The Prince's Pet Page 6

  My skin was still against his, my breasts pressed against his hard chest with only my dress between us, and now I really could feel his warmth. I cursed myself for my clumsiness and was about to let go and give up, when to my surprise he gave a small amused laugh, and moved to help me.

  He wrested the shirt from my hands and pulled it off in one smooth movement. "Perhaps I should get you a stool to stand on next time?" He said.

  I wondered if he was jesting - somehow I couldn't imagine this sincere and intense man making a joke. Was he trying to make me feel better? Trying to get me to warm to him?

  I grimaced and looked away. "I am sorry, my Lord."

  He ignored my apology and handed me the shirt. I hurried to put it aside for laundering, grateful for an excuse to remove myself from his presence for a brief moment. But I had to turn back, and face the next task.

  He looked at me with such a straight expression. He might have been amused, or annoyed, or his mind might have been elsewhere - I couldn't tell. It frustrated me. I went back to him, and sank down to the floor again, forcing myself to start on the ties of his leather armor.

  The leather thong was stiff and refused to budge. As I wrestled with it I continued cursing myself, which was a good distraction really. I was just beginning to wonder if he would have to help me again when the laces finally came loose and I was able to pull them open.

  Issander stood perfectly still as I loosened the buckles on the armor, circling around him and kneeling to get to those at his calves. Finally I had the unwieldy armor off and took it to hang where he indicated.

  He was clad only in dark green cloth breeches. And it didn't look like he was about to spare me the duty of undressing him. I was sure he was smirking now. Sure of it, even as I looked at him, helplessly drinking in the sight.

  He was hairless on the chest, but a dark trail led from below his navel, to down underneath his waistband. His chest was well-defined, his shoulders broad. He had several scars ranging from faint to new - the only thing marring his beautiful dusky skin.

  I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of looking nervous or fumbling any more than I already had, so I focused on keeping my face as neutral as his, and stilling my shaking hands.

  I walked to him again and took a moment to figure out the unfamiliar Cimbrite garment. I hadn’t exactly had any experience undressing men, and his breeches were different than those worn in Thessia - at least those I'd laundered at home.

  Finally, I had unwrapped the long belt and the garment was open. I averted my eyes as best I could, and knelt to the side as I helped him step out of them.

  But in the end, I couldn't help my own damned curiosity. My eyes flicked up and I saw his nakedness. His manhood was free, half-erect before my eyes.

  My eyes widened and I swallowed hard before quickly looking away. Were all men so... well-equipped? Of course, I had nothing to compare to - unless you counted farm animals.

  Then, of course, came the intrusive thought - the memory - of his bulge pressing hard against my stomach, while I writhed and groaned on his lap.

  I gathered the clothes up from the floor, aware of his nakedness on display right above me. I was sure he was watching me, with that smirk on his face - amusing himself at my expense. My face burned with intense heat as I busied myself with the laundry.

  Did he enjoy my humiliation as much as he had enjoyed my pain? I supposed that was his right, really. I was his slave after all. But I still cursed myself for showing my ignorance and naivete. If only I was some knowledgeable, jaded woman. Instead, I was a virgin peasant girl from a foreign land.

  When I turned back, he had immersed himself in the steaming water, and was sitting back with his arms resting lazily on the edge. Steam rose into the air, and as I approached I could smell some floral fragrance in it. Rose, perhaps. The water was milky, sparing me the sight of his naked lower half, for now.

  There was a pile of soft cloths, a brush, three small pots filled with different substances, and an empty vase sitting on the floor next to the bath. I knelt down on the small, thick rug that had been spread out, grateful for the reprieve for my knees. “What does my Lord wish me to do now?” I asked.

  He turned his head slowly toward me, and I thought how strange it was to see him from this angle, at the same height. I was surprised to discover that his eyes weren’t wholly brown - they had a lovely green ring around the iris that hadn’t been visible until he was close. And they were framed by long dark lashes that now blinked slowly at me.

  “The jars are laid out in order, left to right.” He said. “The left is for my hair. The next is for my body. The other is for massage, which sometimes we do after.” He sat up, and cupped water in his hands then scrubbed his face.

  “Shall I wash your hair for you then, my Prince?” I asked.

  He nodded once, and I brought the empty vase over to fill with water. Hesitantly, I moved close, and as he tilted his head back I poured the water, using my hand to keep it from his face as it sluiced over him.

  Once more I felt exposed and vulnerable, as my chest pressed against the edge of the tub, my breasts squeezed together and pushed up at the neckline of my dress. I was very aware of him watching me - and to my shame and embarrassment, my nipples began to harden. It is only the cold marble causing it, I told myself, and tried to ignore it.

  I lathered his hair, working the thick soap through with my fingers and massaging it into his scalp. He leaned back, and began to relax.

  I could feel the tension draining away from him, his shoulders dropping slightly and his jaw un-clenching as I worked. In turn, I began to calm down. The silence was comfortable, and I concentrated on my work.

  I soaped his hair for as long as I reasonably could, then rinsed it well. It took a long time for me to untangle his hair using only my fingers. While his eyes were still closed I reached for the next jar. Using a small cloth I began to wash his body, starting at his neck and trying to steel myself for the rest.

  “I never asked your name.” He said suddenly, as I scrubbed his arm, watching the soap lather up on his skin.

  “Eveline, my Lord.” I answered dutifully.

  “Eveline.” He repeated slowly, as though tasting the word. My name sounded foreign on his tongue. He paused for a moment. “How long have you been a slave?”

  I shrugged. Why did that matter to him? “I... do not know, my Lord. Only since I was taken from my village. A few weeks ago.”

  “How many masters have you had?”

  I stopped, bemused. “None, my Lord. I was sold by the raiders, and no sooner had a merchant bought me than he sold me to Ellys.” I remembered to keep washing then, reaching out to bring his hand out of the water and hold it so I could sponge the underside of his arm.

  “Really?” He sounded surprised, and it looked like he was thinking to himself for a moment. He looked away as he asked, as though the topic made him uncomfortable. “The raiders... did they... treat you cruelly?”

  I furrowed my brow. Was he asking if I’d been violated by the brutes? “They beat me bloody, Lord. That is all. They wanted little to do with the Thessian women.”

  “That is good.”

  “Well... I could have done without the beating.” The sarcastic words were out before I could stop them. I held my breath - but his mouth only twitched as though trying to smile.

  “What did you do to earn it?” He asked.

  “I tried to fight, to resist them when they put us in the wagon.”

  “Then they were only reminding you of your place. Although I would not have been so brutal.”

  I thought of his promise to use a whip on me next time I disobeyed. “Oh?”

  “Yes. An honorable man will never draw the blood of a slave.”

  "What does it matter, if a slave is just property?" I heard the bitter tone of my own voice, and I bit my lip. I really had to learn to control my mouth. Why was I determined to test him, so soon after being punished?

  But he only sighed wearily. "I
do not destroy my valuable possessions either. And a slave is still a person. I understand the need for discipline, but I despise those who are unnecessarily cruel."

  Resolved to hold my tongue now, I chose to say nothing.

  I ran the cloth over his neck and collarbone, then down lower, making wide slow circles with the soapy water. I couldn't help admiring his well defined chest, his taut muscles and strong arms. He practiced with the sword every day to cultivate that physique, and looked every bit the warrior. I wondered what it was like to watch him in action.

  I signaled for him to sit forward and poured water over his back. I soaped his back with my hand then scrubbed with the cloth. The slow rhythmic action continued to calm me, and he seemed in a better mood. Somewhere in the middle I found the courage to speak again, choosing a benign subject.

  “My Lord, may I ask you something?”

  “Hmm?” It was a noncommittal grunt.

  “How do you speak my language so well? You are almost natural at it.”

  Some of his tension come back, his back straightening almost imperceptibly. “I knew someone when I was a child, who was from your country. My father’s slave.”

  I nodded, saying nothing.

  “She was kind to me." He continued."And a friend to my mother the queen. It's common for royalty to keep personal slaves, you see, and the king’s wife has no authority to object. But with my family, there was never any jealousy between them.”

  I met his eyes, and he was looking back at me, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “After my mother died,” he said, “I was glad of her presence for my father’s sake. And despite constant urging, he wouldn’t take another wife. Not up until his slave's death years later. I was sure he loved her.”

  I wondered if speaking of it made him sad. But I was amazed that he was talking openly, and even relaxing in my presence. He seemed so different to the stern intimidating man that had punished me earlier. How could he change so quickly between both? Which was his real nature?

  “A lovely story, my Lord.” I murmured. “What were their names?”

  “My mother was Queen Aishe.” He smiled wryly. “A formidable woman, but kind and well-loved. I don’t remember her very well. She died when I was quite young. The slave was Ysobel.”

  And after her death, I supposed, had come Indari. A chance to make more sons for the king - to safeguard his inheritance. But it hadn’t worked out that way. I knew he had sisters, but there had been no more potential heirs.

  “In our land, our names have meaning.” I said. “Ysobel means 'promise', I believe.”

  “Oh?” And now a genuine smile touched his lips. “I didn't know that.” He shifted to look at me. “What does your name mean?”

  The way he looked at me – his eyes shining with mirth and warmth – sent a hot wave through my body. I watched my hands as I wrung out the cloth in the warm water. “It means... life.”

  He smiled again, and I felt the blush creep back.

  I busied myself with the cloth again, but I was quickly running out of safe places to wash. Just get it over with, I told myself. What was I so afraid of? Aside from my master, that is... and he wants me to bathe him, so that is what I'll have to do.

  I experimentally dipped the cloth under the waterline, softly scrubbing his stomach. He relaxed back, letting his head rest back on the edge and sinking a little lower in the water. It was still warm, and I was hot and felt sticky with steam, moisture beading on my face. As I blindly stroked his skin with the sponge he turned his head to look at me.

  "You have no reason to be afraid." He said. "I may be strict, but I am not cruel.” There was sincerity in his dark eyes.

  I sat back on my heels, stilling my hand on his stomach. I swallowed hard. He was being sincere with me, and I wanted to do the same in return. "It's only... I am a virgin, my Lord." I admitted. My face burned furiously, and I used my free hand to push hair from my eyes.

  I felt his stomach tense and move under my hand, and he blinked in surprise. "How many years are you?" He asked.

  "Nineteen."

  He looked away with a sigh, then furrowed his brow. "In our land, you would have been married years ago."

  I stared blankly at the water. "Aye, my Prince. In mine, too. It just never happened."

  "Why not? You are not... well, you are very beautiful."

  I couldn't help a slight smile. He sounded almost awkward. "Thank you, my Lord." I didn't answer the question, because I didn't entirely know the answer.

  "I am glad you told me." He moved, causing the water to slosh, and I felt him take the cloth from my hand. He put his hand over mine where it rested on his stomach under the water, and leaned slightly toward me. "You belong to me now." He said, closing his hand to capture my own. "And my plans for you have not changed. But I will not rush, and I will not give you more than you can handle."

  I raised my eyes to his, and this time made an effort to hold his gaze.

  "Do you understand?"

  "I think so, my Lord."

  Indeed, a sense of relief washed over me. If he spoke truly, and if I did my best to please him and avoid his wrath, perhaps we could get along. Some of the fear I had been holding onto for so long left me, then, and I felt a profound weight lift from my shoulders.

  "But you must not be afraid to touch me." He said. "There is nothing unnatural or shameful about our bodies." And his hand moved mine lower.

  I gasped as I felt the thick hair under my fingertips. Then lower, his rigid member. He was looking at me, but I was watching the water as I let him move my hand, concentrating on what I felt. His skin was hot, and soft - and yet firm. As he held my hand against him I could feel him grow harder, and twitch under my fingers.

  "There is nothing wrong or frightening about this." He said, and I noticed the way his voice had grown low and husky. "It is my body's natural reaction to your touch."

  "Yes, my Lord," I breathed. Hesitantly, I explored his skin, and as I began to move, he took his hand away, resting his arm back on the edge of the tub. I let my fingers wander along the length of him, curious, and then lower. I felt the base of his shaft, and the soft sac beneath. Gently, I closed my fingers around it, feeling the firm stones within.

  He moved, shifting his weight. "You must be gentle there." He said with a soft chuckle.

  I took my hand away, alarmed. "I am sorry. Did I hurt you?"

  "No." He laughed again. "Quite the opposite."

  I wrung my fingers together anxiously.

  "It would please me if you felt free to touch me any time we are alone."

  "Aye, my Lord."

  "Very well. Let's finish this bath. The water grows cold."

  The tension evaporated. I washed his feet, relieved. When he got out of the tub, I took the clean towels and dried his skin.

  It was easier to look at him now, since I had been touching him only a moment before. I allowed myself to admire his statuesque body: his strong limbs, broad shoulders and his firm behind. His member stood proudly, still aroused, and I didn't shy from the sight.

  As I dried it, giving the area equal attention to the rest of him, He made a sharp intake of breath. He made a small sound and smiled, not hiding his pleasure, and I felt an obscure thrill to see the reaction he had to my touch. And as he'd said, it was not frightening.

  He smiled at me, standing completely naked, his hair still wet and shining. "Go and warm my bed." He said. Seeing me stiffen slightly, he sighed and looked at me earnestly. "Just get undressed and get in the bed. Keep it warm for me." Then he moved closer, looking down at me and staring directly into my eyes. "I will not be hurting you tonight."

  "Yes, my Prince." I bowed my head.

  It might have been only minutes but time dragged and it felt like hours. I lay restlessly between the Prince's luxurious sheets, waiting for him to come to his bed.

  The mattress was so soft – even more comfortable than I'd imagined, and certainly softer than I'd ever slept on. The quilts were light and yet
warm. The whole arrangement was determined to lull me to sleep, and yet I was wide awake, wound tighter than a bow-string.

  My whole body was alert. I fidgeted endlessly. My nipples were still hard and sensitive, and the warmth and wetness between my legs hadn't ceased since the bathing ritual.

  I remembered times at home when I'd woken from dreams feeling this way. In the dark of my own room I would sleepily explore my own body, running my hands over my breasts and imagining a lover. Now the anonymous figure had been replaced with Prince Issander's body, with all its planes and hard muscles. His large, warm hands, his smooth warm skin and deep eyes.

  I couldn't help but feel shame. He was my master - my captor. I was his property. I should not be feeling such things. I should hate him for doing this to me. Or at the least, I shouldn't go to his bed willingly!

  I will not hurt you tonight, he had said. He had no obligation to make such a promise. I was his slave, and he could do whatever he wanted. I believed him - and still... if he wasn't going to take me tonight, I wondered what else he had planned. But was I afraid, or merely eager to find out?

  When he entered the room, a vague dark shape in the dim light, I pretended sleep. He snuffed the lanterns. I felt his weight move the mattress, and he pulled the covers over himself.

  I was laying curled in on myself, facing away from him – naked, as per his command. I could sense him looking over at me.

  He rolled to face me, then moved close, settling next to me. I could smell his clean smell, and feel the heat of his skin. He reached out, and touched my hair, and my heart resumed its thudding.

  For the longest time he ran his fingers through my hair, idly untangling its waves. He stroked my head and hair, caressing me slowly. At first it felt odd - almost like I was being petted like a cat. But slowly I found my eyes closing, my eyelids growing heavy. My tension melted away as my Master ran his hands over me.

  His hand wandered over my shoulder, down my arm to the elbow. Back to my hair. Tracing long strokes over my body. My hands were tucked under my chin, shielding my body, so his hand dropped down to brush over my hip and thigh.

  I opened my eyes at his touch there, roused from my near-sleep. But he just continued stroking me, from my shoulder to the curve of my hip. His fingers left a shivery, tingling sensation in their wake, and I shifted my thighs together restlessly.