Page 8 of His Savage Sweet

I thought I was lost before, but seeing her looking at me that way squeezed something in my chest.

Not in the way it had when I’d first seen her and known I needed to fook her, nay. This was something else, something that made my cock twitch, aye, but also made my lungs tighten.

Something that frustrated the hell out of me.

With an angry growl, I slammed the door and stalked away from those eyes.

Chapter 4

Anna

All things considered, it was probably a miracle I still had my position.

All eyes were on me as I arrived at the kitchens the next day; some were curious, some were jealous. And there were a few—especially Isla and Elsa, the twins—who were downright hostile. Why? Because Wulf—Prince Beowulf—paid me special attention? Because he’d asked for me?

Or because he’d locked himself in the coldroom with me, and both of us had left through the backdoor?

Even as Alisa hurried over, I had to remind myself that none of them knew what happened between us. None of them knew how seriously we’d defiled a food preparation space, and none of them knew how much I’d enjoyed it.

Which was, let’s be honest: absolutely. I’d absolutely enjoyed it.

I’d absolutely loved the way he’d fooked me so hard I’d screamed his name, and I’d absolutely gone home and masturbated at the memory.

Aye, that was me. I’d finally fulfilled a long-held fantasy—being fooked by the beautifully beastly Beowulf—and even that wasn’t enough for me.

When I was alone in my quarters in the servants’ attics, I had pulled out my copy of A Harlot’s Guide and tried to recapture the way he’d made me feel. The way his eyes had caught and held me, the way just his breath on my neck was enough to make me moan.

But no matter how I tried to hold on to that memory, no matter how hard I played with my clit, I couldn’t make myself orgasm. That evening, on the table, I’d come harder than I ever had…but I couldn’t orgasm again?

I was afraid Wulf had ruined me for anyone else—I was never going to have another orgasm as incredible as last night’s, not ever again.

Damnation.

“Anna, ye are late.” Alisa ran the kitchens with an iron fist, and was even a confidant of the queen. “Her Majesty has requested yer savories again with tonight’s dinner, and Prince Beowulf certainly seemed to enjoy them…”

She was hinting for information, but I kept my face blank as I pulled on my apron. She wasn’t going to get any gossip from me, not when that information was a treasured secret.

Alisa seemed to understand, and sighed in defeat with a playful smile. “Ye are the best with pastry, and the lad loves good food.” She patted my arm amicably. “Do ye think ye can whip up another batch in between those berry tarts?”

I’d thrown out the dough I’d been working on yesterday—right before I scrubbed and cleaned my entire table and floor—so I was going to have to start from scratch. Still, it would give me something to focus on, instead of thinking about Wulf.

So I nodded and smiled and got to work, and found out how much trouble I really was in.

Certainly, making new pastries—ones which had been requested from the Royal Family!—was fulfilling and time-consuming. But apparently I was terrible at forgetting Wulf.

All I could think about was his lips as he bit into one of the savories he’d enjoyed.

Or his satisfied hum when he liked one of my tarts.

Or his tongue as it flicked out to catch a wayward crumb.

Or his cock, thick and hot and filled with seed, ready to pound me into oblivion while I orgasmed.

Just the thought made me hot and wet. After a few hours of work, I didn’t think I could take it anymore.

Beneath my bloomers, my thighs were damp from my desire. I was having to work with them pressed together just to keep from dripping down my legs.

Thank goodness I worked alone back here in the coldroom.