I’m not completely clueless. I know what an orgasm is and have been happily giving them to myself for years. But getting one from Henry . . . just wow.
He’s bold and confident; I think that’s my favorite part. The way he moves, how he touches me and himself—how he’s sure of just what to do. And he knows it. It’s beautiful and thrilling at the same time. And I like that we talked afterward, cleared the air. It’ll make it easier. He’s the Crown Prince, the star of the show; I can’t very well expect him to quit like Elizabeth. I need to be understanding. And I am. Truly.
Plus it’s only two more weeks. It’ll be like no time at all.
It’s after six and already dark when the bedroom door opens. Henry leans back against it, watching me. His eyes shine with an intense, almost dangerous light. Everything about him is tight and coiled—his jaw, his shoulders, his clenched hands.
A shiver ripples under my skin as he stalks forward, like a jaguar or lion—all smooth grace and lethal power. He grips the back of his shirt as he goes, sliding it up and off, revealing the tight, sinewy muscles of his arms and abdomen. Lounge pants hang low on his hips, displaying a dusting of golden hair that trails a path beneath the waistband. And the image of rubbing my cheek, my lips, against that hair springs to mind. Will it be soft? Wiry? Would Henry moan if I blew on it or would he grip my hair and move my mouth to more interesting places?
When he reaches the bed, he wraps his hand around my ankle and jerks me down to the edge. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
It’s only when I speak that I realize I’m breathless. “About what?”
And the man who will be my king sinks to his knees before me.
“About tasting you. I’m going to lick you until my tongue gives out. Any objections?”
Oh God . . .
His lips slide into an adorably crooked half-smile. “Speechless, love? Was it something I said?”
His hands slide up my skirt, grasping my panties and skimming them off my hips and down my legs. His movements are sure and confident.
Then he looks at the beige silk material in his hand, almost curiously. “How do you do that? Make something so plain look so hot I could come in just two pumps?”
Then he presses my panties to his face and inhales—his eyes sliding blissfully closed.
Oh my God . . .
He doesn’t remove my skirt, but pushes it up to my waist—exposing me to the cool air and his simmering gaze. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, not swift and erratic, but in a deep, hard, steady rhythm.
Henry kisses my calf, then behind my knee. “I need your words, sweet Sarah. Do you want me to lick you?”
“Yes,” I whisper so softly I can barely hear myself.
“Say it. Say, ‘Put your mouth on me, Henry. Taste me, kiss me, fuck me with your tongue.’”
I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me with words and excitement and need.
“Yes, all of it.” I swallow and try to give him what he wants. “Taste me, Henry. Fuck me w—”
I don’t finish—because with a deep groan, he’s on me. Mouth sucking and licking, hungry—starving. And it’s amazing. Dizzyingly divine. My skin feels electrified and warm, wet, pulsing pleasure pumps through my veins. I let my head drop back to the bed because I can’t hold it up, and my legs spread wider, hips writhing. Wanting him, wanting this, wanting to let him do anything and everything just so long as he never stops touching me.
“It’s so good . . . so good . . . Henry.”
My words are incoherent like my thoughts and I don’t really know what I’m saying.
He cups my bottom and holds me up to his mouth. I feel his teeth against my soft lips, his tongue lapping up and down, tracing firm circles around my clitoris again and again.
But then he shifts his mouth, nibbling the tender skin of my upper thigh. “Give me your hands,” Henry says, his breath hot against me.
I lift my arms and offer my hands. He puts them right where he wants them—between my legs, fingers holding me open to him, my thumbs at my cleft, exposing my most sensitive flesh.
“Stay just like that,” Henry rasps. “Fuck, look at you.” He licks me with the very tip of his tongue. “Such a pretty, pink, tight pussy.”
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod . . .
“You like those words, don’t you?” His finger drags across my slick opening, slowly circling and circling. “They make you wet.”
“It’s so . . . dirty,” I pant, but I don’t feel at all embarrassed.
“That’s why it’s fun.” He presses a kiss to my clit and I moan so loud. “Because you’re so fucking sweet.”