Dark Prince & the Doe

Chapter Fifty-seven: Just Out of Reach

Chapter Fifty-seven: Just Out of Reach

Calden

Cezanne pressed up against him in the darkness as they hid from yet another patrol. Her breath came in desperate little pants as she clung closer to him. Calden leaned down and pressed his lips against her ear. "Shh, quiet now," he whispered and began to pull away.

Her hand reached up and she drew her cold fingertips along his jaw. Her fingers then tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck. She pulled his face closer to hers. He offered no resistance – closer, till the warmth of her lips radiated just a whisper away from his own.

"Make me," she demanded.

He stole her next breath. Her hand tightened in his hair as he slammed her up against the wall. Her gentle lips were fierce against his own. Demanding. Hungry. Her tongue insistent, sweet as golden honey.

She wasn't close enough. He wanted more than her lips. He needed her closer. He needed everything. He needed her. Sliding his hands down her back, his knuckles scraped against the stone wall. The silken fabric of her nightgown rode up around her waist as she wrapped her leg around him. She arched up against him and moaned softly as his grip tightened on her waist. He hesitated for a moment, glancing nervously into the hallway, and she nipped at his lower lip – punishment for his pause. What little sense of self-control he had left shattered.

Her feet left the floor and his back met the opposite wall with a solid thud. She clung to him, even more ravenous than before, clawing at his shoulder. Her other hand played sensuously down his neck, cool against the heat of the fire growing hotter inside him by the second. He was burning alive with it.

Running his hands up the side of her body, the silk caught against his fingertips as he cupped her breast with his hand. She gasped and pulled away, struggling against him. Calden's stomach flipped in horror at the realization of who he had in his arms. Dropping his hand back to her waist, he slowly lowered her to the ground.

Cezanne stared up at him, wide-eyed, as if truly seeing him for the first time. They glowed a warm, golden yellow, but not with revulsion or hatred or anger. But passion. Her lips parted, red and full. Her cheeks flushed. Her breaths, quick.

He needed her to come back to him. No, he needed to reach out and grab her, drag her back into his embrace, steal her away. Make Cezanne his. She took a step back. Then another. Until she was just out of reach. She bit at her plump, kiss-softened lower lip. Her hands slowly trailed down her body, her eyes never leaving his. Without words, she held him still. Captive.

She took the thin fabric of her gown in her hands and lifted it. Agonizingly slow. The hem rose and she bared her soft thighs, inch by inch. It took everything to keep from lunging at her and tearing that gown to pieces.

She paused; the fabric bundled in her hands. She smiled at him tauntingly then released her skirts, the hem dropping back to the floor. She leisurely walked backwards down the dark passageway and he followed, keeping the space between them despite how badly he wanted that space gone.

He advanced. She retreated.

Cezanne backed towards his bed, then finally stood her ground, waiting. She smiled, her eyes glowing hotter. Calden stalked towards her, one cautious step at a time, until he loomed over her.

"Well, Calden?" She arched up towards him. "Take it. I'm yours."

He needed no further invitation. He grabbed that tormenting nightgown of hers, dragging it up over her body far quicker than she'd done, nearly tearing it apart in the process. There was so much fabric, he was tangled in it, swearing and cursing. As soon as he got the waves of lace and silk over her head, he chucked it across the room where it landed in a pile. Good riddance.