The Trouble With Princesses (17 page)

Suddenly, without quite knowing how, she found herself on her back, her nightgown pushed to her waist. Then it disappeared altogether, tossed haphazardly aside. She lay completely naked, vulnerable and absolutely at his mercy.

He leaned above her, large and imposing, but she wasn’t the least bit afraid. Rather than trying to hide herself from his gaze, she stretched against the sheets with sinuous pleasure, enjoying the flash of liquid heat that ignited in his eyes. A slow grin spread over his face; clearly he was appreciative of her daring response.

Her body throbbed deep within, her nipples beading even tighter under his attentive examination. Reaching out, he laid his palm against her throat, then stroked downward, across her breastbone and over the flat plane of her stomach. He paused, then slipped a finger into the dip of her belly button.

She sucked in a ragged breath, her stomach muscles flexing under his hand. Biting her lip, she waited for him to continue his exploration as he had earlier that afternoon.

Instead, he leaned over and took her mouth, kissing her with a dark intensity that plumbed the depths of her own yearning. She ran her hands over him, wanting to learn the shape and temperature and texture of his body.

But he was a big man and she couldn’t reach as far as she might have liked. She contented herself with his chest, threading her fingers in and out of the thatch of curling hair that grew across its firm surface. And then around to trace the smooth contours of his back, and down the long limber curve of his spine.

Her mind muddled with pleasure, she kissed him wildly, unable to get enough, each new kiss a revelation, every touch as sweet as a prayer.

He seemed to feel the same, urging her to follow where he led, to give in to the raging desire that threatened to turn her blood to smoke. She strove to match him, moaning as she rose to meet his increasing demands. The sound that came from her was low and raw, filled with the strength of her ardor.

“Shh,”
he cautioned softly. “We don’t want anyone to hear us.”

She struggled to make sense of his words, her brain distinctly fuzzy. “E-everyone is asleep,” she panted, trying to keep her voice low. “Th-the room next door is empty. No one will hear.”

He kissed her again, hard and long. “Still, if you think you might scream, use one of the pillows.”

Scream?

Why on earth would she do that?

But then she had no more time to think, as he began touching her again, his palms ranging over her in long, devastating sweeps that began at her shoulders, then moved on to her arms and breasts, and down across her stomach to her hips and thighs and calves. When he reached her ankles, he wrapped his hands around them and pulled her legs apart.

Kneeling between them, he began kissing her, slowly making his way up one leg, then down the other. As he went, he licked her, tasting her in a way that left behind small damp patches that tingled, shockingly sensitive to each faint movement of the air.

He kissed and laved her everywhere, so that she felt as if there was no inch of skin left untouched. But then he showed her that he’d only just begun.

Her eyes flew open when his mouth touched her in a place where she hadn’t imagined she would ever be kissed.

She ought to be mortified, she supposed. Maybe even repulsed.

Instead, her body gave a deep, all-over tremor, as a violent need rose up inside her that was almost frightening. Giving in, she spread her legs wider, then reached down to sink her fingers into his hair to urge him on.

He gave a growl of satisfaction that reverberated through her most tender parts. Then he deepened his intimate kiss, using his tongue to lap at her slick heat.

A whimper slid from her throat, then a moan. Another followed, longer and louder.

Suddenly she remembered his words about the pillow and understood. If he kept this up, she was going to need to silence herself.

Then he was driving her higher, doing things with his tongue that surely had to be illegal in certain parts of the world, if not here in England. She rolled her head, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets, her hips arching as if they had a will of their own. He grasped her and held her still, forcing her to accept an even deeper caress.

She shook, fearing she was going to break apart and splinter into a thousand pieces. With her last ounce of rational thought, she grabbed the pillow and covered her mouth with it.

Then he slid his fingers into her and sucked against her harder.

She screamed, exactly as he’d warned she might, the sound muffled against the mound of feathers and cloth pressed tightly to her lips. Rapture spread through her like a molten river, so fierce it threatened to melt her very bones. She rode the current, adrift on a golden sea that spread around her, sweet as honey.

Slowly, she set the pillow aside and found him watching her from where he knelt between her legs. “Good?” he asked knowingly.

“Better,” she sighed blissfully once she could find her voice again.

He displayed his most evil grin. “Now it’s my turn.”

She waited, expecting him to rise up and angle himself over her.

Instead, he sat her up and placed her palms on the waistband of his drawers. “Undress me,” he commanded. “I want to feel your hands on me.”

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the unmistakable bulge jutting insistently beneath the cloth. “So you don’t want to—you know . . .” She let the words trail off, hoping her meaning was clear.

He arched a single golden brow. “Ready to surrender your innocence so soon, then?”

“Well,” she said, glancing this time at her own naked body, “you seem to be doing quite a good job of corrupting me, so why not finish the task? Besides, after today, you can hardly say I’m innocent.”

He laughed softly, then picked up a long skein of her hair and coiled it around his finger. “And yet you still are, in more ways than you can possibly realize. Be patient, my dear, and trust me in this. There are many paths to pleasure that don’t require your complete ruin. Let’s explore a few more of those before we go down a path from which there can be no return.”

“But I’ve already told you I don’t care if you ruin me.” She ran a hand over his naked chest. “I’m ready. I want to know it all.”

“Do you?” He took her hand again and pressed her fingers over his substantial erection. “Why don’t we begin with this and see how it goes?”

Her heart jumped, pounding furiously as she touched him. His flesh was vibrantly warm and astonishingly hard, even through the material of his drawers. In spite of her bold assurances that she was ready, she made no move to unfasten the small ivory buttons.

He sighed indulgently. “Maybe I should do it.”

“No, no, I will!”

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can try this again later.”

“Later? But you’re . . . well, it doesn’t seem like something that will keep for later.”

A laugh escaped him, a reaction that caused his arousal to move against her hand. Without any conscious thought on her part, her fingers flexed.

He groaned. “Now you’re trying to torture me, are you?”

“No.” Her fingers flexed again, and she jumped slightly when his shaft flexed in response. “Oh!”

“Oh, indeed,” he said on a low rumble. “Why don’t I show you instead?”

Without waiting for her agreement, he laid his hand on top of hers and positioned her fingers so she was holding him. He felt even larger and more solid that way, his shaft throbbing through the thin cloth barrier. Slowly, he began sliding her hand up and down along his length.

To her surprise, he seemed to swell even more under her touch. She hazarded a glance up and became instantly mesmerized, his face rendered even more beautiful by the look of profound pleasure he wore. His eyes were half closed, his lips parted on a silent inhalation.

Suddenly her nerves melted away, empowered by the knowledge that it was her touch, her closeness, that had made him look that way. An all-over quiver ran through him, strong enough for her to feel it through their connection.

With her usual confidence restored, she slid her other palm over his firm, hair-roughened chest. “Why don’t you lie down,” she urged with an ineffectual little push that didn’t budge him at all. “Let me take care of you.”

His eyes opened fully again, their blue depths dark and hazy with passion. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. Actually I’m rather curious.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Everything. I’ve never seen a man’s naked member before, at least not in person.”

His mouth twisted. “And you’ve seen one otherwise?”

“Only the artistic kind that haven’t been covered up by strategically placed fig leaves. You’ve no idea how frustrating that is. Paintings and sculptures are rife with women’s breasts, which I have no interest in seeing at all, but want to look at a man’s . . . you know . . .”

“Cock?” he suggested helpfully, his own giving another flex under her palm.

Warmth spread through her. “Yes—
cock
—,” she repeated, rather liking the impolite word, “and you’d think the world would cease to spin.”

“Yet now, as luck would have it, you find yourself in the position of not only seeing one but of touching it too.”

Her skin grew even warmer, especially her palms. “Exactly, Your Highness.”

Determined not to lose her confidence, she stroked him again, relishing his quickly indrawn breath as she traced his rigid length.

This time, when she tried to push him back, he let her.

Chapter Fourteen

S
tretching out across the sheets, Rupert waited, his heart booming like thunder in his chest, his shaft and balls pulsing with a vicious, unrelenting ache.

And to think she’d barely even touched him yet.

He forced himself not to move, determined to let her go at her own pace. Still, that didn’t keep his mind from racing, his thoughts filled with the need to rip open his drawers and wrap her fingers around his naked shaft. He would make her pump him hard and fast and long until he released under her hot little hands, maybe more than once.

Actually, if he could do anything, he’d flip her on her back, spread her legs, and tup her until neither of them could remember how to speak. But he’d decided to leave her a virgin—at least that was his “honorable” plan—so manual stimulation would have to suffice instead. The worst part was knowing that he could take her, if he really wanted to. She’d given her consent and wouldn’t stop him if he changed his mind.

Groaning inside his head, he curled his hands into fists at his sides and held himself steady. He’d promised to teach her, to let her explore her sexuality, and he would keep his word, no matter how much he might suffer as a consequence.

If you could call this suffering, since he could hardly claim that he wasn’t enjoying himself.

Mein Gott, she was passionate,
taking pleasure in every act to which he introduced her. He’d relished watching her climax this afternoon at their picnic. And again tonight when she’d taken her release so forcefully she’d had to bury her face in a pillow to hide her cries.

He’d wondered beforehand how she would react to that last bit, when he’d buried his face between her creamy white thighs and surprised her with a far more intimate kiss than she could ever have imagined. But rather than shy away, she’d welcomed him, urging him on while he’d pleasured them both.

Even now he could taste her sweet honey on his lips. He smiled inwardly, promising himself that he would repeat that particular indulgence again soon. But for now he vowed to let her be the one to play.

She stroked him again through his drawers, exploring the contours of his straining erection. He shuddered yet again and fought to maintain strict control, wanting to make their encounter last as long as possible. But patience or no patience, if she didn’t unfasten his buttons soon, his shaft would probably swell enough to pop them off for her.

Suddenly, she stopped her maddening exploration and reached for his buttons. He held his breath, watching her fingers hover over the fastenings. Tentatively, she touched the first one, moving a hesitant fingernail along the ivory.

“Do you need some help?” he offered, more gruffly than he intended.

Her gaze flew to his, her green eyes bright with nerves and excitement. “No, I’ll do it. I w-want to.”

He nodded and forced himself to lie still.

Slowly she freed the first button, then a second. He nearly reached down to rip the last one off himself, but held steady and let her finish. When she paused again, he decided she must be torturing him on purpose.

Then she folded down the cloth of his falls.

His erection sprang free, arcing boldly upward as if preening for her attention. He watched her widened eyes glaze over and her lips part, her breath coming in shallow draughts as she looked her fill.

“Oh, my,” she said on a husky whisper. “Oh, my.”

He couldn’t keep from smiling. “Is that a good ‘oh, my’ or a bad ‘oh, my’?”

Her gaze met his again. “Good. Definitely good. Though I must say you’re not quite what I expected.”

“How so?” He arched an eyebrow inquiringly.

“Well, it’s just that in paintings and sculptures, the men aren’t . . .”

“Yes?” he drawled, rather enjoying her naive discomfiture. He’d never lain with a virgin before; he was finding her reactions nothing short of delightful. “What aren’t they, these other men?”

“So large,” she admitted on a rush of honesty. “I mean, if they put your . . . cock . . . on a Greek sculpture, not only would it have caused an uproar, it would never have withstood the rigors of time. As soon as they tried to move the piece, someone would surely have knocked your . . .” She waved a hand. “Well, you know . . . off by accident.”

He winced at the idea but laughed all the same. “A good thing, then, that I’ve never been tempted to commission a naked statue of myself.”

An arrested expression crossed her face and then she grinned. “Mayhap you should. But only for your private chambers.”

He laughed harder, then groaned as a fresh ache spread through his stiff shaft.