Yes.
“Give yourself to me,” he says.
“I’m yours.”
I’m so close.
“Fuck me harder,” I gasp, and he does, his hands gripping my hips tightly. I know he’s keeping himself restrained, fearful of hurting me, and I still want more. On my stomach, fucking myself with my fingers while he thrusts into my ass, I let go.
I let myself be completely taken by this man. I feel only unbridled lust.
I feel free.
“Shit, Belle, I’m going to come in this tight little ass of yours,” he says, his voice gruff as he slams into me, his full, heavy balls against my ass cheeks. “Tell me you want to feel me fill your sweet little virgin asshole with cum.”
He’s filthy.
On the outside, he’s the ultimate in well-bred, with the ultimate pedigree. Yet the things he says to me are the filthiest things I can imagine.
No one talks to me this way. No one’s ever talked to me this way.
And, so help me, it makes me fucking wet.
“Please,” I beg, shoving my fingers deeper inside my pussy. I can hear myself panting in the stillness of the room, my breath short like I’m some kind of animal, but I don’t care.
All I care about is sweet release.
“Say it, Belle,” he says, smacking my ass cheek. The loud slap reverberates through the room, the sensation rippling through my body.
“Fill me,” I say, no longer self-conscious or nervous. I say the words again, louder this time. Demanding. Practically yelling. “Fill my virgin ass with your cum.”
I don’t even finish the sentence before my orgasm rips through me with the intensity of a freight train. Albie calls my name as he grips my hips, his fingers digging into me as he thrusts inside me one final time. His cock twitches as he explodes.
I collapse onto the bed with Albie inside me, my muscles clenching as my body is racked with wave after wave of pleasure.
When Albie rolls me onto my side and pulls me tightly against him, he wipes my cheek with his palm. “You’re crying,” he whispers. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I say, and I mean it. I didn’t even know I was crying.
“Belle,” he says, voice filled with uncertainty.
“That was intense,” I whisper.
I’m not sure I’m only talking about the sex.
He draws me against him, my heart still racing as I come down from my orgasm. Hell, I might never come down from my orgasm. “Really fucking intense.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Albie
Belle and I have been sneaking around for a month now. It’s a miracle we haven’t gotten caught. The bodyguards suspect something, I’m sure. Nothing gets past Noah, but he hasn’t said a word. He just nods and gives me a look when I make one of my many excuses before disappearing. He likes Belle, though; I can tell. But he hasn’t said a word.
I’ve gotten lots of crap from Price for avoiding the social scene, the clubs and bullshit and picking up women.
I thought I’d get tired of Belle. When I hooked up with her the first time, I swore to myself it would be a one-time only thing. We’d screw and get it out of our systems, and that would be that. That’s how it’s gone before. Every other time in my life, it’s been that way. I’m fine with bedding a girl and then walking away.
Every time but this time.
Belle is an addiction. She’s a drug I can’t get enough of. I can’t stop fucking her – taking her in the secret passageways that separate our rooms, in the tree house in the woods, up against the wall in the library, or on the sofa in the observatory. I want my mouth on hers, my cock inside her all the time.
But the most unfamiliar feeling of all is that I want her outside of the bedroom. I find myself wanting to know what she wants from life, the things that make her happy.
She likes tea but not coffee. She scrapes the frosting off cake before she eats it. Only eats the top half of a muffin. Snorts when she laughs, then clasps her hand over her mouth to hide it.
She wants to help people. She has opinions about world politics and government policy. She lies on her back in my bed at two in the morning, her head in the crook of my arm, talking about things she wants from life, gesturing animatedly and trying to keep her voice low.
I’ve never laid in bed and listened to anyone talk at two in the morning before. But this girl…I find myself hanging on every word that rolls off her tongue.
As the summer draws to a close, my father and Belle’s mother have been busier with the wedding preparations. The royal wedding is the political-social event of the decade in Protrovia, after all. The retreat to the summerhouse has become less of a retreat than the headquarters for wedding planning central, with Sofia Kensington as the general.