy. 

***** 

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