Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(62)

She tasted as beautiful as she had in the river a week ago, honey with a bit of spice. Damien had dreamed of her taste every night, wondering how he’d keep his hands off her until the ceremony.

Now she was his, to do with as he pleased. Damien smiled a feral smile at the thought. He drank her, then he flicked his tongue over her, making her squirm beneath him. She was wet now for him, her thighs parting of their own accord, her body arching to his mouth.

As Damien sat back on his heels, his hand fell on the discarded rope, the thin, silken strand Sasha had brought carefully all the way from Nvengaria.

Quickly, Damien twined his left hand through Penelope’s right one, and looped the rope around their wrists.

“We are one, we are bound.” He said the words in Nvengarian, at the moment unable to translate to English. “I to you, and you to me. Forever.”

Penelope moved her fingers over his, caressing and slow, her eyes on the rope. Joined, bound, one.

“Will you join with me all the way, Penelope?” he managed in English.

So polite he sounded, when Damien thought he would explode.

Penelope flicked her gaze back to his, her face still. She had the choice to refuse him, to remain a virgin and daughter to her mother. He saw the flicker of fear and what it meant for her to make the decision.

“I wish to join with you,” she responded quietly, breaking the silence.

Damien could barely speak. “Excellent,” he said, as though she’d agreed to take a simple stroll in the country with him.

Penelope smiled a little. “You like that word.”

“It expresses much. I will try not to hurt you.”

Penelope lost the smile, her eyes going still. “I have heard that it hurts much.”

“It does not have to, if I take my time.”

Every muscle in Damien’s body snarled with annoyance. He did not want to take his time—he wanted to pound himself into her, now.

“Lift your hips a little.” Damien dragged a small pillow to him from the cushion-strewn headboard. “I will place this under you, so. It will help me go in easier.”

Penelope blushed, but let him arrange the pillow beneath her backside, tilting her hips upward, her knees slightly apart.

Studying her lying there, serenely waiting, her brow puckered with trepidation, wound Damien’s need to unbearable tightness. He reached down and gently rubbed the honey between her legs.

“The beauty of you,” he said quietly. He licked his finger, wetting it, then drew it along her opening.

Penelope wriggled against his touch, her eyes closing, a woman drifting into arousal. He slid one finger inside her.

Penelope made a soft noise. “Will it feel like that?”

“A bit.” Damien slid in a second finger. He had no time to ready her for something as big as a man’s fullness, but he could help her become used to it.

When he inserted a third finger, Penelope made a faint noise and squeezed him inside her. He stroked her, a slight pressure only, and Penelope's eyes popped open, her breath coming fast.

“Damien?”

“Hush, love. Let me make you feel good.”

Penelope rose up on her elbows in confusion. “But I do not understand …”

Damien stroked lightly again, and she began to release, jerking silently against his hand. Quickly Damien lifted his fingers away, positioned his tip at her opening, and slid himself all the way inside.





Chapter 18





Penelope drew a sharp breath at the invasion. It did hurt somewhat but something within her wanted the feeling, wanted the joining. Her body still tingled from Damien’s fingers inside her, which had sent her to strange and unbearable heights of pleasure.

Damien was full length on top of her, his weight warm. His eyes were squeezed shut, and the hand that was tied to hers clenched.

“Damien,” she whispered.

He dragged his eyes open. “Shh, sweetheart.”

Damien’s face was flushed, eyes half closed. Penelope felt him full and hard inside her, stretching her.

“Is this lovemaking?” Penelope breathed the question as she smoothed his hair. “Is it over?”

He gently kissed the bridge of her nose. “Do you want it to be over?”

“No. Not yet. Not for a while.”

Damien gave her a lazy smile. “Don’t worry, love. We have a long way to go.”

The idea both frightened Penelope and entranced her. She lay back, holding his hand bound to hers, waiting for him to proceed. Sweat trickled from between their wrists, palms sealed together.

The room was close and still, the windows shut against the summer’s soft air. Petri, she knew, stood nearby in the corridor, guarding them. She thought of the passage behind the walls that led from her room to Damien’s, but somehow she had a feeling that Damien had provided a guard for that too. Nvengarians were thorough.

Damien slowly eased himself back, then before he withdrew completely, he slid inside again.

Penelope’s sudden cry of pleasure rang through the chamber. Damien moved again, out, in, loving her slowly. Penelope dug the fingers of her free hand into his back, gripping so tight she felt her nails indent his skin. He made a soft noise but did not cease.

“Damien?” Penelope asked, a frantic question. “Why do I …?”