Page 3 of Crown of the Courtesan

I laugh nervously. “Maybe my family drags me from the countryside to be a spectator each year.” The last thing I need is for him to know who I truly am.

“Likely story, love.” His arm encircles my waist and pulls me into his cottage as the storm slams the door shut. As we enter, the cozy room unfolds, bathed in darkness. No candles are lit, but two gleaming cutlasses rest on the nearby table, pinning down the curled edges of a tactile map of the Kingdom of Ashland—its mountains, roads, and villages raised off the scroll. A reminder of his dangerous profession and his part in the ongoing war.

He stumbles backward and sinks into the worn, upholstered chair by the dead fireplace, pulling me into his wide lap. I drop my basket of books on the floor with a satisfying plop.

Fae above, he’s so comfortable.

So warm.

I kick off my boots and melt into his forbidden embrace, my palms caressing his chest over his linen shirt. Wrapping my arms around his pillar of a neck, I twirl his soft curls between my fingertips while the summer storm intensifies outside.

He gives a startled chuckle. “Your hands are burning hot.”

I pull away, but he stops me, placing my hands back on him. He murmurs in my ear. “Today’s voyage was delayed. My ship leaves at dawn now.” He touches my hairline and along my jaw. “And to think—if I hadn’t postponed, I’d be sailing the seas for months without this fiery touch to remember on the cold nights ahead…”

“It must be hard,” I tease, hiking my skirts up and flipping my leg over to straddle his waist, “being captain of an oh-so-dangerous mercenary crew. Aren’t there safer employments on land?” I nuzzle his neck as butterflies flutter in my stomach.

“I know my vessel better than the land, so it’s a relief when I return to sea.”

“And which are you more familiar with right now? Your ship or my body?” His rough hands rest on my hips, stirring wicked memories of what we did last summer. Guilt tries to prick at my heart, but his touch keeps me in the clasp of unbridled pleasure.

“At one point, I would have said my ship. But these fingers remember every curve of you.” He travels the space of my bodice and the rise and fall of my breasts like an explorer going over familiar roads. It sends gooseflesh across my skin. He clears his throat and adjusts himself under me. “Did you bring me books again?”

“Of course.” I sit up a bit straighter. “Shopping for you is almost as satisfying as buying for myself…” A half-giggle escapes my tingling lips as I think of the stacks of unread novels waiting for me in my bedchambers.

I love bringing him books because books are what brought us together in the first place.

I can’t believe it’s only been five years since I spied on him as he inquired about a novel he placed on special order. It was a peculiar type of book I hadn’t heard of before. Created with a touchable system of raised letters, it allowed him to read with his fingertips. But according to the elderly shopkeeper, the shipment had been lost, and I watched Lir leave, silent and disappointed.

Many hours later, and to my absolute delight, I found the missing item at a traveling merchant’s stall. After coaxing Lir’s location from the reluctant shopkeeper, I set off for the first time on a daring adventure of my own choosing.

When I arrived on his porch with the wrapped parcel in hand, Captain Lir was quite eager to thank me. But I’ve never told him I’m a Lady Courtesan. In fact, he knows nothing about me except my body, and I desperately wish to keep it that way.

He whispers into my hair, “Would you like to hear my theories on why you return to me on the same day every year?”

No, I wouldn’t.

My lips crash into his, and he tightens his hold as I lean into him, our bodies pressing together. He grips my rear, cupping the flesh under all my layers. I shift on him, grinding my hips, and feel the swell of his arousal harden under his trousers. Lir devours my mouth until fervent desire coils through my pulsing center.

I’ve been starving, but⁠—

Gasping for air, I retreat. “If you wish for me to stop coming here, please be honest with me.” This thought plagues me, and now, with everything going wrong with my Keeper, it complicates the knot I’ve tangled myself in even more.

“I would never ask you to stop coming,” he says suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows, a playful smile on his face. “I’d be a fool to refuse a gift at my doorstep…” His voice trails off in a steamy gust of air against my cleavage.

My hips move with his words, and he groans under my pressure. I whisper, “As long as you still hold to our agreement that our pleasure is only temporary. I’m only temporary.” I almost didn’t seek him out today because of it. The guilt is almost too much.

Almost.

“Keep coming, and I’ll keep giving.”

I smirk. “Give me what? A hard time?”

Quick as a bolt, he throws me onto the iron bedstead. Surprisingly soft, the mattress—filled with gull feathers and piled high with patchwork quilts—supports me as I land. He chuckles darkly before announcing, “Oh, it’s definitely going to be hard.” His belt buckle clinks as he removes the leather strap through his trouser loops. My heart jumps, and my legs tremble with gleeful spikes. His pants fall a few inches, revealing the deep V of his muscled abdomen as he yanks his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.

I gulp.

He lowers himself over me, running his fingers along the features of my face, tracing every bone, every crease, every soft detail.