Page 129 of Heartbreak Prince

“Not when you were unconscious.”

“You built a fire.”

“Once.” He looks sheepish. “It wasn’t a good one.”

“Severin helped you, didn’t he?”

“Of course he did,” Vawn admits. “He was full of advice. An expert on fire-making, even though he won’t go near one. The closest he came was the night we fell into the lake, after Zeletas, when he reflected the heat for us.”

“Ah yes. Good times.”

“Terrible times, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of my head, and it’s such a sweet, casual gesture of affection that my heart dissolves into a yearning puddle. But he doesn’t pause—he’s off again, his long legs carrying him through the first-floor rooms until he finds a cozy parlor to his liking.

I build the fire and crouch in front of it, nudging things into the perfect position for extended burning. Vawn bounds into the room, his arms piled with blankets and a bottle in his hand.

“No food, but I found a bottle of very fine wine,” he crows. “And Inaya was right—it smells so much better here. Just think, we could have been enjoying ourselves in this place for the past fortnight. She’s been holding out on us.”

“It is her relatives’ home,” I say. “It’s probably a sensitive subject with her, given the…” But I stop myself from speaking about the plight of the Tularesk people or the instability of the ground. We’re both well aware of the state of this kingdom. There’s no need to dwell on it when we could be enjoying a nice evening together.

On the floor in front of the fire, we make a nest of blankets and pillows. Heat soon radiates through the room, and Vawn challenges me to a game of archstones with some moharganth tusk dice he found during his exploration of the house. He explains the rules, including the penalty of losing a round—the removal of one item of clothing.

When Vawn loses the first five rounds, along with his boots, his shirt, his pants, and his underwear, I narrow my eyes at him while shaking the dice around in the bowl. “You’re very bad at this game.”

“Oh, no, my love.” He gives me a dastardly grin and takes a gulp from the bottle of wine we’re sharing. “I’m very, very good at this game.”

And then he starts to win, over and over, until I’m in my bare skin. The glow of the fire, the fine wine, and the flush of arousal are keeping me toasty warm, and I’m feeling deliciously naughty. Downright frisky, in fact.

“Let’s change the game,” I suggest. “Let’s roll for who gets to touch the other, and with which body part, and where.”

“Oh, I like this idea.” Vawn licks his lips, his eyes glittering with lustful malevolence.

We discuss the rules and assign numbers to body parts. Then he says, “Go on, darling. You first.”

“Very well.” I roll and receive an even number, which means he gets to touch me. Then he rolls for a body part and gets a twelve.

“A toe?” I make a face.

Vawn grins. “Your turn, sweetheart. Roll for where my toe goes.”

I shake the dice and let them tumble onto the blanket. “A ten. But that’s—”

“Your pussy. Excellent.”

“Are your toes clean?” I wrinkle my nose.

“Clean enough. Smell them.” He lifts a narrow, well-kept foot and pokes it toward my face.

“Ugh, no!” I wriggle away, but Vawn grabs for me, seizing my ankle and wrist, and drags me back to him. I struggle playfully, letting him press me down into the blankets and fling himself on top of me.

His skin is hot and smooth, his muscles surging like stone beneath silk. Feeling the entire length of his long, muscled body against mine sends me into a delicious panic. My heart is racing almost as fast as the carpet at top speed.

“Move your thighs apart, Forsythia.” His voice is quiet, dominant.

I shift beneath him, opening access, and he reaches down, notching the tip of his cock into my entrance.

“This isn’t part of the game,” I whisper.

“Fuck the game.” He pushes slowly, torturously into me, and I grab his arms, gasping at the exquisite friction.