The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(49)

Harry sighed against her hair. He let her legs fall to the floor as he steadied her. “I wish I could carry you to my bed, but I fear you’ve just drained me, my lady. That is”—he pulled away enough to look her in the eye—“if you mean to stay the night?”

“Yes.” George tested her legs. Wobbly but adequate. She made her way to the small bedroom. “I’ll stay the night.”

“And your brother?” he asked from behind her.

“My brother does not control my life,” George said loftily. “Besides, I snuck out the servants’ entrance.”

“Ah.” He had followed her into the bedroom, and she saw now that he carried a basin of water.

She raised her eyebrows.

“I should have done this last night.” Was he embarrassed?

Harry set down the basin beside the bed and helped her remove her gown and chemise, then knelt to take off her shoes and stockings. “Lie down, my lady.”

George lay back on the bed. For some reason she was shy now when she hadn’t been before during their wild lovemaking. He took a cloth and dipped it in the basin, wringing it out; then he stroked it down her neck. She closed her eyes. The wet cloth left coolness and goose bumps in its wake. She heard him dip and wring out the cloth again, the trickle of the water somehow erotic in the room’s stillness. He washed down her chest, over her breasts, and across her belly, leaving a trail of cold heat.

Her breath was coming faster now, anticipating what would come next.

But he started again at her feet, trailing the cloth up her calves. Gently, he spread her thighs and washed the inner curves. He wet the cloth, and she felt the coolness against her mons. He stroked the cloth deliberately between her folds and her breath caught. Then his weight left the bed.

George opened her eyes and watched Harry strip his breeches down. Nude, his eyes on hers, he took the cloth and rubbed it across his chest. Dip. Wring. He washed under his arms. Across his belly.

Her eyes dropped and she licked her lips.

His penis jumped. George looked up, and her gaze met his. Harry dipped the cloth in the water. He lifted his manhood to wash the heavy sac underneath. Another dip in the basin and he drew the wet cloth up his cock, pulling the cloth around, leaving the skin glistening. He scrubbed the rag in his pubic hair and then threw it to the floor. Harry advanced on the bed, his penis stiff. George couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He placed one knee beside her, making the bed dip. The ropes holding the mattress creaked. “Are you going to finish your fairy tale, my lady?”

She blinked. “Fairy tale?”

“The Leopard Prince, the young king.” He brushed his lips over her collarbone. “The beautiful princess, the Golden Swan.”

“Oh. Well.” She scrambled to think. Harry’s mouth was wandering to the underside of her left breast. “I think we’d got to when the father king told the young king to get—” She squeaked.

He’d reached the nipple. Her breast was already tender from their play before.

Harry lifted his head. “The Golden Swan held by the nasty witch.” He blew cool air on the wet nipple.

George gasped. “Yes. Of course, the young king sent the Leopard Prince after it.”

“Of course,” Harry murmured to the other nipple.

“And the Leopard Prince turned into… ahhh…”

He had sucked that nipple into his mouth.

He let it pop out. “A man,” he prompted, and blew.

“Mmm.” George went under for a few seconds. “Yes. And the Leopard Prince held his emerald crown in his hand…”

He was trailing kisses down her abdomen.

“… and wished for…”

“Yes?”

Was he licking her belly button? “A cloak to make him invisible.”

“Really?” Harry propped his chin on her lower belly, his arms resting across her pelvic bones.

George craned her neck to see him. He was lying between her spread legs, his face only inches from her… And he was looking gravely interested in her story.

“Yes, really.” She let her head drop back on the pillow. “And he put on the cloak and went and stole the Golden Swan without the nasty witch even knowing. And when he got back”—what was Harry doing down there?—“he gave the Golden Swan to… Oh, my Lord!”

Harry finished leisurely licking up through the flanges of her woman’s place, then kissed that spot. He raised his head. “Is that part of the fairy tale, my lady?” he inquired politely.

George tunneled her fingers in his silky hair. “No. I’m through telling the story for now.” She pulled his head back down. “Do. Not. Stop.”

She thought he may have laughed, as she seemed to feel a vibration, but then Harry lowered his mouth, placed it over her nubbin, and sucked on it.

And, frankly, after that she no longer cared.

“WHAT DO YOU DREAM ABOUT at night?” Lady Georgina asked him a long time later.

“Mmph?” Harry tried to focus his mind. His body was a dead loss. His limbs were leaden, almost liquid with fatigue, and he was struggling to stay awake.

“I’m sorry. Are you asleep?” His lady obviously wasn’t. He could feel her fingers stroking through the hair on his chest.

He made a heroic effort. “No.” He opened his eyes. Wide. “What did you say?”