Chapter Eight
Larkspur let Cadoc’s organ slide slowly from her mouth. The taste of his seed was . . . interesting. Slightly salty, a little bitter, but not unpleasant.
She released her grip on him and moved back on the blanket, wiping her lips with her fingers. Her hands smelled of him, musky and masculine. The smell evoked a visceral response deep inside her, as if her womb pulsed with pleasure.
Cadoc scrambled to his feet and turned away from her, pulling up his braies and hose, tying them, hauling his tunic down. “Open the cursed door,” he snarled.
Larkspur stood.
The Faerie prince gave a dry, rustling chuckle. “As you wish.”
Larkspur’s ears caught the grating sound of stone shifting against stone, the patter of falling dirt.
“Let’s get out of here,” Cadoc said, not looking at he
