Cinderellas Moment Of Doubt Ch 02

The castle needed a new seamstress. This night shift couldn't be less sexy unless I wore a pillow slip over my head.

It was my wedding night. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in a misleadingly white nightgown that brushed the tops of my toes and tied under my chin. The long sleeves covered my arms with the decorative lace at the cuffs extending halfway down my hands. There was barely a peek of flesh showing anywhere. Let's hope my husband was turned on by the sight of my face because that's all the skin he would see when he entered our bedchamber.

The last couple of days had been a flurry of activity for the castle staff. A royal wedding was no small affair. Every face I saw reflected anxiety. I'm not sure anyone slept. I watched helplessly. When I offered to lend a hand, I received appalling looks. No, no, the fair lady shouldn't be bothered with menial chores.

One maid was very angry with me for offering to help. "I ain't got a hankering for spending the night in the dungeon, miss. If I let you pour your own glass of water, I will end up there. What do you think would happen if I let you polish the silverware?"

So I sat. I watched.

I stood. I watched.

I was measured and bathed, fluffed, puffed and styled. The most effort I exerted all day was to raise my arms so the maid could slip this horrid nightdress over my head.

My hair hung in the most unnatural ringlets. Would the prince even recognize me?

The prince. My husband.

Minutes before I married him, he told me his name was William. Common folk like myself only referred to him as The Prince. Young girls who had the chance to see him from afar called him Prince Charming.

He was handsome, of course, in a boyish way. His skin was smooth and youthful; his hands soft and unfamiliar with labour of any kind. His perfectly groomed hair was blond like my own. We made a dashing couple.

The wedding was a blur. I went through all the motions in disbelief. I had spent one romantic night dancing with the prince at a ball. I loved to dance and I was able to act boldly with my face hidden behind a mask. I was flattered that the prince chose me as his sole dancing partner. But marriage?

This on the heels of being ravaged and deflowered by the footman who tried that damn glass slipper on my foot.

He was a man. Rugged and hardworking. My nipples tingled as I remembered his calloused hands on my skin. Would William's touch make me feel that way?

That morning I had waited expectantly with my bags at my feet, listening for the sound of the carriage wheels on the dirt driveway. He had promised to return to deliver me to the castle. But the carriage arrived with two unfamiliar faces; my footman nowhere in sight. Would that have been on the prince's order, or did he decide he didn't want to see me again?

I was supposed to be the luckiest girl in the kingdom. I was marrying the prince. Yet, my heart ached that my nameless, sexy lover hadn't cared enough to return for me.

Now I was married to William. That made me a princess.

Me. A princess.

I felt like an imposter. The servants around me felt like my soul sisters. How could I go from that life of servitude to being the one to sit back and give the orders?

I spun to face the door as William entered the bedchamber. He waved off his butler and walked unsteadily into the room.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"A little too much wine, I think." His grin flashed in my direction but his eyes didn't meet mine. He started babbling about the wedding and the guests, pacing the room while he talked.

My husband was nervous.

I stepped into his path and grabbed his hands in mine. He looked at me then with surprise. I gave him a comforting smile. I saw him visibly reset with that one nonverbal gesture.

He touched my face and smiled into my eyes. This was the prince that danced with me at the ball; confident and powerful. He touched my lips with his in a soft, brief kiss.

I couldn't help but remember the deep, passionate kisses that I had shared with my footman. But I needed to erase him from my mind. I was a married woman now - a princess. Maybe William's performance was impacted by his nerves. I needed to give him a chance before judging and comparing.

I reached up and grabbed the back of his head pulling him back for another kiss. Two more chaste kisses were followed by another regard that showed his surprise at my boldness. He awkwardly rubbed his hands up and down my sleeved arms.

While I had very limited experience with sex, I suddenly realized that my husband had none.

I had married a virgin.

"Is this your first time being with someone like this?" I asked quietly.

His face turned red and I saw him swallow before nodding.

"I'm a prince. Opportunities to be alone with anyone are few. The ball was an exception since its purpose was to meet an acceptable lady to be my wife." His face was still unnaturally pink as his eyes met mine.

"Do you think that's what you got? An 'acceptable' lady?"

He touched my cheek and smiled.

"You are more than acceptable, Ella. You are perfect."

I could tell that my frown was unexpected. He drew his own eyebrows down.

"What? You don't agree?"

I threaded my fingers through his and squeezed. "I don't feel like we've spent enough time together to know if we are perfect for each other," I admitted. "My life has been very different from yours up to this point.

He cleared his throat awkwardly as if no one had ever questioned him before.

"You'll get used to the castle. The servants will make your life so much easier." Still holding my hand, he touched my face again with the other. "I know the years since your father's death have been challenging. Consider yourself rescued from that."

My smile was less than heartfelt. His response had only confirmed how little he knew me. Yes, I had worked hard and slaved for my family, but I also had a strong work ethic and enjoyed staying busy. Frankly, my opinion on most royalty with their butlers and servants was that they were just plain lazy. Cleaning and organizing gave me a sense of accomplishment and purpose. Did I want to be rescued from that?

Maybe it was the wine, but he didn't notice my lack of response to his touch or his words. "You look beautiful," he said pulling on a ringlet to stretch it out and watch it bounce back. I felt like I was fourteen.

"You smell good too." He nuzzled into my neck, sniffing loudly. Was it my inexperience that caused me to cringe at this action or to think that Prince was often used as a dog's name?

My prince pulled me over to the bed and gestured for me to sit on its edge. He sat next to me and began to kiss me again. How could I teach him to deepen the kiss or use his tongue without revealing that I had done this before?

"Why don't you get under the covers?" he suggested.

I looked over at the roaring fire in the fireplace.

"Won't that be a little warm?"

His eyes narrowed and I saw that look again; disbelief that I had questioned his idea rather than obeying his directive. I pushed myself up further on the bed and crawled under the covers. I might not smell so pleasant in a few minutes covered in the heavy blankets wearing the long nightdress.

"I don't think it would be very respectable to take you out in the open. These things should be done in private." He moved around the room extinguishing candles and lanterns.

I bit my tongue to stop myself from reminding him that we were alone. Private.

When the only light in the room was the flickering flames in the hearth, he finally came to bed. He removed his outer garments and pants. Then he pulled a nightshirt over his head. I took advantage of the darkness to roll my eyes.

I remembered the desire I felt to touch my bare skin to the footman's as he mated with me. My breasts had ached to be freed from my corset and to be pressed against his hot, hard chest. The memory caused a wetness that might be advantageous during the next few minutes.

My husband crawled into bed next to me, pulling the blankets up to his chin. He kissed me tangling his fingers in my curls. Emboldened in the darkened room, his lips pressed harder on mine. His kisses were longer, though his lips were still locked together.

"Do you want to try it with our mouths open a little more?" I suggested.

His eyes opened in shock.

"That's not appropriate for royalty, Ella. I don't know what fairy tales you have been listening to, but you are now a princess; royalty."

He touched my cheek with the back of his hand. "Don't worry, you will learn all the rules."

I was surprised to feel a tear slip down over my cheek after his hand left it.

His hands were suddenly on the tail of my night shift. He pulled it up gently to my upper thighs. He pulled my bloomers down to my ankles, all without disturbing the blankets. I felt him fumbling with his own undergarments.

He climbed on top of me, his nightshirt pulled up to his waist. I longed to feel the hard heat of his desire against me; again remembering the footman's large pulsing member that stretched me as he entered. I felt that same ache again.

The wanting.

The need.

I was wet and ready, thanks to my recollections.

As he slipped inside me with ease, the memory shifted to the moment that the footman inserted his finger inside me. I closed my eyes and began to move on his thick, calloused finger. Thankfully, my husband didn't object to my gyrations.

As the intensity built, I looked forward to the ultimate release. I relived the sensations I experienced several days ago. I felt his touch. I felt his lips.

But within seconds, it was all over as the prince abruptly finished with a high-pitch cry.

It was only then that my brain processed that I was not writhing on a finger at all. My husband's girth was severely lacking.

He rolled off me and redressed. Wordlessly, he turned onto his side, his back to me. In less time than it took him to complete his mission, he was snoring quietly.

My nipples were still erect, pushing against the fabric of my night shift. I tentatively touched myself, feeling the hot, thick liquid pooling around my entry. I closed my eyes and imagined my finger was his.

As his finger pushed inside me, my hips lifted to allow him better access. His finger moved in and out in a steady pattern, his thumb grazing the swollen nub just outside. My other hand snaked inside my night shift and touched my breast, gently pinching my nipple. I pulled it in rhythm with the finger plunging in and out.

I pictured the footman's throbbing member and inserted two more fingers. My breathing was heavy and fast and I sneaked a peek over at the prince. Drunk and sated, he was out.

I still tried to make it as soundless as possible as I felt my insides pulse around my fingers, the ache of desire exploding into darts of pleasure, the light, floaty feeling in my chest matching the euphoria in my head.

I wiped my fingers on the sheets near the wet spot that William had created as he withdrew.

I telepathed a thank you to my footman who was likely within the castle grounds right now.

As I drifted into a heavy, peaceful slumber, I wondered how long I could be happy with this version of a real passionate experience.

I'm sure William would agree that once you got the taste of a medium rare steak, you couldn't go back to eating pork chops.

I licked my lips as my heavy eyes gave into sleep. So far I had only found one cut of meat that satisfied my discerning palate.