A Princess in Theory (Reluctant Royals #1)(36)

Ledi’s throat went tight at the words, words she rarely heard from anyone.

I’m taking care of you.

Tonight. She couldn’t forget that crucial part. Limited time offer.

“Then do it,” she said. Her body ached with need and she didn’t want him to say anything else. She wanted to feel.

One of his hands left her breast to unbutton her jeans, to roughly slide the stretchy denim down until it was around her ankles. His hand traced the path up her shin and took a detour at the knee toward her inner thigh. Ledi gasped at the gentle friction of his advancing fingertips, at the way they traced her slit through her underwear. He rubbed his palm over her mound through the thin fabric and Ledi’s whole body tensed at the sudden, direct pressure.

His other arm was behind her and she felt the flex of his biceps supporting her as she arched wildly in response to the intense pressure of the heel of his palm.

Her hands splayed against his hard chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt as sensation shuddered through her.

He slid his thick fingers through the side of the underwear, tracing her clit down to her slick opening. “Goddess, you’re so wet.”

“It’s a somewhat common physical reaction to arousal,” she muttered around a gasp, and he laughed.

“I guess I won’t get too cocky about it, then,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. She moaned into his mouth.

“No,” she said. “Not about that at least.”

He teased her like that for much too long, murmuring as he slipped his fingertips firmly over the hood of her clit until she had no idea what he was saying, could only focus on the pleasure his hand was giving her. Finally, finally, he worked one thick finger inside of her, and then another. He slicked his fingers in and out, slowly, then quickly, alternating speeds.

He worked some kind of magic from the inside, caressing her in a way that had her riding his hand unabashedly. The damp fabric of her underwear was one friction and the drive of his fingers another; they combined to completely undo her. Her breath came in gasps, and she wanted to beg him for release but she was unable to make more than desperate, high-pitched noises as he drove her toward climax.

It wasn’t just the way he touched her. His gaze was on her the entire time. He looked at her like she was a goddess. A queen. His queen.

“Oh yes. Jamal,” she cried out, and his brow creased. His thumb pressed into her clit then, joining forces with the two digits that were already sending desire arcing across her body. He lowered his head to her breast again and sucked just roughly enough to make her cry out and clench around his fingers. He was working her like he had something to prove, and as her body bent, bent, and finally broke as release surged through her—her sobs of pleasure heralded his success.

Ledi’d had good sex before, but the rush of heat up her spine and the toes curling and the wave after wave of goodness, even as he withdrew his fingers? That certainly hadn’t happened before. Certainly not all at once.

Her gaze met his as the last tremors of her orgasm shook her from head to toe, and the fierceness in his gaze shocked her. He smiled, but there was worry in his eyes, and something else.

She sat up and shimmied her sweatshirt back up her arms, then pulled her bra up and pulled the front of her shirt back up over them.

“Um. Maybe I should wipe down Mrs. Garcia’s couch,” she said, voice still shaky.

Jamal closed his eyes and chuckled.

“Let me handle that,” he said. “You should go get some sleep.”

She jumped up as if scalded, buttoning her pants as she searched for her keys. “Oh. Yeah. I was going to leave anyway—”

Jamal raised a finger—one that hadn’t just given her an orgasm that still had her thighs shaking—and held it against her lips. “I’m not kicking you out. Well, I am, but only because if you don’t leave I’m going to be tempted to fuck you senseless.”

He exhaled sharply and ran a hand over his short locks, as if that temptation was a bad thing. He’d just fingerbanged her senseless, so Ledi couldn’t understand how his penis could possibly add anything else to the equation unless he was one of those “penetration equals commitment” kind of guys.

Commitment?

“Yeah, that sounds terrible. Horrible, even. Definitely need my senses, so . . .” She made the sign of the cross using her index fingers and pointed it toward his crotch.

He stalked toward her, grabbed her by the chin, and kissed her. This kiss was better, and maybe worse because of the betterness, than the one they’d shared on the couch. That had been explainable: he’d gotten the middle-of-the-night hornies, and she’d been right there. But this? The way he kissed her slowly and reverently, but also like he was about to fuck her against the door? This meant that their ruination of Mrs. Garcia’s couch hadn’t been a sleep-induced aberration for him.

“Do you work tomorrow?” he asked when he pulled his mouth away. His commanding air was back.

“I have to go into the lab in the morning and check on some experiments,” she said, willing her chest to stop heaving like she’d run a marathon. “And study.”

“Are you free in the afternoon?”

Ledi looked away, then back at him. “For a couple of hours. Maybe.”

He nodded. “I would like . . .”

Afternoon delight? Please say afternoon delight.