Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(47)

Damien smiled, his lips curving slowly, as though he knew she wanted to taste him, and he liked that she did.

Before Penelope could speak again, Damien lifted himself, balancing on flat hands, arms tightening, and slid down into the water.





Chapter 14





Damien dove into the pool’s cool depths, the water heavenly after the warm summer sun.

His arousal was achingly tight. Finding Penelope alone here with her skirts hiked up to her knees, her bare legs dangling, toes tracing languid circles in the water, had made him hard as a rock.

Damien had argued with her to keep his mind off her beddable body, but no use. Thank the gods the river was cold.

He surfaced and shook water from his hair. Penelope watched him, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“Swimming,” Damien said, and grinned. “I would have thought it obvious.”

Penelope peered worriedly over her shoulder. “What about assassins?”

“I have men stationed along the hill and river to watch.”

Penelope hastily pulled her skirt down to cover her legs. “Good heavens. You might have warned me.”

“My men are trained to look without looking,” Damien said. “Does it make sense in English?”

“I have no idea,” Penelope answered, exasperated.

Damien suppressed a laugh. His princess was so pretty with the sun on her hair, her lips drawn down in confusion. He wanted to kiss her and never stop. He wanted to hold her against him in the water, to lift her skirts and settle her on his very needy cock.

Damien swam away from her across the pool, then dove again, reveling in the soothing water. He turned back, dove one more time, and surfaced, right at her feet.

Penelope jumped in surprise. Slanting her a wicked smile, Damien lifted her bare toes in his hand, and drew one into his mouth.

Penelope leaned back on her elbows as she stretched her foot out to him, her eyes heavy. She’d look so in bed, Damien imagined, lying back and waiting for him.

Damien nibbled her toe, then pulled it into his mouth, loving the taste of the water and her skin. Her posture pressed her breasts against her thin bodice, her nipples tiny points against the fabric. Hers was a natural sensuousness, free from the artifice of most aristocratic ladies, closer to the wild beauty of the women of his own country.

Damien kissed each toe, one by one, then lifted the other foot and did the same.

Penelope watched him, smiling a little, the hem of her gown dangling in the water. Damien’s hardness grew unbearably tight.

“I want to see you,” he said.

He held each small foot in his palms and gently pulled her legs apart, letting the loose skirt slide to her knees. Penelope’s chest rose with her quickened breath.

Damien stepped between her legs, turning to lick droplets of water from her calf. The taste of her skin made his blood hotter still. He slid the skirt upward, dipping his tongue behind her knee.

Penelope drew a sharp breath. Damien expected her to pull away, perhaps kick water into his face, but she remained still. The pulse in the fold of her knee beat faster.

“I want to see you,” he repeated.

Penelope had every right to refuse him and send him away. They were not yet betrothed. Even in Nvengaria, an unmarried woman would admonish a man for making improper advances.

Penelope only watched him a moment, her green eyes still. Then she reached down, and with slow fingers, drew her skirt up to bare her thighs.

Damien exhaled. Her lovely legs stretched to him, long and slightly plump. He kissed her thigh above her knee, then drew his tongue all the way to the shadow under her skirt.

Penelope stiffened. Damien rested his hands on her thighs and moved her legs a little farther apart. He watched her fingers close on the cloth, and then, as his heartbeat soared, Penelope slid her skirt the rest of the way up.

A thread of sweet curls swirled along her opening, damp and waiting for him. Damien dragged in a breath.

“Penelope, I have not the words in English to say how beautiful you are.”

Penelope’s face was rosy pink, her gaze fixed on him as though she worried about what he thought of her.

Damien rested his hands on either side of her opening. He let his thumbs come together in the middle, stroking down the soft skin.

Penelope jerked under his fingers, her eyes widening. He was, without a doubt, the first person to ever touch her there, Damien thought with satisfaction. Her honey flowed onto his hands, sweet and warm.

“Penelope, do you know what release is?”

She shook her head, swallowing. “Not really.”

“You have never touched yourself? Felt the relief of it?”

“Never.”

Surprising. The ladies of London and Paris liked to tell Damien at length how much they enjoyed themselves alone in their beds. So much so that at times, he left them to it while he sought a tavern for ale and conversation.

From the look on Penelope’s face, such an idea had never occurred to her.

“Would you like me to teach you what it feels like?” Damien asked in a low voice.

Penelope’s gaze locked with his, as though she feared to look away. Her lips parted, moist and red.

By the laws of Nvengaria and edict of the prophecy, Damien could touch and taste Penelope all he wanted, as long as he didn’t slide his impatient cock into her. Damien stroked her opening again, loving the hot sweetness that wanted to close over his thumbs. He lifted his fingers and licked her moisture from them, spicy, salty desire.