Page 550 of Bad Prince
His arm tightened under my neck, holding me securely against him while his other hand roamed with lazy possessiveness—cupping my breast, his thumb brushing slow, teasing circles over my hardened nipple. The touch sent sparks of delight straight through me as he began to move—deep, rolling strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside me. Each thrust was unhurried, deliberate, letting me feel every inch of him as he withdrew almost to the tip, then sank back in with a slow, grinding rhythm that made my toes curl.
His mouth found the sensitive skin of my neck—open-mouthed kisses, warm and wet, his tongue tracing lazy patterns while he whispered against my ear, his voice husky with years of pent-up longing. “You feel like heaven… so tight, so perfect… I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Sweat began to slick our bodies as we moved together in perfect sync, the quiet room filled with soft gasps and the intimate sounds of our joining. The pleasure built gradually, like a tide rising higher and higher—his thick length stroking me so deeply, his thumb still tormenting my nipple with those maddening, rhythmic caresses. Every slow thrust pushed me closer to the edge, my body tightening around him in delicious anticipation.
When my release came, it crashed over me in powerful, shuddering waves—intense and overwhelming, my inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his hardness as I cried out his name into the pillow, trembling in his arms. The sensation was pure bliss, drawing out longer and deeper than I thought possible.
Tristan followed moments later, burying himself as deep as he could go before pulling out and spilling his seed all over my ass and back. Ropes of his hot cum spurted on me while his fingers found my clit, pressing and circling, making me come again with him. He groaned my name until the last of his release.His arms locked around me, holding me close as we rode the aftershocks together, our breathing ragged and hearts pounding in unison.
We lingered there afterward, still joined, sweaty and glowing, his hand gently stroking over my stomach in tender, possessive strokes. The love between us felt almost tangible—warm, enveloping, wrapping around the fiery passion we had just shared.
Only then did I turn in his arms just enough to see his face—hair a little wrecked, eyes heavy, jaw shadowed, the whole dangerous prince act stripped down to the exhausted athlete underneath it.
“Can we stay here until graduation?” I asked.
His thumb brushed slowly under one eye.
“Tempting.”
I smiled.
Then it faded.
Because the day was here now.
My second playoff match with it.
The one we had all been building toward since August.
The one I had to leave for by noon.
The one he could not come to because he had a game too.
That settled over the room like weather.
He felt it. His hand moved to the back of my neck, thumb warm there.
“Hey.”
I looked at him.
His eyes held mine steady.
“Go take care of your season,” he said quietly. “I’ll take care of mine. Then we come back to each other.”
Something in my chest tightened.
Not from fear.
From love so sudden and total it still sometimes felt like tripping into deep water.
So I nodded.
“Okay.”
And because we were us, because tenderness never erased heat with him and never would, he kissed me once—slow, sleepy, lingering just enough to remind me what I had waiting on the other side of whatever happened next.
Then we got up.
