Princess In Chains by Justine Elyot

Author:Justine Elyot
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781909520882
Publisher: Xcite Books
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

She passed Martel on the staircase and ignored his efforts to gloat over what he must know had just been done to her.

Would Daro tell him her secret? She hoped not, although she supposed it would probably come out, one way or another.

In her attic room, she went to the long mirror at the far end, pulled down her leggings, and inspected the sight. It was as if somebody had painted a tangle of lines and cross-hatches all over her bottom. But not painted, exactly, for they were raised above the level of her skin. Dear gods, how they stung.

She rubbed her fingertips over them, enjoying the sensation of their heat and texture, even the residual throb she awoke. Some of Martel’s balm wouldn’t go amiss, though, she thought, if she were to have any chance of sleep.

Sleep? What was she thinking? How could she possibly set her mind at peace after the events of this night?

She took off her boots, leggings, and tunic and knelt, in her linen shirt, on the straw pallet she used as a bed. The shirt did not quite fully cover her bottom and its hem tickled her tender skin. She lay down on her stomach and buried her face in the blanket, letting herself float into full-blown sensual revelry.

What he had done to her. And knowing she was a woman. He knew it now. She put her hand on the lower portion of her shirt and rubbed it gently against her welts, the sensation striking sparks between her thighs until the pitch of her need was unbearable.

She could touch herself, of course, but she needed more than that.

She squirmed on her belly, desperate for relief, yet unwilling to provide it for herself, until she heard the soft click of Daro’s bedroom door latch on the floor below.

He had been troubled by what had passed. That look on his face … She was not sure how to interpret it. A kind of shame, or … she knew not, but she wanted to know.

Her body acted on her behalf, raising itself from the bed and slipping quietly out of the room before her mind could prevent it.

Halfway down the stairs, her heart began to pound and her knees to tremble. The wrath of Daro was a dangerous thing to awaken, but it was not his wrath she was hoping for tonight. Surely he must have some longings … surely, if he was a man.

She lifted the latch as carefully as a burglar and pushed the door an inch.

Daro was sitting on the side of the bed, his back to her. A candle flickered on the table, atop a pile of books. His shoulders were slumped, his head in his hands.

He was clearly elsewhere in his mind, for she was able to tiptoe into the room all the way to the bedside before he became aware of another presence and twitched into life.

‘No,’ he said sharply, seeing her in front of him in her linen shirt and nothing else.

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