Thorne Princess(91)

I pulled a cabinet open, took out a glass, and poured myself tap water, gulping it in one go.

“Fine. Get the fuck out of here.”

“You sure?” Max shifted in his spot, barefoot. “You don’t look like…hmm…”

“Like what?” I demanded.

“Like you’re in a state to protect someone else.”

“Well, I am. And you’re no longer needed. Get out.”

“Ransom—”

“Out!”

He moved around the house silently. He took his bag and put his jacket on. On his way out the door, he rapped the doorframe, letting out a sigh. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

“Around where? A park bench?” I spat out.

He shook his head and exited the house.

I dragged myself up the stairs, pushing through not to stop by her door. I got into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, got out of my whiskey-soaked shirt, and walked out.

I needed to at least check on her to make sure she was alive. Or that’s what I told myself. It was my professional duty, if nothing else.

I strolled over to her door and pushed it lightly. The silhouette of her back rising and falling was breathtaking. She wore a crème, sleeveless shirt, her ruby hair pooling over her pillow.

I was weak.

So weak.

Weak when I stepped into her room, shutting the door behind me quietly.

Weak when I told myself that it was better to sleep with her, just in case.

Weak when I slipped into her bed.

Weak when I circled my arms around her and tried to pretend tonight had never happened.

She stirred inside my arms, kicking the blanket off. She smelled of vanilla and fruity smoothies and like a broken princess, and I couldn’t take it anymore. The perfect combination of sweet and tragic.

Pressing my nose against the back of her neck, I told myself that it was okay. I’d been drugged. I was allowed a misstep.

My lips found the hollow part between her neck and shoulder. I sucked on it softly. She let out a soft moan.

“Should I stop?” I croaked, my tongue moving along her salty skin.

“Not yet,” she breathed out, flipping from her side to her back. I caught her mouth with mine, kissing her slow and deep, awakening her as softly as I could. My cock was throbbing in my cigar pants.

My lips dragged along her skin, drinking her in, while my fingers fumbled with her boy shorts. I loved that she didn’t wear sexy, skimpy clothes to bed. That she didn’t try to impress.

I dipped my index finger into her. She was soaking wet and warm, so warm. My free hand went to unbuckle myself. She reached for my palm, stopping me mid-move.

“Not so fast.”

Pulling away, I stared down at her, searching her eyes in the dark. I was panting like a chased animal and hoped she didn’t smell the alcohol on my breath, or the woman’s perfume clinging to my clothes.

You’re a bastard for doing this to her. Especially now. Especially after all this.

“Tell me how it works, then,” I whispered.

She placed her hand over my heart. It was beating like crazy. I hated that she had this effect on me. Hated that she knew it, too.

“Eat me out, and then maybe—maybe—I’ll fuck you.”

She had the audacity to yawn in my face, smiling sleepily up at me afterwards, as if to say, Whatcha gonna do about that, cowboy?

I’d never gone down on a woman before. I knew a true take-it-or-leave-it offer when I saw one. Hallie would kick me out if I wouldn’t do as she wished.

I reached down, biting her chin softly. “Anyone ever told you you’re a brat?”

“Yes, and often.” She pushed my head down her body, spreading her legs, her shorts still intact. I tugged the fabric between her legs to one side, licking my lips. My cock was so engorged I wondered if I had blood circulation coming to my brain at all. Leaning down, I kissed her slit. The warmth of my lips found the heat of her center. She moaned, surprising me again by peering between her legs curiously, watching me.

I started French-kissing her pussy. Dragging my tongue in and out of her. She tasted good. Earthy and sweet. My new favorite dessert.

Pushing her wider using my fingers, I dug deeper with my tongue. Her hand found my hair. She pulled at it, tilting my face up to watch her.

Fuck, she was hot when she was being a controlling bitch.

“Suck my clit,” she demanded.

“Ask nicely.”

“Suck my clit, or I’m kicking you out.” She awarded me with a winning smile in the dark.

I needed no further instructions and dug right in, sucking on the small bud while finger-fucking her. As much as I enjoyed it—and I did enjoy it—I waited for the moment she’d come, pull me up, and let me in. I needed to be inside her. To erase the day from my memory. But I also recognized what she was doing here. Taking control. Just the way I did when I played my little fantasy games.

“More fingers.” She flung one of her legs over my shoulder.

I complied.

“I’m coming.”

“Yes,” I breathed, picking up the pace. “Shit, yes.”

She fell apart, her muscles clenching around my fingers. A rush of warmth traveled through her. She shuddered violently, and I wondered what brand of stupid idiot I was to think only women enjoyed giving oral sex. This was officially the best thing since sliced bread.