The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(66)

“Josh,” I whisper, gliding my hands down the sleeves of his suit jacket.

“I’m here,” is all he says, finding my lips and kissing me deeply, but only very briefly. My dress hits the floor, and he steps back, visibly struggling to move away. His breathing is rapid, his body rippling, his eyes heavy. Passion and sex personified is before me, ready to take me into the clouds where I’m light and carefree. I step out of my dress and kick off my shoes, bringing my eyes level with his Adam’s apple, which is rolling under his stubble from constant swallows. His gaze drinks in my lacy underwear as he strips his body of his clothes, my impatience growing with every inch of his skin revealed. His clothes drop to the floor one by one. I lick my lips, mentally roaming his flesh with my tongue. Every single inch of him. His body—his hard, beautiful, perfect body, is enough to reduce me to tears. I wait for my instructions, my impatience growing, the magnetism of his presence tempting me to claim him.

And when his eyes meet mine, I lose the will to maintain the space between our bodies, and shoot forward, throwing myself into his arms. Our bodies crash together, as well as our lips, and the passion flares. I’m hauled closer to him, my legs curling around his waist, my hold of him solid as our tongues dance, swirl, and plunge over and over. He tastes divine, feels divine.

He is my heaven.

Our desperation is making our union crazed and chaotic. “Fuckin’ hell, Adeline,” he mumbles between tangled tongues. “Fuckin’, fuckin’ hell.” We fall to the bed and roll until I’m pinned beneath him. He growls, frustrated, as he yanks his mouth from mine and thrusts my arms up over my head. My chest pulses, my gasps for breath loud. “Where are your manners, Your Highness?” he pants as he straddles my waist, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You need to ask nicely if you want something.”

“Please,” I gasp, unabashed. There is nothing I wouldn’t do. Beg or steal, I would do it for him. “Take me to the clouds.”

His discreet smile fades as he stares down at me, his mind seeming to whirl at those words. “The clouds,” Josh murmurs, flexing his hold of my wrists. “Like heaven.”

“Better,” I confirm, lifting my head to capture his lips. He doesn’t deny my demand for his mouth, falling straight into my kiss on a moan, releasing my wrists to allow me to hold him.

“I’m dripping,” he tells me, rubbing his groin into my thigh. “Aching.” He pulls me up from the bed and carries me across the room with urgency, lowering me to a nearby dresser. With one swift yank, my knickers are ripped from my body and tossed aside, and the cups of my bra tugged down, my boobs spilling out. His mouth is on my chest a second later, his fingers slipping between my lips to test my readiness. “I’m not the only one.”

He’s not. Goodness, I am completely drenched and pulsing. “Fuck me,” I demand. “Hard. Like you own me.” Words are coming without thought, need hijacking me. “Do it, Josh.” My legs snake around his hips and tense, tugging him closer.

“Like I own you?” he questions, pushing his fingers deep on a brutal drive. I cry out, my head falling back. “I owned you the second you dropped to your knees for me, Your Highness.” His fingers pull free, and he levels himself up, pounding forward on a roar. The penetration robs my lungs of air, my mind spacing out.

“Josh!” I yell, grappling at his damp back to find my grip, my face falling into his neck.

“Not hard enough?” he questions, withdrawing and slamming forward again. “Not feeling owned yet?”

My teeth sink into his shoulder, my body at his mercy. The brutal bite doesn’t faze him, but his fingers dig deeper into my backside, propelling me back and forth onto his cock. His thrusts are unforgiving, the loud smashing of our sweaty bodies filling the room. I force my head up and recline until my back meets the wall, my fingers interlaced at his nape, my arms straight. His face. It’s tight, harsh, and dripping wet, his hair a fucked-up mess. The veins in his neck are ballooning, his tight jaw set to crack. His chest rolling, his biceps swelling. It is the most beautiful, erotic vision I’ve ever seen.

With every smash into me, I cry out. With every roll of his hips, I moan. My heart is pounding. My skin buzzing. My whole being vibrating. It’s sensory overload, the sounds, the feeling, the sight. I’m dancing on the edge of explosion, fighting back the climax simply to extend this moment.

“You’re going to come with me,” he grunts, never losing his rhythm, not even for a second. My laced fingers slip, forcing my hands to the surface of the dresser to keep me upright.

“Jesus, Josh.” I’m losing it.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

My confirmation has his pace increasing further, the shouts louder, the pleasure unimaginable. I hold my breath, my eyes locked on Josh as he watches me reach the pinnacle of pleasure. I can’t hold back any longer. I throw my head back and release my breath, screaming to the ceiling as my orgasm rips through me mercilessly. I’m tackled from every angle by the intensity of it, my body shattering. I hear Josh’s yell through the ringing in my ears, his fingers clawing brutally into my arse as he rocks his hips, spilling everything he has into me.

“Oh my God,” I pant to the ceiling, as Josh’s face falls forward, meeting my shoulder. I peel my palms off the wood of the dresser and settle them on his back, heaving like I’ve sprinted a marathon. Josh’s weight resting on me holds me pinned to the wall, my head resting back. I’m exhausted.