Page 30 of The Midnight King
He turns around so quickly I catch my breath. His lavender eyes meet mine with an expression so intimate and tender I almost can’t bear it.
“It’s just you,” he says.
“Oh,” I say breathlessly, my face burning. “Well… that’s good. Now, go on.”
The Faerie transforms intome, complete with the same blue work dress I’m wearing. He takes a cautious peek down the front of the dress, waggles my own eyebrow at me, and continues upstairs.
“Fuck you,” I murmur as I descend the steps and fling myself onto my cot.
I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep. I keep seeing two faces dancing around in my head—the silver-haired King with his bold jaw and wolfish eyes, and the slim purple-haired Faerie with his light, sarcastic voice and unexpected tenderness. I’ve never asked his name. Perhaps I should. And I should tell him my name, too. I’d like to hear it from his mouth.
Fuck, did I really just think that? Do I wonder what it would be like to hear him say “Celinda” with that smirking mouth of his? Or… what if he gasps out my name while he’s coming?
A trickle of delicate pleasure runs along my pussy, and I put my hand under the blankets, working my way beneath my dress and underwear. I shiver when my fingertips brush my clit. I’m more sensitive than usual lately. After the long sexual drought I’ve experienced, my body is roaring to life, having its first great awakening.
Arching my knees, I rub my fingers in quick circles. It should take the Faerie a while to finish his task, so I have a few moments of privacy.
Shit, now he’s in my head. I picture him as he stood over me last night, his hips swayed toward me, his elegant fingers stroking his cock until he shot delicious cum over my tongue…
“All done,” he announces cheerfully, appearing abruptly in the cellar.
I whip my hand out from between my legs and sit up, a guilty heat flaming in my cheeks. “Fuck you! I told you I was going to take a nap!”
The Faerie has resumed his usual form. He cocks his head, his nostrils quivering. “Hmm. Taking a nap, were you?”
“Stopsmelling.”
“You might as well tell me to stop breathing.” He turns a wooden chair backward and sits astride it, crossing his arms over the chair back and watching me with interest. “By all means continue what you were doing. You watched me pleasure myself, so it’s only fair I should observe you.”
“I thought you were busy,” I counter. “You have things to do.”
His tongue traces his lips, and his grin turns feral. “Nothing so interesting as this.”
My pussy feels swollen with heat and need, but I’m not so desperate that I’ll come on my fingers while he watches. “I’ll see you tonight,” I tell him firmly.
“As you wish.” He rises with a sigh, blows me a kiss, and disappears.
When he leaves, I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. But I don’t resume what I was doing. Instead, I chastise myself inwardly for having sexual encounters with two different men. I haven’t promised myself to either of them, so I’m within my rights to do as I like, but it feels odd to me. As if I shouldchoose one. But neither is a permanent fixture in my life, so why shouldn’t I enjoy them both while I have the chance?
Once my stepmother and stepsisters rise, the work begins again. Vashli and Amisa seem silently astonished that all the things they broke last night have been mysteriously mended. But they don’t mention it to me or their mother. They were both quite drunk—maybe they assume they’re remembering the fight incorrectly. It’s amusing to watch their confusion.
My stepmother still has a headache. She gets terrible ones occasionally, and I’ve learned to appreciate them, because when she’s in the throes of one, she’s quiet and less prone to give me orders.
Between her headache and the events of last night, there’s significantly less enthusiasm among my step-family about going to yet another ball. Halfway through the afternoon, my stepmother announces, “Cinders and I will be staying home tonight. I plan to take a sleeping potion and get some relief from this pain in my head. Cinders, prepare the girls. They will attend the ball together.”
“Just the two of us?” shrills Amisa.
“Yes,” replies her mother curtly. “It’s time to see what you can do with His Royal Highness when Cinders isn’t there to snare his attention on your behalf. Whatever you do,do notfight over the Prince in public, do you understand? Save your battles for later. Present a united front, and be the most loving and charming sisters that were ever seen. Or else.”
“Yes, Mother,” they reply in chastened tones.
I’m secretly delighted. When Gilda said I would be staying home, she didn’t word it as a command; it was a statement. An oversight caused by her pounding headache. I’m only bound to help the girls prepare—I’m not restricted to the house. Once Gilda is soundly asleep, I’ll be free to leave.
I can’t appear in the ballroom lest my stepsisters notice me, but perhaps I can meet the King in the library again and exploremore of the books—or more of him. I think I’m becoming rather addicted to secret trysts and stolen pleasures.
Getting my stepsisters ready is far easier this evening. They’re more subdued, too tired to think of cutting remarks, intent on their own schemes for attracting the Prince. I take my time with each of them, offering quiet advice and fixing their hair and makeup so they each appear to their best advantage. Vashli smiles when she sees her reflection, and Amisa actually thanks me. I think I might faint from shock.
Shortly after Worden drives them away in the carriage, I prepare Gilda’s sleeping potion. I’m drizzling some honey into the potion to improve the taste when my Faerie godfather appears in the kitchen. Tonight he’s dressed in dazzling white with a purple scarf, and he looks so startlingly beautiful that my jaw actually drops when I see him.