Page 5 of His Savage Sweet

“What would be?” I knew I should probably be more deferential—he was a prince, after all—but I couldn’t make myself concentrate on etiquette when the man’s hands and lips were on me.

“Ye,” he said simply, and my cunny shivered.

“I kenned ye’d be delicious,” he went on. “I could smell ye from across the room. Cinnamon sugar—sweet and spicy.”

It’s the pastry! I wanted to yell. But I couldn’t make my mouth work.

And when his hand left mine to cup the back of my head and pull my lips towards his, I didn’t want to do anything except return that kiss.

I’d been kissed before. I had been curious enough to permit it, and any woman who made it to adulthood with breasts as fulsome as mine was accustomed to men paying attention. Those kisses had been wet and sloppy and usually pretense for a few half-hearted approaches to my breasts, none of which I had much enjoyed.

But this kiss…

Oh my God, the prince could kiss.

His tongue—his tongue!—worked against mine, and he caught my lower lip in his teeth and tugged. I went with him willingly, falling against his chest and loving the way I was plastered against his muscles.

The bulge in his trousers pressed against the junction of my legs, everything I’d hoped it would be. I was helpless to stop the little moan I hummed against his lips, the same way I couldn’t help but rub against him.

Aye, that was me; the one standing in my coldroom rubbing my pussy against my prince’s thick trouser-bulge, like some kind of desperate whore.

And I couldn’t even be ashamed because oh my God it felt good.

But that moan—or the shameless rubbing—must’ve been the right thing to do, because he rumbled in pleasure, low in his throat. I felt it in his chest, and it sent a delicious shiver throughout my body, knowing I was pressed against someone as primal as Prince Beowu—no. Wulf.

Wulf. My body screamed his name as I leaned into his assault on my lips.

Then in one swift movement he’d pulled his hands away to clasp them around my ass, lifting me up off my feet. The movement spread my legs slightly, and I whimpered against his mouth when my open cunny lips pressed against his cock.

Layers of material separated us, but could he feel how wet I was already? How hot? How much I wanted him to unbutton his trousers and pull out that beast and shove it in me?

Maybe he could. He twisted and in one easy move had me sitting up on the table, not a foot away from the dough I’d been so focused on just minutes ago.

And all I could think was:

I’m never again going to be able to make pastry here without getting wet.

Chapter 3

Wulf

She was fooking intoxicating.

I told myself to slow down, to enjoy her, but I couldn’t seem to make myself. One whiff of her skin—that sugar-and-spice scent—had sent me hurdling down this path, and I wasn't going to be able to rest until I’d pumped her cunny full of the release building in my ballocks.

I was a prince—even if I didn’t always want to be—and a prince women found attractive, thank fook. I was accustomed to women smiling seductively and beckoning me nearer, even if it was only so they could claim they’d fooked the beastly prince.

I was careful not to spill my seed in them. I wanted no bastards to tie me to any of them. I never, ever invited them to my chambers.

But Anna…

Anna wasn’t deferential. She looked at me the way the others did, aye, as if I were a delicious treat. But whereas other women licked their lips, their gazes comparing me to a cut of meat, Anna looked at me as if she were starving and I was a long-anticipated dessert.

And I was just as hungry.

And she had touched herself, played with her tits the moment she saw me. Perhaps this was the first woman who could match my appetite.

When I lifted her up on the oak tabletop, she made this little mewling noise that damn near sent me over the edge. My cock was already rock-hard, pressed against the inside of my trousers as if it had been entered in the Faencairn Boulder-Impersonation Competition, and was determined to come out the winner.