Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (18)

I’m going to do such filthy, dishonorable things to you.

I stopped my hand from sliding down my body and closed my thighs. Only because he might scent what I’d done, regardless of bathing. I groaned with a myriad of frustrations as I sank into the water again before washing and preparing to leave.

I wasn’t willing to wait and see if I would have an escort this time.

Arriving at the Lair of Lust a half hour before midnight, I made good use of my earliness by searching for a gown.

After trying on three that were either too tight or too large, I settled on a lemon number that fell to the floor in a single sheet of satin-backed lace. It resembled a night gown for someone with the coin to spare on the indulgence, but I couldn’t deny how much I liked the way it molded to my curves.

Gentle but fitting, it cupped my breasts, hips, and upper thighs before falling to touch my toes.

In the dressing room, I attempted to do as Madam Morin had said last time and wear my hair up. But the pins wouldn’t hold the wild and thick waves. Instead, I braided and pinned a few pieces behind my ears.

A woman entered as I contemplated doing something with my face, her own and her upper body flushed. Adjusting her tasseled dress, she froze at the sight of me and flicked strands of bronze hair from her cheek. “You must be Rolina’s replacement.”

I nodded and set the powder puff down. I had no idea how much to use anyway. “Hello.”

“Pretty,” she said, a little curl to her lip as she inspected me. “Rolina always dealt with the rogues. Dennis is a biter, so be sure to watch those lovely tits.”

I coughed to hide my shock. I had no intention of meeting other clients. At least, I hoped I would not have to. I didn’t bother saying so, though. “I’m afraid I’ve yet to meet him.”

“Count yourself lucky, then,” she muttered, closing the stall door to the tiny bathing room in the far corner.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the subtle paling of my cheeks, and decided to forgo putting anything on my face. Being that the woman hadn’t so much as offered her name, I didn’t doubt she wanted privacy. And I had no business hoping for something as elusive as a comrade, let alone a friend.

The door to the dressing room had barely closed behind me when Madam Morin appeared atop the stairs to the third floor. “Oh, merciful Mother. You’re actually half decent this eve.” She strode briskly down the hall. “Though I must say, a little color on those lips wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’m not well-acquainted with the art of such things.”

Knocking a ringlet from her cheek, Morin slowed and raised a brow. I was quickly studied from head to toe. “Get friendly with it, Flea. This one seems content, to be sure, but future clients might want a little more...” She pursed her crimson lips. “Flavor.”

I frowned, but before I could find anything to say to that, she snapped her fingers. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She gestured to the stairs. “Move, darling. He’s already here.”

“Already?” It couldn’t have been midnight yet, surely.

“You speak as though it’s a bad thing.” Laughing low, Morin scooted behind me to enter the dressing room. “Keep him eager, and you’ll keep his coin. But do hurry on now.”

The door closed, and I was left wondering if perhaps it was not such a bad thing indeed—to have a male as powerful as he so keen to see me.

Yet on the second floor, my confidence began to melt. I paused with my hand over the door handle.

His scent permeated. His presence a silent hum upon the air.

Belatedly realizing that if I could sense him through the wood, then he could sense me, I opened the door. As I quickly locked it behind me, I said without thinking, “You could have told me you were a king before we...” Remembering myself, I shut my mouth.

I winced, then turned and curtsied.

King Florian raised a brow. He was already lounging upon the divan, an ankle over his knee. “Before we what?”

Unable to conjure the right words, especially with those eyes traveling from my heating cheeks to my chest to my covered legs, I blurted as I straightened, “Before we fornicated.”

He coughed, and I could have sworn it was to cover a shocked bark of laughter. “Fornicated?”

My nose twitched. It was the wrong word, I knew, but it was too late now. I clenched my skirts. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know that I do,” he drawled dryly. “Would you care to explain?”

“I would not.” I was more red than a ripe tomato, made worse when I failed yet again to respect him properly. “Majesty.”

Another laugh. This one a melodic rumble that accompanied a flash of straight teeth and extremely sharp-looking canines. “You look like a lemon pie, butterfly.”

More embarrassment threatened to bloom. Doubting I had room for more, I curled my bare toes over the cool wood and forced a response. “Not fond of pie, Majesty?”

His lips twitched. “Sit.”

Laying a large hand next to him upon the divan, he waited for me to settle beside him.

“It would have been helpful to know you were a king.” I smoothed my fingers over the satin hugging my thighs and felt him track my every movement, perhaps even my slow-to-calm breath.

“How so?”

I glanced at the untouched liquor cabinet. “I could have been far more respectful.” I quickly added, “Majesty.”