Hunger (2)

Talia could feel his hot breath on the inside of her leg as he watched her. He wanted an answer. He was waiting for an answer, and she had never in her life been an indecisive woman, but this... this... was something her body seemed to desperately want while her thoughts, muted and fuzzy as they were through the haze of wine and desire, warned her not to take any farther.

She was shaking now, and whether it was in anticipation of what he was about to do, or an effect of the debate between her mind and body, or from the embarrassment she felt at having a man between her legs, she did not know.

Prince Mikhail gently stroked her leg. He could feel her trembling and frowned slightly. As she watched, he closed his eyes and rubbed his scratchy cheek against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He sighed and she could feel his hot breath on her wet and throbbing slit.

And then he stood and turned his back to her.

"Mikhail!" she cried, struggling to sit up. Even closing her legs-- squeezing that sensitive, aroused area just a little- sent a wave of pleasure through her. What was he doing now?

The Prince bent and snatched his discarded tunic from the floor. He shook it free of the bits of broken china and glass, and Talia almost screamed in anger and frustration. Was he dressing himself while she sat naked and shaking on a table with her own clothes torn to shred? He was so-

Before she could speak, Prince Mikhail threw the tunic over her head and roughly yanked it down, and then looked away. She was shocked. That was it? That was all? She worked to wriggle her arms through the long, wide sleeves and glared at him as he kicked at the scattered shards of broken chinaware, glass, and bits of food.

What had just happened? She was so entirely close to letting go, to experiencing something, to listening to her heart instead of her head for the very first time, and he had suddenly lost interest? Had she done something wrong?

Talia shifted to pull the tunic down to her knees, and he glanced at her. Sitting on the edge of table, her legs dangling, wearing a tunic which looked like an over-sized nightdress, she probably appeared ridiculous. He smiled slightly, but it was a bitter smile.

"I'll carry you through to the sitting room. You'll injure your feet if you stand," he mumbled.

He reached for her, but Talia stopped him by placing her hand against his chest. She could not look up and meet his eyes.

"I want to love you," she admitted in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "The Gods forgive me, I want to... but I am afraid. I fear that it would be akin to digging out my heart and tossing it into the sea. The sea might comfort you one day and drown you the next and cares not either way."

"It is a valid fear," he agreed, causing Talia to draw a sharp and jagged breath.

What small hope she had that he might soothe her fear, that he might say that he loved her, that her heart would be safe with him, was instantly dashed. She would not let him see that he'd cut her deeply. She dropped her hand and nodded.

"I want to say that I would never hurt you," he said, his deep voice low and gravelly. "But I would say it knowing that it is a lie."

She nodded again, miserably, and allowed him to cradle her in his arms. As he walked, she could hear the crunch of all he had broken beneath his boots.

"It's funny when I think about it," she mumbled.

"What's funny, Princess?" he asked.

"Love. I suppose... I suppose... I thought it was much easier. Mother and Father loved each other, and Ora and Sir Aron loved each other, and I suppose I had the impression that when you grew up and decided you wanted to fall in love, you would. One day, you would wake up and walk outside, and there would be the right person, and that would be that, but it isn't like that at all..."

Prince Mikhail made no reply. He set his back to the door of the sitting room and pushed it open.

"It's more like building a bridge," Talia decided.

"A bridge?" he repeated.

"Yes. Building a bridge from two different sides of the river and meeting in the middle. It's just that I'm a lousy architect-- like with Sir Aron! I see a fellow on the other side of the river, and I say: 'Hello there! You're handsome. Shall we build a bridge?', and he calls back: 'Thanks, but I've got one already. You can borrow my boat if you'd like. So, I think to myself, well, that didn't work, and I walk a little further down the river. I see another handsome fellow. He sees me, and then he starts to build. I watch him for a little while, and it looks an awful lot like the start of a bridge to me, so I think, here's my chance. I build my part of the bridge, and when I'm almost finished, I turn around to see how much he has left, and I realize... I realize... the whole time, he wasn't building a bridge at all. He was building a catapult!"

"I'm the one with the catapult?" he confirmed.

"Yes. And the next thing I know, he's launched a massive rock and destroyed my bridge. Love isn't easy at all," she said and heaved a sigh.

He made a low grumbling noise, which seemed to be an agreement and laid her gently on the fainting couch. There was already a fire burning in the fireplace and a few candles lit, and she glanced around impressed by the familiarity of the room.

The couch was upholstered in red and gold fabric with a leaf pattern which had been popular in Vezda many years ago, and the rugs were strewn almost haphazardly across the floor, overlapping one another, which was also in the Vezdan style. There were no plants, which most Vezdan rooms did contain, but otherwise, the same sort of room could be found in many homes in her country. The attention to even small details, like the stack of books on the side table, all written by famous Vezdan philosphers, was actually quite impressive.

"I like this place," she admitted, leaning back against the pillows and closing her eyes. She felt the cushions sink as he sat beside her.

"Sleep a few hours, Princess. I'll have the servers clean the dining room, and find something appropriate for you to wear and-"

"I did something wrong, didn't I?" she asked, not opening her eyes.

"No, Princess. I did," he murmured.

"What did you do wrong?" she asked.

"The Princess drank many glasses of wine, and I tried to take advantage of that," he admitted.

"Oh, the wine!" she scoffed. "Right. That's why. It isn't because I actually feel anything for you. It isn't that I wanted you to do those things to me. It isn't as though it felt... it felt... Do you know, it isn't at all what I imagined it would be like."

"What it would be like?" he repeated.

"Yes, sex, intimacy, all of that... I didn't think it would be a pleasant experience," she admitted.

The Prince laid back on the pillows beside her, and turned on his side. He was terribly close. She could feel his presence even with her eyes closed.

"For many women, it isn't," he said, and his voice was so close to her ear that she could feel his breath on her neck. She shivered. It was still wet between her legs, and with him so near to her, she was worried that he would somehow know.

"Ora made me read a book about it years ago when I was engaged, and it seemed... unpleasant," she continued.

"And you did not find that unpleasant?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. The tone of his voice betrayed his amusement.

Instead of answering, she turned on her side away from him, but a moment later, his arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her tight against his body. The hardness between his legs was still there. She could feel it against her bottom.

"It does not matter," she grumbled. "You should know, I will not willingly give my virginity to a man who does not love me."

Rather than point out that she almost had done exactly that only moments before, he remained silent and moved his hand down to rest on her hip. He began to rub her hip in long slow circles.

"Sleep for a few hours, Princess," he reminded her.

His gentle hand massaging her hip and thigh was meant to relax her, she realized, and then felt slightly disappointed. If he wanted her to relax, she should ask him to see about another bottle of Vezdan wine. The drink relaxed her so much, she almost forgot herself. It was a dangerous beverage indeed. That was her last thought before she fell into a deep and troubled sleep.