Page 67 of That Prince is Mine
“Emma, what was a first?” he prompted.
“The orgasm.” She blinked and tried to focus. “I’ve never had an orgasm. Not counting the ones I’ve given myself.”
“The ones you’ve…” To her deep and utter relief, he resumed stripping off his shirt with jerky, impatient moves. “God, Emma.”
She crawled to the edge of the bed on her hands and knees and unbuckled his belt. It would go faster with two people on the job. At last, he kicked off his pants and boxer briefs and stood before her in all his naked glory. Oh, and what glory. He. Was. Perfection.
He prowled toward her onto the bed, and she scooted back until her back hit the headboard. God. He looked intimidatingly big and muscular without his clothes on—like his tailored, dressy clothes somehow civilized the brute power of his body. Her hand flitted to her throat as she wondered if they would fit at all.
“What’s wrong? Is this too fast?” He scanned her face, a little wild-eyed but genuinely concerned. “We could stop, if you want.”
“We’re not stopping anything, you silly man.” Her momentary nervousness melted away. This strong, powerful epitome of male perfection was still her kind, sweet Michel, who cared more about her comfort than his raging hard-on. “Come here. Don’t make me hurt you.”
He sat back against the headboard beside her, leaving a few inches of space between them—like he was trying to give her some room. She rolled her eyes and promptly straddled him. Her ultra-sensitive, post-orgasmic nerve endings shouted hallelujah when they brushed against his hard length. Michel groaned as though he were in pain. Her eyes widened and she made to move off him, but he held her in place with a firm grip on her waist.
“Don’t go,” he rasped. “Just give me a minute.”
“Oh, okay.” Not the most eloquent of responses, but it was the best she could manage while straddling Michel’s naked thighs.
Exhaling a shuddering breath, he pulled her head down and kissed her hungrily. She smoothed her hands over his broad shoulders and let them drift down to his chest, spreading her fingers wide to feel more of him. He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth, making her shiver in his arms. On pure instinct, she pivoted her hips to grind against his erection.
“God.” Michel made that edge-of-pain sound again. “I want you so much.”
Emma barely stopped herself from saying, You can have all of me. Because if she gave all of herself to him, then there would be nothing left of her when he went back to Rouleme. She would hold on to her heart but give him her passion and her vulnerability—more than she’d ever shared with anyone.
“Then take me, Michel,” she whispered against his lips. In this moment, they would belong to no one but each other. She would be content with that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Emma’s husky whisper nearly undid him.
“Not yet.” He wanted to see her face when she fell apart, but he didn’t know how long he could last inside her. He brought his hands between them and kneaded her breasts. “You’re going to come for me again before I take you.”
He sucked and nipped his way down her long, graceful neck, a little rougher than he should but not as rough as he wanted. A primal thrill shot through him, knowing that he would leave his mark on her.
“Michel.” She squirmed in his lap, frustrated and wanting.
“Fuck, Emma.”
With his hands cupping her round arse, he pulled her tight against him, trapping his throbbing cock between their bodies. Then he pivoted his hips, guiding her to rub her swollen clit against his erection. They groaned in unison. Hesitantly, she glided herself over him as he’d shown her, up and down. Then again. Finding her rhythm, she rose up on her knees and ground herself against him, losing herself in the pleasure.
God, she was wild and beautiful. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as her movements grew frantic, her wet folds slippery against his hardness.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growled in a voice he hardly recognized. “Use me.”
Their ragged panting filled the room. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders hard enough to break skin, and he hissed with pleasure. She was close. So close. He pinched her nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger, and surged up to meet her, grinding himself harder against her.
She moaned as she climaxed for a second time, jerking wildly against his length. Just fucking glorious. He ran his hands down her back in slow, soothing strokes as he watched, mesmerized. She looked magnificent in her pleasure with her head thrown back and her teeth sinking into her swollen lip.
When she slumped limply against him, he carefully laid her down on her back. He was shaking with need and couldn’t hold out any longer. Her gaze followed his movements as he grabbed a condom from his nightstand and sheathed himself with shaking hands. Then he covered her body with his, bracing his arms on either side of her head.
“Are you all right?” he asked, brushing his nose against hers.
“More than all right,” she said with a breathless giggle.
“Good.” He slid his hand between their bodies and circled his thumb over her clit. When she moaned and pushed into his touch—the insatiable wench—he readied himself at her entrance. “I need to be inside you.”
“I need you, too.” She caressed his cheek, her eyes roaming his face with tenderness and desire. Then she rose up on one elbow to press her lips against his and whispered, “Now, please.”
