Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(48)

Penelope put out her hand in protest. “Damien, your bodyguards.”

“Cannot see a thing.”

They had been trained to look out for danger but to give Damien his privacy. Life did not go well for a bodyguard who did not.

Some of the men here today were left over from his father’s rule, fanatically devoted to the office of the Imperial Prince, whoever happened to inhabit it. They would not ogle Penelope—they’d be more worried about Penelope being a secret assassin.

They would have to learn that Penelope was on Damien’s side, his partner, not his enemy. She had been made for him. Damien tasted her on his skin and felt her become part of him.

He stroked her again, letting his fingers nudge a little inside her. Penelope closed her eyes, one hand threading his hair.

“That is the way, my love,” he whispered. “Feel the joy of it.”

Penelope arched, wanting him. Damien settled her knees over his shoulders, and lowered his mouth to her.

Sweet, hot, fiery taste. He loved her gasp of startled pleasure, and the deeper moan that followed it. Lovely innocent, feeling for the first time. She was Damien’s, and no other man’s. The possessiveness of his people welled up inside him, and Damien didn’t bother to control it.

Penelope’s scent surrounded him, and her taste drove him wild. Damien nipped and suckled her, earning small cries of pleasure. He knew she wanted him with the same mindlessness that he wanted her.

Unlike when they’d been in her bedchamber, however, Damien controlled himself. That night a dark need had swept through him as though a force from outside had taken over his thoughts. Today, he could fully enjoy this beautiful woman without the crazed clutch on his mind.

Damien flicked his tongue over her, smiling as she jerked and moaned. Penelope twisted her hand in his hair, but he ignored the slight pain. She was ready, ripe for it. Beautiful, beautiful woman.

Penelope dragged in a long breath, and then she came, her first surprised cries ringing out to the quiet rush of the river.

Damien grasped her hips and pulled her down into the water with him. Penelope instinctively wrapped her legs around him and clung to him, positioning her opening directly over the cock straining at his wet breeches.

Damien rocked his hips while he held her in his arms, her fingertips hard points on his back.

A breeze flowed over them, bringing the sweet scents of summer. Penelope’s cries lessened a little at a time, her frantic hands stilled, and at last, she eased back, though he didn't let her go.

She regarded him languidly, a woman newly awakened to the wild feelings inside her. “Did I have a fit?” she asked, breathless.

Damien laughed softly, rocking them both. “That was release. Do you understand now why we crave it so?”

She nodded, cheeks flushed. “It was most strange.”

“Strange is not the word I’d use. Would you like to do it again?”

Penelope’s eyes widened. “I can do that again?”

Damien wanted to laugh. “As many times as you want, vixen.”

“As many times?” Penelope drew a breath. “I do not know if I can. I feel quite exhausted. And at the same time …”

“You feel, as you say, exhilarated?”

“Yes. Exhilarated.” Penelope laid her head on his shoulder. “Do you feel the same?”

“No,” Damien had to answer. “Not quite.”

“Oh.” Penelope sounded disappointed.

“I will feel that exhilaration on our betrothal night, when I teach you how to bring me to release.”

“I see.” Penelope looked up at him, her cheeks pink. She was fetching when she went shy.

“We will use that night to learn one another,” Damien said, making himself not imagine how things would unfold. “That is what the betrothal ritual is for. To show the world that we will be bound in marriage, and to learn to pleasure each other’s bodies. After that night, we will have no fear of the carnal pleasures we will seek in our marriage.”

Penelope lowered herself to his shoulder again. “That sounds much different from English marriage.”

“It is much different. Nvengarian husbands enjoy making certain that their wives are pleased in bed. They invent many and varied ways to do so. Do English husbands not do this?”

“I have not heard. But my married acquaintances tell me little.” She sounded frustrated.

Damien knew bloody well that most English husbands all but ignored their wives and sought pleasure with their mistresses, as the first man she’d jilted had intended to do. He closed his arms around her. “Do not worry. I will tell you everything you need to know.”

Penelope lifted her head and smiled at him, eyes starry, then she started as though suddenly realizing they were both up to their shoulders in water.

“Damien, my gown!” she gasped.

“Take it off.” Damien scooped her against him and began unfastening the hooks in the back.

Penelope did not protest much as he helped her untangle her arms from the sodden frock and pull it from her legs. He lifted the gown from the water and laid it across the log, where it hung, deflated and heavy.

Penelope wore no stays under the light summer gown. Her chemise clung to her body, the tips of her breasts dark. The wet cotton against her was almost more enticing than if she’d been bare. Almost.