Loving the Forbidden Prince

ETAN

With trembling fingers, Etan drew back first one side of her blouse, then the other, his fingers only trailing over the top of her chest to slide the soft fabric away until she was bared to his gaze. And he groaned.

Ayleth's breath ratcheted up, but her eyes were wide on his, measuring him. He could feel his gaze darken as the ache in his belly became a fire.

Then he let all four fingers rest on her skin and dragged them down over the rosy peak of her breast and she shivered. "Oh!" And her nipple, already firm, peaked under his touch.

Etan smiled and trailed his fingers across her ribs to the other side, circling her breast then dragging down over that nipple as well, which was already reaching for the sky and hard as a rivet under his fingertips. He swallowed a groan. Ayleth closed her eyes and sighed. "Oh, that is lovely," she said breathlessly.

"I couldn't agree more," he whispered, taking in the sight of her white skin, high breasts, her throat bared, and her jaw slack. She brought both hands up to cup his neck and pulled him down into a kiss, and he went willingly, letting himself finally cup first one breast, then the other, kneading and rubbing his thumb over each nipple until she tensed in time with his stroking and her breath became heavy.

Their kiss went deep. Etan couldn't decide what was more thrilling—the way she arched into him, opening herself to his kiss, or the way her skin pebbled under his touch and her every gasp and twitch came in response to it.

Then she pulled his shirt open and pulled him down until they were chest to chest and they both sighed. Ayleth let her head drop back and he kissed down her throat, his breath hot against her skin. He nipped her collarbone then he lay the flat of his tongue on the spot. She gasped, and he felt her ripple under his hands.

He got lost in her—her smell, her warmth, the plump softness of her breasts, the firm roll of her hips… for many minutes he simply explored, paying attention to what made her arch, and when she relaxed.

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His own coals of desire glowed with heat and he had to adjust himself more than once, but she didn't seem to notice, her arms thrown around his neck, or fingers in his hair—or on his chest.

But as he kissed his way down the column of her neck again, he shifted his weight to his knees and continued down.

Ayleth began to lift her head. "What—?"

Then with a groan, he latched onto one nipple and sucked, and her head fell back. "Oh, Etan!"

He shushed her, and she bit down on her lip, writhing beneath him—not to free herself, but because she wanted more—more contact, more pressure, more of him.

He moved to the other side, laving that breast with his tongue and a noise broke from her throat that had him humming with pleasure—which made her gasp too.

He shifted again, laying between her thighs, looming over her to kiss and whisper, to taste her and let her cling and he could see her beginning to lose control. The little whimpers in her throat, the gasps—her hand slapped on his neck when she reached for him as he kissed her breasts again. Then he rolled his hips into her, letting his hardness press against her softness, and she cried out.

For a crystal, shivering moment, Etan fought a war with himself. He wanted her. He wanted her badly—and clearly she wanted him as well. It would be so easy. No one would need to know. They'd be married in weeks—he'd make sure of that—even if she did get pregnant, it wouldn't cause a problem.

But… as she clung to him and pulled him in, blind with lust, he forced himself to focus.

They would know. And they would be under fierce scrutiny as soon as there was even a hint from one of their parents that the two of them were close.

Could he, in good heart, look her father in the eye and tell him he, Etan, was a man of honor, if he'd taken his daughter in the hayloft?

Growling his frustration, because he knew the answer, Etan dropped to one elbow, curling his arm around her head and pulling her close again. "Hold on, my love," he whispered in her hair as he flattened his hand to her stomach, then slid down, down, down—beyond the waistline of her breeches and into the confines there where he found her so warm, and his fingers slid against her because she was so ready, she jerked just from the touch of him passing over her sensitive flesh. "Hold on."

She must have heard him, though she seemed beyond it, because as he let himself explore her, as he groaned at the beauty and heat of her, as her breath caught and she arched into his hand, she slid one hand into his hair, and the other to his neck.

"Etan… Etan…" she gasped in rhythm with his touch.

"I'm here, Ayleth. I'm here," he rasped, entering her with only one finger, but opening his mouth against hers when she clenched around him.

And then he began to play.

Very quickly, her head dropped back, and she began to pant, her body trembling, arching and tensing at the peak of each stroke of his fingers and thumb, then sagging, only to arch again. He listened carefully to the moments when her breath stopped, or broke, noted what made her clench and when she relaxed, marveled at her openness, her utter lack of self-consciousness when she trembled, when she cried, and when she spoke his name.

Then he found it, the rhythm, the pressure, that brought her writhing into his palm. Etan dropped his head against her shoulder and groaned into her neck as she clung, and pressed, whimpering.

She was close. She was so close.

"Etan!"

"It's okay, my girl. It will be wonderful. I'm here—" Then, adding pressure, he let his thumb slide from almost at her core, up, towards that magic bundle of nerves that promised to light her whole skin.

"I… I can feel—oh!" Her eyes went wide, and a rasping groan erupted from her throat as she threw her head back. Her entire body jerked and trembled, and she clenched around his finger. "Etan!" He leaned up to take her mouth, swallow her cries. Then, as she began to relax, he moaned and pressed himself against her hip, though there was no relief in it as she twitched and rolled, clinging to him and crying his name.

"Dear Lord, you're beautiful," he gasped when she sucked in a breath and her body sagged. She was rocked with two or three more waves of pleasure and he slowed his touch to match her breathing until she slumped, and he stopped.

They lay there, both panting, his head buried in her neck, his body rigid with desire, where hers was slack, soft and giving under him.

"Oh, Etan," she breathed a moment later. "That pleased me. That pleased me very much." She rolled toward him and he forced himself to open his eyes and meet her gaze.

Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed. She took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, her tongue dancing with his. "Very much," she whispered.

"I'm glad," he said and forced a smile, praying she wouldn't notice his—

Then she frowned. "Was it not the same for you?"

Of course she noticed. He rolled her over then, onto her back again and kissed her soundly. "This wasn't about me," he said a minute later, pulling a strand of hair away from her face. "Don't you worry, Ayleth. We have the rest of our lives to do this together."

He stroked her hair, but she stared at him, frowning. Her expression obviously concerned.