88

It had been a long night and half a day of nonstop travelling, neither the healer nor princess keen on stopping until they were satisfied with the distance between them and the castle. With Jacques’ speed, they made excellent time, and by sunset, they had reached Frostbite, and by the time they paid for a room at the inn, they were off to bed, collapsing onto each other in exhaustion and fatigue.

And that’s how they stayed until the sun peeked over the horizon a few hours later, its rays playing through the crack in the curtains and stirring the healer awake.

Jacques groggily stares down at the young woman in his arms, his chest tightening with unbridled love at her peaceful, sleeping features. As if she couldn’t get any more beautiful. But then a thought crossed his mind – neither of them had taken a bath since their shenanigans last night, and they’ve been travelling all day after that.

Carefully untangling himself from Dove, he tucks her in and quietly steps out of the room. Thankfully, he’s paid extra to use the washroom the previous night, and he couldn’t be happier to find that the bath had been recently filled with steamy water, still clean and unused.

Not wasting a second, he strips his clothes and climbs into the tub, sighing when he submerges himself into the warmth. Closing his eyes, he rests his head back and allows himself to relax.

Jacques must have dozed off again, if only for a minute. The next moment he opens his eyes, it’s because someone is dragging a wet cloth over his shoulders, pressing down with their fingers to work his muscles. His whole body ignites when a soft pair of lips press against his nape, eliciting a low hum from his throat.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He asks almost incoherently.

“I missed you,” Dove’s soft voice ripples through him. She kisses him again, this time on his back and scraping her teeth over his skin. He gasps and she giggles, soothing her thumb over the little bite mark she left.

“Then get your royal arse in here and show me how much you really missed me.”

Dove’s eyes flash at the challenge. Straightening up, she slowly circles the tup to stand before him. His throat dries when he sees her wearing only a shirt she’s borrowed from him to sleep in, the material white and sheer, gracing him with the faintest view of her nipples shining through.

Gods, did she leave their room like that?

Dove undoes the buttons painfully slow until the shirt slides off her body on its own, pooling around her feet. Sitting back, he shamelessly rakes his eyes over her body as she dips in her feet, elegantly lowering herself into the water like the princess she is.

Before Jacques could form a decent sentence, she drags herself onto his lap and straddle his thighs, arms wrapping tightly around his torso as if it’s a natural instinct. Her smile steals his breath when she leans in to kiss him good morning.

“I could get used to this,” he jests lightly when she pulls back, lazily gliding his hands up her thighs to hold her by the hips. “Running away; best decision I’ve ever made.”

“Don’t you mean ‘we’?” Dove snorts. However, her eyes have a certain glow to them he’s never seen before. “Doesn’t this feel…peculiar to you? In a good way, of course.”

“Peculiar how?” He tilts his head, always curious about how her thoughts work.

“Doesn’t this oddly feel like we’re on our honeymoon?”

Jacques’ heart leaps at the thought, beating faster when he realizes that she had a point. They ran away together – which is only a synonym for eloping – they spent the night in a room they rented at an inn, and now, they’re sharing a bath like all newlywed couples do.

“Would you like this to be a honeymoon?” He pulls her closer by the waist and starts kissing the lower swell of her breast.

Dove’s arms unwind from his torso, hands wandering his chest and following the path of his chest hair down to his stomach. “Very much, yes.” She gasps when he lightly kisses her nipple while look at her through his lashes.

“As you wish, Princess.” Jacques smiles, eyes flashing playfully. “But first, breakfast.”

Before she could ask what he meant, soft, wet lips are exploring the base of her neck, worshiping her skin with tender kisses and little nips. They pay special attention to the soft blue vein that pulses at the base of her neck, fangs grazing it teasingly.

Dove drops her head back with a blissful smile when his tongue flattens over the vein, giving it a long, wet lick upwards. Her arms tighten around him, her fingers disappearing in his wavy locks to hold him in place, fearing that she might just combust if he stops tormenting her with his delicious mouth.

“Hold still, Princess,” he moans against her throat, the tips of his fangs prodding at her skin. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

She nods and manages to whisper ‘yes’ while rolling her hips against his hardened length, gasping when she him grinding against her core.

Moving one of his hands to the back of her neck, he gently tilts her head to the side. Pressing a final soft kiss on her throat, his fangs slowly sink into that beautiful vein, a moan tearing through him when he tastes her on his tongue. Exquisite. Absolutely, and utterly delicious.

He hasn’t fed for days and now he knows why. He was waiting for this, for her. No human’s blood had ever called to him like hers did, which made this moment all the more intimate and special.

Dove gasp at the slight sting he caused, before a tidal wave of ecstasy crashes over her. She breathes his name in bliss, moving her hips more frantically as he slowly drinks from her. He is painfully hard against her inner thigh, neither of them able to postpone the inevitable any longer.

He retracts his fangs from her vein and licks up the rivulet of blood that trails down her neck. And with eyes hooded with love and lust, he finally looks up to the sights of her expression, dazed and desperate for more. For him.

She is so beautiful like this, with desire clouding her turquoise gaze, her lips plump and parted, so wet and inviting, and her cheeks so gorgeously flustered. He could come by just staring at her.

Too desperate to wait any longer, Dove lifts her hips for the head of his length to slip past her entrance, both of them gasp at the little friction that created. And then she sinks down, taking the rest of him inside her.

“Gods, you’re perfect. I love you.” He moans, his head falling back as she proceeds to take the lead, bouncing on him with lazy yet steady rhythm.

Dove’s outlines illuminates when the sun hits her back through the window, its rays reflecting off her and creating halos around her figure. She’s ethereal, and she’s *his*. From her crown to her toes, she is *his*. And the more it sinks in, the closer he feels to combusting with the overpowering love he has for this woman.

For the second time that morning, Jacques zones out, this times from the electrifying bliss she’s giving him. Which is why he jolts violently when, out of the blue, he feels a sharp sting at the base of his neck. Hands flying up, he grabs at her back, realizing with a start what that pain was – she *bit* him. And she’s actively sucking at his neck as he did to hers only moments ago, while increasing the pace of her hips.

“Dove –” he chokes, torn between shock and lust when the coppery smell of blood hits his nose. His blood. “Dove, you shouldn’t…*oh gods*…Dove…” His words slur when she pulls back to present him with a sight he never thought he’d behold.

Her bouncing on his throbbing length, breasts swaying sideways with each motion, his blood staining her lips, and her tongue darting out to slowly lick it off…

He comes hard, hands gripping the sides of the tub until his knuckles turn white, legs shuddering when she milks him for everything he’s worth. And then she has the audacity to giggle, leaning down to plant an open-mouth kiss on his lips so he can taste himself on her.

There are a million things he wants to say to her now, most of them lectures about how she should’ve known better than to consume his blood.

But all that disappears when she rears back to look at him, once again stealing his breath with her smile and the three words that would mean the death of him. “I love you too.”