Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(36)

"Ana?"

"Yes."

He starts reading. Slowly, clearly. I listen, my eyes drifting closed as his voice carries me away, into the story. The longer I listen, the more engrossed I become. My breathing becomes even again, and the constant battle to keep my eyes dry begins to wind down. I sniffle and snuff a while.

He doesn't stop. I end up plugging my phone in to keep it charged while I listen.

By four in the morning he says, very softly, "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

I say nothing for a time.

Finally he says, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair."

"What?"

I can almost hear him smiling.

Rapunzel? I remember that story. The princess locked in the tower with the long hair. She would let it down, and her prince would….

Rising, I pull up the blinds and lift open the window. I jump back as Jason swings his legs in and stands up in my bedroom.

My mouth goes dry. He looks like a god, even in a hooded sweatshirt and shorts. His presence fills the room, and opens something up in me that wants to be filled. I should scream at him, throw him out, call for my guards, but I can't. I can't bear the thought of them hurting him. More than that, I don't want him to go.

I step back, fighting the pull toward him. Every breath fans the flames within, and I want to throw myself on him and let him take me.

"You can't be here," I tell him urgently. "If someone sees you—"

"They won't," he says, closing the distance between us. I want to pull away, but I am drawn toward him instead, my feet carrying me into him, as though I am pulled into his orbit. He rests his hands on my sides just above my hips, as though he means to pull me into a dance, and bends to kiss me.

His lips are warm and soft, and his breath tickles under my nose. His hand gently strokes up my back and cradles my head as he tugs at my braid, loosening my hair. It comes undone all at once, and he runs his fingers through it, finally slipping his arm around the back of my neck.

I pull away from his kiss, but even if I were strong enough to escape his embrace, I couldn't pull my own hands from his back.

"What do you want from me?" I ask him.

"I want to watch you eat your first real cheeseburger. I want to take you to a movie. I want to get in a snowball fight. I want to roll in the grass. I want to run. I want to wake up next to you, make you breakfast, hold you while you sleep, wash your back in the bath. I want to be there when you're sad and be with you when you're happy. I want to save you."

I rest my head on his chest. "You can't. You have to stop this. You'll only hurt yourself."

"Why can't I?"

"I'm a princess. My life is not my own."

"I know you want me. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't."

"I think I do. I know it does not matter. I told you—"

He slips his finger under my chin and gently pushes my face up. His kiss is soft at first, then grows hungrier with every movement of his lips against mine. Pure instinct takes over and I hold him tighter, pressing into him.

I don't know if he pulls me or I push him. Both. We end up on the bed, and I am on top of him. I move my legs up so my knees press into his ribs, curled up around him. He holds me tightly, running his fingers through his hair, his fingertips dancing across my scalp.

"Should I take off my clothes?" I whisper.

"No," he says, "Not yet. Lie with me."

Shifting around on the bed to lie the proper way, he spreads out, and I climb on top of him, laying on his chest. My arms slip around his neck, and he pulls me into a kiss, his hands roaming over my back.

When I cradle his head in my hands, I feel his lips twist in a smile under mine, and the kiss deepens. It's like swallowing a spoonful of warm syrup. The heat floods my chest while a deep, thrumming warmth spreads from deeper down and fills my body, until I feel like I may begin to sweat.

He rolls onto his side, pushing me with him, and holds me tight. My hands slip up under his shirt. His skin is soft, but he's hard as stone, his muscles bunching under my hands as he moves. I sweep my hands all over his muscular chest and sides, and up his back, absorbing the heat of his body.

I begin to kiss his chin, his neck. His body tenses when he feels my teeth on his skin and I grin. I give him a little bite on his shoulder, tugging the collar of his t-shirt to the side.

I want it off.

I tug it up and push and pull at it, until he lifts his arm and I drag it back, pinning his arms up over his head. When his mouth pops down from the collar as I pull it over his head, I hold it there, blindfolding him and kissing him. He wriggles loose and discards it, and I lie on his bare chest.

My heart hammers against my ribs, so hard he must be able to feel it. I can feel his pulse against me, his stomach expanding and contracting as I rise and fall on top of him with his breath.

I just want to touch him. I rub my hands and my cheek all over his warm skin, giggle when he jerks as I touch his sides. He's ticklish!

As I slide down his body, I feel his cock against my stomach. He's gotten rock hard in his jeans, throbbing against me.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm beginning to rub him through his pants, stroking his length. He groans a little.

"Can I see it?" I blurt out.

His head lifts up, and his expression makes me turn beet-red. "What did you say?"