The Controversial Princess (Smoke & Mirrors Duet #1)(12)
But there is Josh Jameson standing before it, leaning casually back against my late grandfather’s shins with a bottle of champagne in his hands, his legs crossed at the ankles, a smile on his face.
This is an entirely different level of intimidating.
“Your Highness.” He casually pushes himself off the solid homage to one of the greatest kings to rule England and slowly wanders toward me, each step measured and confident. “How are you enjoying your birthday?”
“It’s been . . . unexpectedly pleasant.”
He reaches me and starts circling my static form, heightening my awareness when he comes to a stop behind me. Not wanting to give him the upper hand, I slowly turn to face him, bringing us chest to chest. He obviously finds my move amusing, a tiny, nearly undetectable curve tugging the corner of his lips.
“About that gift,” I whisper, taking one step back, if only so he doesn’t feel my deep inhales pushing into his chest.
“Oh, the gift.” He starts to round me again, and I move with him, keeping us facing each other, circling. Stalking each other. Our gazes are glued, chemistry sizzling between us. Good God, I’ve never felt anything like it. It is obvious that he, like me, doesn’t want to be the first to give in to it. “I think you’ll love my gift,” he whispers.
“You are a very self-assured man.” I come to a stop, leaving Josh to move in behind me. I shut my eyes, feeling his mouth close to the bare nape of my neck.
“And you are a very self-assured woman,” he says quietly, and then tactically blows a cool stream of air across my flesh. My body locks, my breath held as I try to find my ever-present poise. Where the hell has it gone now, when I’m confident that I need it the most? “I like it,” he claims. “A lot.” I’m forced to open my eyes when I feel the chilly sensation of something smooth resting on my lips. A flute of champagne is held over my shoulder, Josh’s mouth now touching my pulsing neck. I shudder, unable to stop it.
He nips my throat, and, God help me, I moan, feeling him smile against my skin. “Drink,” he commands, tipping the flute at my lips. My mouth is bone dry, so the cool liquid is welcome. I swallow, sweeping my tongue across my bottom lip to catch a trickle. “Good?” He presses his front into my back.
“The champagne, or the feel of your arousal against my backside?”
He answers by dropping the champagne and glasses to the grass and slipping an arm around my waist, splaying his palm across my tummy to hold me still, so when he thrusts his hips forward, I am trapped, at the mercy of his solid manhood pressing into me. “I know that feels good.” Biting my earlobe, he drags it through his teeth until it pops free. My legs give a little, sending my body limp against his. “Just like I know this will feel good.” His hand cups me over my dress.
“Fucking hell,” I say on a rush of breath.
Josh chuckles. “Is it wrong that hearing you cuss in your proper English accent turns me on?”
“It should probably shock you more than turn you on,” I admit, laying my hand over his between my thighs, ignoring my mind’s demand to put pressure there, to make him rub and stimulate me further.
“It doesn’t shock me.” Kissing my neck, he turns me in his arms and lifts my chin until I’m looking into his eyes. They’re lustrous and lush, almost lazy. “Kneel.” His demand is sharp and serious.
“Excuse me?” I choke, somewhere between amusement and shock.
“I said, kneel.” He drops my chin and takes a backward step, leveling me with an expressionless face. No, wait. His face is not expressionless at all. There’s challenge hiding somewhere there.
“You are aware that you have just demanded the Princess of England to kneel?”
“I am.” He sighs heavily, raising his eyebrows at me. “And yet she’s still standing.” Pulling that pale pink hanky from his breast pocket, he flaps it out. “I won’t ask again.”
I drop to my knees at his feet with no further prompt, shocking myself, but clearly not Josh. And though I can see he is satisfied, he doesn’t demonstrate it, but rather circles me, straddling my legs behind me. His palm rests on my throat and tips my head back until I can see him looming above me. “Open your mouth.”
I swallow and do as I am bid. I’m like a puppet, bowing to his demands, kissing my strong will goodbye. His eyes travel every inch of my face, settling on my lips, and he bends at the waist, closing the distance between our mouths quickly. His lips hit mine with force, and he pushes his tongue inside my mouth and circles firmly, giving me just a teasing taste of him. And then he pulls away before I can gather myself to respond. I cry out for my loss, panting, seeing my scarlet lipstick smeared all over his mouth. I don’t ask for more. Somehow, I know I won’t get it. Not now, when he’s drawing the material of his silk hanky through his deft fingers before me, smoothing it, pulling it taut. He’s going to gag me. That expensive handkerchief is going in my mouth. I flick my eyes to his, my neck craned back to keep his upside-down face in view. A small smile ghosts his lips as he brings the material down, filling my mouth with it. And I do nothing to stop him. I remain on my knees, a man I’ve known barely an hour doing with me as he pleases.
What the hell are you doing, Adeline?
I stare ahead, feeling his fingertips brushing my shoulders, eliciting goosebumps. I’ve never had goosebumps before. I’ve never felt my stomach cartwheel like this, or my heart thrum without the help of exhaustion. Josh Jameson isn’t approaching me like the delicate princess, pampering and fussing over me. It’s a new feeling to me, one of liberation.