Eat the Poor

XXIII

"I know what you are thinking," he murmured. "Philip, you've been led to sin. Well, let me remind you that the Devil tempts every good man in his weakest state. Sleep."

I smiled against his lips. "You wouldn't be having any unholy dreams, would you, sire?"

"I shall pretend I did not hear that vile accusation."

"You can tell me," I coaxed. "What were you dreaming about?"

He shivered and leaned back, letting me close in on him. "Why should I tell you?"

"So I can make them come true, darling."

There wasn't an inch of his flesh I didn't wish to taste. Only the thin material of his nightshirt covered him, the barrier keeping us apart. My knee slipped between his thighs and he rubbed against me, his soft belly rising and falling as his breath hitched.

I watched his brow pinch as he attempted grinding on my leg, his movements those of a clumsy novice. The poor boy had no idea what he was doing. With a grin, I dipped my head and left a slow kiss at the base of his throat. "I can help you," I whispered, hand poised to slide up his nightshirt. "I'm good."

"Wait, Auden." His voice floated to my ears like tendrils of smoke. "There's something you should know..."

Before he could continue, a thunderous knock sounded a the door.

Philip jumped.

I cursed under my breath. I felt like a mule with a juicy carrot dangling before its face, lured further down a weary path.

Surely I'd committed some grave sin to deserve this curse.

When I met Philip's eyes, I realized he was thinking the same thing. He struggled to clear his throat and sat up, craning his head toward the door. "N-Not now, Beauregard!" he called, his voice raspy and strained.

"Your Majesty!" The deep, sturdy voice did not belong to the Lord Chamberlain. I heard a scuffle of footsteps and a body slam against the door. "Your Majesty, I insist-"

"Another time!" Philip yelled.

A second voice came softer. "You heart the King."

We waited until the footsteps retreated, a chorus of reluctant grumbling slowly quieting, and then at last Philip made a grimacing face at me and slumped back down. "That could have been important."

"Probably not." I kissed him, eager to resume, and let my fingers glide skillfully up his thigh. "You were saying?"

His eyes went wide with fear as my hand inched higher.

I paused.

"You don't like when I touch you," I murmured. Half observation. Half question.

"I do-" He embraced me suddenly, surprising me. I stiffened up at first, then relaxed slowly and wrapped my arms around him too. "I like everything you do."

His face was buried in my neck, his hands clutching at me. I found myself holding him protectively, like he was something small and fragile.

It didn't matter what I wanted, I decided. It didn't matter how painfully I ached. I would wait as long as he wished.

For a second Philip peeked up at me. His lower lip trembled like he was about to cry.

"What's wrong, sweetness?" I whispered. Did he think I would hurt him? Did he think someone would find out?

"It's silly, really," he murmured, holding me close. "I just... I did not want you to be disappointed."

"Why would I be disappointed?" I had to lean back to focus, because if I was too close to him, my mind would enter a delirious state in which all I could imagine was making him mine.