Chapter Ninety-Five: A Sin Unspoken
1077 Words
If the prince decided to touch me, I would not resist.
My hormones were on fire, and I hadn’t had time to look for good toys.
So he would do…by all means.
He leaned from his seat, and my eyes followed his hungry ones as he zeroed in on me, like a prey long denied by a predator.
‘Christ, what am I doing?’
Mitchelle’s face popped into view, and guilt claimed me rather than a sense of superiority.
I was ruining their chance at a happily ever after by growing more entangled with them.
My thrill at his touch turned cold and fizzled out like water cascading down a hot summer sidewalk.
It was then that I placed my hands on his lips and threw him a wry smile.
“Why are you so close to me, your highness? Is it something I said?”
I played coy, expecting to watch disappointment lace his face, but the hungry look in his gaze remained.
“Hello, my name is Antonia; your room is ready.”
I smiled at the woman who, noticing the distance between us, flushed.
“Oh! I am-,”
“It’s alright. Lead the way.”
I said before she apologised for a reason beyond her.
Such a thing should never happen again.
Clearly, too close a proximity does not suit us.
‘I should stay away from him.’
*
That was a vow I uttered only hours ago…So why? Why….
Why does the prince hover his mouth deliciously above mine despite my firm reasoning?
Why were his large hands pinning me to his seated frame as his length stroked continuously at a fire long forgotten deep inside me as I cry his name to his ears?
What could have possibly led to this?
*
Due to the nature of our booking, last minute, we were forced to share the captain’s cabin.
Classically, I thought it was a romantic cliché, but the cabin was large enough for us and had two separate beds in different rooms.
It was perhaps then that my guard dropped.
The evening our entanglement began was the first night of being in the presence of each other with no aide or knight to buffer the situation.
We were served dinner in the privacy of our room. There, we were on our best behaviour. We discussed only neutral topics and had some tea to down the oily food.
Then came the question.
‘Can I see it?’
*
“See what?”
I asked groggily, mostly because I was stuffed, and the warmth from the living room fireplace teased me deliciously into near slumber, a feeling I had almost deemed impossible to rekindle.
“The bump. You keep wearing these baggy, unflattering clothes that do not permit me to see it-”
We were both seated at opposite ends of each other, him with a newspaper and me with a book, soft music playing incessantly in the background, overshadowing both the sound of the train against the rails and the sound of the soft crackling of wood.
“What do you mean ‘unflattering’ when you near pounced on me earlier today?”
I added easily.
“Correction, you wear baggy clothes that have long surpassed your breast size.”
“Are you certain my breasts are not what you wish to see?”
“I want to see what is mine. Do you want me to claim your breasts?”
I shifted uncomfortably at the question.
“What do you want to do? I mean, it’s not even that big?”
He lowered his newspaper, then lowered his gaze to my belly, then back to the paper he had yet to flip since he sat.
“I want to talk to it. My mother believes that babies can hear us, even in the womb.”
“You want to…talk to my stomach?”
“Not to your stomach!”
He protested, his hands crinkling the paper slightly as though embarrassed by his suggestion.
“You realised that I have devoured a deer; is that who you wish to converse with?”
He cleared his voice louder, perhaps to drown my jokes.
Still, it would be expected for your partner to want to gawk at the growth of the womb, right?
It is normal…is it not?
I hardly own scope for what normal is.
So I gave the only answer I could to the genuineness of his request.
“Okay. But should I not change into a shirt? I do not wish to expose myself fully to you.”
“Who said that I am attracted to you?”
“Hah! Rather than a statement, your highness, that sounds like a wish.”
“I am serious.”
He answered, then straightened his newspaper.
“If you scoff at my words in consideration of the situation in the lobby, that was but a momentary loss of judgment. In truth, I view you as attractive as an old shoe.”
It was laughable that he could say that with a straight face. Utterly abhorrent.
‘An old shoe?’
“I will grant you that I am out of sorts in terms of my esteem since I started expanding in areas other than my breasts, but how dare you!”
He placed the newspaper aside.
“How dare I what? Be honest with you? Surely the Countess can handle beads of truth once in a while, can she not?”
“Honest? Beads of truth? Hah! Do you want me to show you honesty?”
“Pray tell, how you intend to show me, ‘honesty’?”
I placed the book I was initially, before the meal, engrossed in aside.
‘A Tale of Mermaids’ or something along those lines.’
I then walked to the first prince’s seat.
Each step grew more daunting than the last, his eyes watching my every move, but I did not miss the way he swallowed at my proximity.
I lifted the light dress as slowly as possible, and his eyes widened.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you my meal, what do you think I am doing?”
He rolled his gaze, but his eyes did not meet mine; they merely remained glued to the dress as it slowly lifted past my knees, up my thighs, and over my underwear to the slight swell that made me, for the most part, feel constantly bloated.
- Writer
