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It’s a panicked thought, one that doesn't bring me any closer to realising who my attacker is. Until—
“Evate,” he murmurs, his voice much too close to my lips.
The fear whirling around my insides starts to slow down, fading away bit by bit. It’s replaced by a bud of anticipation in my chest.
His grip on my throat loosens and, with it, comes a choppy breath from my lips.
In total blanket darkness, the prince brings his mouth to mine. He doesn’t kiss me; he instead brushes his lips over mine, then down to the length of my jawline. My skin flutters with those familiar sensations from the parlour room, mixed with the same concoction of fear.
Though, in this Quiet he is not as drunk as he was back then. I can taste the trace of purple-grape wine in the hot air between us, but it’s faint.
Loose on my neck, his grip softens until it’s simply there, fingertips brushing over my skin.
My lashes flutter as my eyes plead to close and let me be taken away by the sensations. I fight the urge, watching the faintest hint of sapphire-blue eyes flicker in the dark as he draws his lips away from me.
The tip of his nose grazes mine, his sweet breath hot on my mouth. A familiar burn aches up my throat and I know that my sickness is flaring again. I fight it with a hard swallow, not wanting to cough all over the prince.
WhatdoI want?
That question is quick to invade my mind and leave me numb.
What do I want?
An impossible question.
All I know in this moment is that without his lips wandering my jawline, I’m craving more. And he gives it to me.
In a heartbeat, he’s suddenly pushing up against me, pressing his hard mouth against mine. A breathy squeak escapes me as his free hand rams down between our bodies and clutches a fistful of my skirt. He bunches it up, higher and higher, until the front of it is gathered at my waist and my cheeks burn crimson in the dark.
I let him.
I want him to.
And I’m sick for it, I know that.
Still, my nerves are buzzing with excitement I’ve never felt before. Though a cough brews in my chest, aching to climb up my throat, I don’tfeelsick—I feel full of life, alive and healthy. I feel wanted.
Is that what this is?
I don’t want to dive into my mind right now. I want to focus on the belly-flipping touch of his fingertips grazing up the inside of my thigh.
Leaning my head back against the wall, I lose the battle against my eyelids and my lashes flutter shut on the sliver of blue shining in the dark.
Now all I’m left with is the tingling of my skin as his fingers rise up the length of my thigh, over the hem of my stocking. My breath catches and, ever so slightly, I part my legs, granting him entry.
Still, he keeps his steady pace as his fingers graze over the apex of my thigh, then brush over my core.
A soft moan loosens from my throat. A moan he wants to devour; he dips his head for my neck and bites hard enough to make me wince.
As soon as the hissed sound escapes me, his fingers dip into my wetness and gather silk, sliding in and out.
I arch into him, hiking my leg up to hook around his hip.
In answer, he presses harder into me, his fingers sliding from my wetness to that tingling bud that’s screaming for his attention. Only one gentle flick of his finger on that bud, and a violent shiver runs through me, catching a moan in my throat.
He bites down on my neck again, in danger of drawing blood at any moment.
Another flick, another shudder.
