The Toad Prince

Chapter Seventeen

Sorin stepped aside, and she floated past him, going to his table and setting up the record player.

He watched her, and said, “I hate dancing.”

“You love music, but you won’t dance?”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

She paused, but shuffled the albums, and cranked the player to life. The jazzy sounds of the mid-twentieth century filled the room.

Nadaria turned to him and toyed with the embroidery on her dress. Sorin leaned against the wall by the door, watching her with a curious but heated expression. He crossed his arms over his chest, and she cursed him. Absolutely no one had any business being that hot. No one.

His dark hair had fallen over his forehead. She’d noticed it often did, and he pushed it back. A stray tendril came right down, brushing the top of his eyebrow like they were lovers that couldn’t be kept apart. As he moved, the muscles of his arms, chest, and stomach tensed and rippled under his skin, and she worked hard to keep her eyes on his face.

He pushed off the wall and walked to her. With him just in front of her, she had to turn her face up to look at him. It was like a sculpture of a Greek God was standing in front of her, chiseled of the finest marble. His face was perfect, smooth with sharp angles all in the right places. She reached up and grabbed the stray lock of hair, moving it back to where it was supposed to stay.

He caught her hand, and kissed the center of her palm, then the pulse point of her wrist, closing his eyes and breathing in the soft scent of her blood rushing with every beat of her rapid, fluttering heart.

Nadaria watched him, suddenly overwhelmed by her desire to be with him, and the logic of why she shouldn’t, she said, “Excuse me a moment?”

He let her go, and she controlled her steps so she didn’t run. Closing the door behind her, she stared at her wide-eyed reflection in the mirror. Roux crawled down her body and slithered to the wooden tub, which was filled with hot water. The steam curled out of it like beckoning fingers, but Roux stayed on the edge, winding himself into a ball.

“Okay. Okay,” she whispered. “It’s fine. This is fine. Two people can hang out and not have s*x, right? Even if they really want to.”

There were so many reasons she should not be here. This wasn’t just some fling. This was destiny, it was forever, and decisions like that couldn’t be made on a whim.

She splashed water on her face, and took a deep breath, trying to fix her poor hair that was suffering from a severe case of the frizzies.

Finally, when she could hide in the bathroom no longer, she returned to find him at the record player with his back to her. He’d taken off the one she had on, and was setting another.

The needle scratched, and the distinct drum intro of Cry to Me by Solomon Burke made her heart sigh.

Oh, dear Goddess.

“Do you like this one?” he asked, sensing her there.

“Of course.”

“Me too.”

Sorin turned, and she blurted, “We can’t have sex.”

His eyebrows lifted, and he chuckled, walking across the room to her. “I know. I would never do that to you… trap you with me for a lifetime.”

“It’s not like that. We just have to be sure about our decision, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not saying I don’t want to, because…”

Holy s**t, she wanted to.

He inferred her meaning, and his hands wrapped around her waist. “Well, are we dancing?”

She laid her cheek on his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, determined to squeeze the loneliness out of him. Sorin sighed, rocking to the beat with her. His throat tightened. How different it was to hold a living woman in his arms. But he pushed those feelings away—the past away—and resigned himself to the present.

It certainly wasn’t swing dancing, really it was just swaying together, but Nadaria thought it was the most intimate thing she’d ever done. She listened to the slow, almost nonexistent beat of his heart, keeping steady time with the song. Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she threaded her arms around his neck.

His lips waited for hers, and his head dipped to meet her halfway. A breathy moan passed between them, and his tongue swept into her mouth. Cupping his face, she lifted herself up, tilting her head to deepen the kiss.

As swift as before, his hands already worked the knot of the scarf at her waist free, dropping it. She was ready this time when he swept the dress up her body and over her head. The kiss broke while he did, and when their mouths collided again, some of the soft sweetness was gone.

She jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist, and Sorin caught her, squeezing her backside in a rough grip. Her fingers laced into his hair, clinging to him, and he reached around behind her, his hands searching.

Chuckling into the kiss, he flicked the band of her bra and said, “I have no idea how to get this thing off. We didn’t have them like this in 1852.”

She giggled, breathless, and reached between her breasts, unfastening the buckle. “This one is a front closure, too. Not even twenty-first century men can figure these out.”

“Well, that makes me feel better,” he mumbled, finding her lips again while she slid the bra down her arms.

He carried her to his bed, pressing her back into the comforter and caging her with his weight. The passion lit like wildfire between them, and they kissed endlessly, long after the six-minute period of music the record player could provide, and their rasping breaths and soft moans replaced the soft melody.

When he could stand it no longer, Sorin sat back on his knees and pulled her underwear down her legs. He thought about ripping them—whoops, I guess you’ll just be naked under your dresses from now on—but he managed to control himself. He pulled at her shoes, and then her socks, ensuring she was blessedly nude.

Nadaria was propped on her elbows, watching him, and her quivering body burned with anticipation of his touch. He ran his hands down the inside of her legs, starting at her ankles. She shivered, her skin jumping every time he touched her. His hands stopped at the creases of her thighs, and he groaned deep in his chest, running his thumb up the slit of her core.

Her brows furrowed when Sorin moved off of her, throwing pillows on the floor, and laid on his back.

“What are you doing?”

“Come here,” he said, holding his arms out to beckon her.

She crawled up his body, and he watched her breasts, aching to have his hands on them again. Nadaria straddled him and dropped her hips, grinding against him.

The friction wrenched a moan from both of them, and he smiled. “That is very good. But come here.”

Sorin tapped his shoulders, and she stared down at him. “What?”

He offered her that mischievous smile, and her heart kicked up. His hands wrapped under her thighs, and he lifted and pulled her up his body. “Come. Here.”

Her cheeks burned as her knees straddled his head and she squeaked, “Oh.” Then her eyes widened at the first lash, his stiff tongue dragging up the center of her core, and she sputtered, “Oh, my—Sorin!”

He chuckled, and her hands floated in the air for a few shocked seconds, finally resting on his head. Her fingers held fast to his hair, digging into his scalp. His hands were tight on her hips, holding her in place for the heady assault, and all she could do was lose herself to the intensity.

Her moans were ceaseless, filling the surrounding room, and his hands finally freed her, one traveling to her breast, and the other disappearing. She undulated her body, seeking more, chasing pleasure.

The lashes of his tongue were merciless, and when she heard the soft slide of a zipper, she glanced over her shoulder.

A whimpering moan drifted through her, and she whispered, “Oh, Goddess,” watching him take himself in his own hand with slow, steady strokes.

Her eyes whipped back to his face, half hidden beneath her. His wicked tongue was firm and unyielding, and he brought her to the edge. She became wild, lost to him, and moving with him. Amazing. Perfect. Her body clenched tight like a bowstring, and his eyes flew open. His hand snapped back around her thighs, pulling her down against his face in an anguished vise of too much pleasure.

The climax rocked her, hard and fast, and he moaned loud, lapping at her. He could hear the rush of her blood as her thighs clamped around his head. Her grip in his hair was punishing, her nails scraping his scalp, while he listened to his name pour from her lips.

He was a man on the edge of control, hurting for her—craving her in every way. Her soft kiss, and her sweet blood, and her tight, wet heat wrapped around him.

He kicked his pants down his legs and sat up, dropping her from his shoulders to the bed. Nadaria opened her eyes, unsure if she would ever recover from the wild orgasm she’d just endured. Sorin was over her and pushed her legs wide, settling between her legs.

She sucked in a sharp breath and her thighs tightened to stop him, while her ankles dug into his back to pull him forward.

Talk about mixed signals.

“I know, I know,” he panted into her neck, and then he growled, rocking his hips forward. “But you don’t know how bad I want to.”

She moaned, feeling his shaft slide against her. He sucked on the sensitive flesh of her throat, his hand threading into the hair at the nape of her neck.

“You don’t know how bad I want,” he said again, and her heart nearly stopped beating when he pushed his teeth, his fangs, to her. After the stunned pause, her pulse kicked up, hammering through her veins. She moaned again, not having the reaction she expected to the thought of his bite.

Her body, her core, throbbed to be filled by him, and it took iron resolve not to say those words. Not to shout at him to just do it. He continued rocking his hips, dangerously close to what she wanted.

One hand stayed locked in her hair, holding her neck open to him, where he breathed against her soft flesh, drowning in the sweet scent of her. His other hand gripped her backside, squeezing while he thrust their hips together, playing this dangerous game of inches where a slight movement from either of them would result in a blissful game over.

She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his shaft. He lurched forward into her grip, and something between a command and a plea ripped through him.

“Don’t stop. Make me come.”

“Yes,” she moaned, her other hand squeezing his back.

His grip in her hair and on her hip was unyielding, holding her. He kissed her, moaning into her mouth. The sound melted her bones, and the coil of desire in her stomach pulsed. Their eyes locked, a look of unhinged, electric lust, and then her gaze shifted between them, watching what she was doing. She throbbed for him, aching and needing more. Her heart raced, never stopping, cheering her on.

Sorin kissed her forehead, and lingered there, holding her close and thrusting to meet her grip.

She lifted her hips to him, and he asked, "Do you need more? To be filled by me?"

"Yes. More," she pleaded, and a growl rumbled through him.

He shifted his weight and his hand left her hip, pushing between her legs.

She gasped his name as he slid two fingers inside her, caressing her the same way he had the day before, his thumb and fingers working in tandem. Her grip on him tightened, and he moaned, determined to hold on until she found release again.

To her credit, she didn’t stop either, the slide of her hand edging him towards ecstasy that he hadn’t felt at the hands of another in decades.

He looked down between them, at everything that was happening, and the competing sensations overwhelmed him. How she felt, what she made him feel.

“Oh, f**k,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

Sorin was too close and needed her to come so he could.

He pushed another finger into her, stretching and filling her. She gasped and then cried out his name. The squeeze of her orgasm was almost instantaneous.

His climax seemed to rip through his body from the depths of his soul, and buried his face in her neck, moaning with her as he came on her belly.

She released him and he withdrew his hand, kissing her with the fierce possession he felt for her. Thoughts rushed him all at once, and he thought of the figure on her balcony. If anyone here intended her harm… he would kill them. Tear them to pieces every time they resurrect, if that’s what it took to keep her safe.

He lifted her, listening to her soft, swift breathing, and carried her to the bathroom, hoping the bath water still held some heat.