Chapter 340: Far Lovelier
Caius didn’t like the sour taste in his mouth as he stared at her. She wasn’t meeting his gaze, and everything he did made her jump. Her terror was so palpable he could almost smell it.She stood awkwardly in his room before slowly sitting on the carpet, and his eyes followed her every move. He knew how often she blinked and how hard her forehead furrowed as she squirmed under his gaze.
She leaned forward, staring down at the chess pieces, and Caius had a very generous view of her neck, part of her shoulders, and chest. Her hair was tied back, which gave him an even clearer view.
He glanced at the pearl necklace that adorned her neck, and an image of Rose in nothing but the necklace appeared in his mind. So vivid was the image that he could almost touch it.
"Your Highness," Rose called, her gaze still locked on the board even though she could feel Caius’s eyes digging daggers into her. "Your move."
Caius felt anger again. Perhaps it was the fact that she referred to him by his correct title, but he knew that wasn’t the problem. It was the distance. She was acting like a total stranger. As though he didn’t know the taste of her lips or the way she sounded while in the throes of pleasure.
Caius tried to keep his emotions in check as he took all this in. For two whole months, he had held out. His thoughts had been consumed with nothing else but seeing her again.
Even the pain of the poison felt better than the thought that she had escaped him. He hadn’t even considered that possibility; he thought all he had to do was exercise some patience, and she would be back in his arms.
He had been nothing but exceptional, agreeable, nice, and most importantly, patient and understanding—but this was what he got in return.
Rose wouldn’t even look at him. She acted as though she’d rather be anywhere else. Caius didn’t like it, and it annoyed him how much he disliked it.
He had let her see her mother and even given her time to mourn. He had even sent Paul with her.
Caius had been informed about the unfortunate news of her mother’s demise, but before that, Paul had told him it was inevitable. Caius had been annoyed that Paul returned too quickly, but his physician informed him there was nothing he could do for her mother.
News about her mother was not the only thing he knew about. He knew her ex-fiancé had married and was expecting a child with her only friend. For several reasons, this development had excited him. There was no reason why she couldn’t give herself to him—but that didn’t seem to be the case.
Caius didn’t care if she feared him; all he wanted was for her to crave him. But she jumped the instant he was near. Would she react the same way if he touched her? Caius felt his throat dry, and he adjusted on the long chair. He was already hard and has been for a while now.
The dress she wore was pretty, and all he could think about was taking it off. He was certain what lay beneath was far lovelier than the wrapping.
"Your Highness," Rose called, her voice sounded worried.
Caius didn’t care about the game. He might never play again and knew he wouldn’t think much of it—but to never touch, taste, and bury himself between her thighs felt like he might just die, and right now that feeling was growing increasingly worse.
Caius had seen her when she arrived. Standing at the library window, which gave him a full view of the front yard, he had watched her from above. His immediate thought was to rush to her, but Caius knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself.
He wanted to give her time to rest. He understood that the journey was hectic and that she must be tired. He had let her rest, and yet he was not being requited. He felt like a thirsty horse in front of a lake, begging for a taste.
Beg?
Caius’s eyes darkened, and his pupils dilated as desire flooded his head. His vision blurred, and an even clearer image of Rose beneath him, crying out his name, filled his mind.
Rose slowly lifted her head to peek up at Caius. She was starting to feel worried. Something didn’t feel right, and no matter how many times she called him, he didn’t respond.
Does he not want to play? But this was his idea.
Rose was torn, as always—she was left at a loss in front of the crown prince. Just as she lifted her head, Rose quickly met his eyes, and she immediately brought her head down. The crown prince was looking right at her.
"Come," he ordered.
Rose grabbed her dress and squeezed. She felt her breath hitch at the sound of his voice—it was hoarse, almost as if... Rose internally smacked herself as she crawled on the carpet towards the crown prince.
"Closer," he said.
Rose slowly nodded. His voice sounded even thicker, and hearing it echo in her ear made her heart race. Her pulse drummed in her ears as she crawled closer, the air between them tightening like a pulled string.
She moved closer until she was right against the long chair; any closer and she would be directly against his face. She felt his hand move to the back of her head. He moved so fast she didn’t even see it until she felt his hand behind her head, pushing her closer to his face.
Rose’s eyes shut tightly as their lips met. Her hands slightly lifted in shock. She had somewhat expected it, but the expectation and reality weren’t the same thing. The kiss completely caught her off guard and stilled her reaction.
Caius wasn’t gentle as he kissed her; she could taste the hunger on his lips. This part, she was used to—but there was something else that bothered her.
Was that irritation?
Rose was still unsure what she had done wrong, but there was no doubt the crown prince was particularly uptight tonight. It was as though everything she did set him off and it was exhausting to walk on eggshells around him.
If he didn’t want her here, he could have left her with her father. She would have preferred that over anything. Besides, this tryst has dragged on for quite too long.
It was hard to think properly when he owned her lips, sucking on them as he held her head in place. His tongue invaded the inside of her mouth, and Rose felt herself melt—against her better judgment.
He was a terrible kisser—impatient, demanding, always wanting to have his way—but there was a frightening intensity in the way he kissed that made her lose her sense of self. Rose hated to admit this and blamed it on the fact that it had been too long.
Her head spun, her chest tightened, and her lungs felt like they were on fire. Caius was relentless, holding her head in place and refusing to give her a moment of reprieve. He was utterly selfish.
When Caius finally pulled away, air rushed into her lungs in harsh, uneven gulps. Her face was flushed, and she attributed it to the lack of air in her lungs, refusing to believe it had anything to do with the kiss.
She opened her eyes as he pulled back, and Caius stared at her with a smirk on his lips. She wanted nothing more than to smack it off. However, she couldn’t help but notice that he seemed less irritated as he watched her, though now pure consuming desire clouded his features. If she could have talked her way out of this before, Rose doubted even a charging herd of bulls could stop him now.
His eyes trailed from her lips to her chest. His gaze remained fixed on her bosom, and Rose tried to stay still, though her mind was churning. She had some time to prepare herself, but she wasn’t quite sure if she was ready yet.
However, she had dealt with Caius enough to know there was no room for dithering. She had to prepare herself now. She knew exactly what she was getting into when she agreed, instead of running away with her father. This was also not the first time—she could take it.
"Take it off," he whispered, the words rough enough to make her skin prickle.
She knew he was referring to her dress. Rose was surprised he was clear-headed enough to ask her to take it off. Usually, he’d have reached for a dagger, slicing through silk and lace without a thought. The fact that he asked this time made it almost worse.
Rose nodded and stood to her full height. She took off her shoes first, tossing them aside, then reached behind to loosen the ribbons of her corset. The fabric gave way easily beneath her hands.
She slipped out of the heavy dress and laid it neatly aside, left in only her thin chemise, garters, and stockings. The air against the lighter fabric felt colder than it should have as she stood beneath his gaze.