His Royal Highness(59)
A wave of pleasure racks through me and he does it again, starting at my breast, barely touching really, like he’s too scared he’ll hurt me. I’m a fragile piece of art and he’s a curious observer, stepping over the boundary rope so he can touch the frame. His hand skims across my ribs and down the center of my abs. He can feel me shaking, my stomach clenching as he brushes over it, and then he continues down, pushing past the wet material of my panties. Then, lower.
When his hand covers me there, I grip him tighter in my hand, slowly pumping up and down, almost languid in my movements.
A husky groan tickles against the shell of my ear as his middle finger presses inside me. He swirls his hand so the base of his palm hits me in exactly the right spot, sending a delicious tingle up my spine. I speed up as he speeds up, pumping my hand while he slides his finger in and out of me. I writhe, needing more.
Please.
He can hear my plea and a second finger slips in beside the first, stretching me. His thumb joins, circling deftly while his fingers drag in and out. Faster. Harder. A whimper escapes me and it spurs him on. His thumb drives me closer and closer. His fingers push inside, the deepest they’ve been, and hold there as I shake against him, arching my back, crying out so that the sound reverberates around the tiled shower.
My pleasure feeds his. My hand moves on him quickly and I can feel the hot wetness coat my back as he groans deeply, guttural sounds of pleasure reverberating through him as he keeps his fingers buried inside me.
We stay like that until our breaths even out, until my spent body can muster up just enough energy to reach up and stroke his cheek, comforting him.
It’s in this moment, before we break apart and clean ourselves off, before we step out of the shower and re-enter the world, that he leans down and presses a firm kiss against my mouth, whispering a truth along with it. “I’m falling for you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Derek
Whitney doesn’t say a word as we step out of the shower and towel off. I think she might be in shock. If I waved my hand in front of her face, I doubt she’d react. Her green eyes are vacant, focused on the ground as she blinks, lost.
It’s not as if I can go back and rescind what I said.
It’s the truth.
Though now I see I might have considered waiting to tell her on a better day.
We’ve had a busy twelve hours. We started on that float, nearly at each other’s throats. Then I kissed her. That shut us up for sure. Then everything happened with Cal and how are we still standing? How much longer can this day last?
I cringe when I glance over at her. She looks kind of pitiful standing there.
She has my towel wrapped around her like a cape, pinning it closed with her fists right under her chin. She doesn’t move. I walk out of the bathroom and rifle through the duffle bag Heather brought me. I told her to pack extra, unsure of how long I’d be staying at Cal’s, and now I’m grateful for the spare t-shirt and boxers. After I’m dressed, I bring both into the bathroom and step in front of Whitney. She seems smaller than usual.
“Are you still alive?”
“Not sure.”
“Cold?”
“Very.”
“I brought you clothes.”
She hums but makes no move to take them. Like I said, I think she’s in shock.
I bend down in front of her.
My hand touches her ankle. “May I?”
She doesn’t speak, so I reach up underneath her towel and take off her wet panties. I try to make it nonsexual. By all accounts, this should be the least sexual day with everything we have going on, but it’s Whitney, and she can stand there comatose and still, I want her. She steps out of the wet material and I grab my boxers, holding them open for her.
“They’ll be big, but maybe you can roll them up?”
No response.
I pull them up her long shapely legs. They sag on her hips, so I roll them twice. Good enough. With the t-shirt in hand, I stand back up and tug on her towel. She lets me pull it away and, with her arms at her sides, all I see is smooth ivory skin from her waist up, still flushed from the shower. A wet bra pasted over…
Jesus.
Quickly, I step forward and reach around her for the clasp of her bra, unhooking it and dragging it off her. It’s tossed on the ground and my t-shirt is yanked down over her head with a tad too much force. I might have lopped off an ear. I should be gentler, but I’m trying hard to be a gentleman here and the sooner she’s covered, the better it’ll be for the both of us.
It takes her a moment to register that she needs to put her arms through the holes. For a second, she stands there armless. I lose the fight with a smile. How can someone so damn pitiful be so damn cute?
“I’m hungry,” she says, sounding far away. Sleepy.
She finally forces her arms through the sleeves.
I nod. “Me too. I’m going to go get us dinner. Do you want to stay in here?”
As an answer, she walks out of the bathroom and heads into my room, reaching for the throw blanket on the bed so she can wrap it around herself. I hurry out into the hall, feeling rushed to get her food and to check on Cal. His doctor should be gone by now. Hopefully he’s asleep. He needs rest.
Ava’s not in the kitchen, but she’s set aside a tray of food for Whitney and me. I reheat the soup in the microwave and then carry the tray back to my room, devouring two cornbread muffins on the way. Once there, I find Whitney curled up on my armchair in the corner, head resting on her palm. Asleep.