Chapter Twenty-Seven
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Emma’s husky whisper nearly undid him.
“Not yet.” He wanted to see her face when she fell apart, but he didn’t know how long he could last inside her. He brought his hands between them and kneaded her breasts. “You’re going to come for me again before I take you.”
He sucked and nipped his way down her long, graceful neck, a little rougher than he should but not as rough as he wanted. A primal thrill shot through him, knowing that he would leave his mark on her.
“Michel.” She squirmed in his lap, frustrated and wanting .
“Fuck, Emma.”
With his hands cupping her round arse, he pulled her tight against him, trapping his throbbing cock between their bodies. Then he pivoted his hips, guiding her to rub her swollen clit against his erection. They groaned in unison. Hesitantly, she glided herself over him as he’d shown her, up and down. Then again. Finding her rhythm, she rose up on her knees and ground herself against him, losing herself in the pleasure.
God, she was wild and beautiful. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as her movements grew frantic, her wet folds slippery against his hardness.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growled in a voice he hardly recognized. “Use me.”
Their ragged panting filled the room. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders hard enough to break skin, and he hissed with pleasure. She was close. So close. He pinched her nipple hard between his thumb and forefinger, and surged up to meet her, grinding himself harder against her.
She moaned as she climaxed for a second time, jerking wildly against his length. Just fucking glorious . He ran his hands down her back in slow, soothing strokes as he watched, mesmerized. She looked magnificent in her pleasure with her head thrown back and her teeth sinking into her swollen lip.
When she slumped limply against him, he carefully laid her down on her back. He was shaking with need and couldn’t hold out any longer. Her gaze followed his movements as he grabbed a condom from his nightstand and sheathed himself with shaking hands. Then he covered her body with his, bracing his arms on either side of her head.
“Are you all right?” he asked, brushing his nose against hers.
“More than all right,” she said with a breathless giggle.
“Good.” He slid his hand between their bodies and circled his thumb over her clit. When she moaned and pushed into his touch—the insatiable wench—he readied himself at her entrance. “I need to be inside you.”
“I need you, too.” She caressed his cheek, her eyes roaming his face with tenderness and desire. Then she rose up on one elbow to press her lips against his and whispered, “Now, please.”
He gritted his teeth to fight the need to bury himself inside her to the hilt. She had been with one man in college. He needed to be very gentle with her. So he rocked slowly in and out of her, inch by agonizing inch. She was so tight, and he was terrified of hurting her. He blew a shaky breath out of his mouth. But after a moment, she squirmed beneath him with an impatient whimper.
“Shh.” He held himself still over her and kissed her hard on the lips. “We need to go slow.”
“Goddamn it, Michel.” She wiggled some more, and he felt the veins in his forehead bulge as he fought for control. “I’m not going to break.”
“Even so.” He eased himself out and pushed in just a little deeper. He moaned faintly, his arms starting to tremble in earnest.
He should’ve known what she was planning when that dimple appeared at her cheek—when she braced her feet against the mattress. Digging her fingers into his arse, she pivoted her hips off the bed hard enough to throw him aside if he hadn’t been half inside her. His body reacted without thinking, and he met her thrust—and the tug of her hands—burying himself to the hilt in her warmth. He groaned so loudly that he almost didn’t hear her sharp gasp.
“Fuck. I’m so sorry.” He made to pull out of her, but her legs snaked around his hips and held him tight.
“Give me a minute,” she said in a winded voice.
He brushed her hair away from her face. “Do you want to stop?”
“No.” She pressed her lips into a mutinous line. “Quit offering to stop.”
“Of course,” he said automatically.
“Good.” Her lips softened and quirked at the corners. Exhaling through her mouth, she pulled away from him, then slowly took him back in. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she did it again, out a little more, then in a bit farther. “Oh my.”
For the life of him, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He pulled out almost all the way and pushed back in to the hilt. They moaned together. She felt so fucking good, wrapped around him tight and hot.
“God, you’re going to be the death of me,” he panted as he set a careful, controlled rhythm that might very well kill him.
Urgency built up inside him. He dropped to his forearms because his arms were threatening to give out on him. He almost wept with relief when Emma began thrashing her head back and forth, her black hair spread out like silk around her.
“Faster, Michel. Faster. Please,” she begged as though she didn’t know that every cell in his body wanted nothing more than to comply with her request.
He pumped in and out of her with fast, steady strokes, sweat sliding down his forehead and off the tip of his nose. Nothing had ever felt so good. Nothing had ever felt so right. His climax was building inside him like a volcano about to erupt.
“Harder… I need… harder.” Emma bucked against him, urgent and demanding.
At last, his control broke well and good. He lost all rhythm as he pounded into her with desperate, erratic movements, answering the call of the feral hunger inside him. He reached out to grip the top of the headboard with one hand and tilted her hip up with the other, driving into her harder and deeper.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Don’t stop.”
Michel kept up the relentless pace until her back arched and she came with his name on her lips. He joined her climax with a guttural shout as she tightened around him again and again, stretching out his orgasm until he was shivering uncontrollably from the pleasure. Afraid he would collapse on top of her, he rolled over to his side, taking her with him. He wanted to stay inside her just a while longer.
“Ssmmphavvt,” Emma mumbled against his chest.
“What was that, sweetheart?” He drew back and tipped her chin up with his index finger.
“Sex is my favorite .” Her smile was wide, sleepy, and radiant. “Again?”
“Soon.” He chuckled and kissed her damp forehead. “I need to go clean up, and you need a little nap.”
“Naps are for wimps,” she said as her eyes fluttered closed.
He dropped tender kisses on each of her eyelids. She was asleep even before he rolled away from her. Tearing his gaze away from her naked body, he tugged the covers up to her chin and headed to the bathroom. Once he was beneath the hot stream of the shower, he stretched out his pleasantly sore muscles. He took his time washing up because he didn’t trust himself not to wake Emma up as soon as he got back in bed.
After drying himself off, he slung a towel low on his hips and stepped out of the bathroom. Emma was sleeping with one hand tucked under her chin, looking absolutely precious. He dropped his towel beside the bed and gingerly stretched out next to her under the covers. He folded his arm under his head and watched her sleep. He almost reached out to touch her but held himself back. She needed to rest… so he could wear her out again. They had a few hours before dinner at her godmother’s house.
His eyelids grew heavy, and he struggled to keep them open. He wanted to study her just a bit longer… He was halfway asleep when his eyes shot open and his skin, still damp from the shower, chilled with sudden realization. He hadn’t told her. He crossed the line he’d vowed not to cross until he told her the truth about his identity. It was a betrayal of her trust.
Michel got out of bed and pulled on a pair of black sweatpants and a gray Henley. He couldn’t have the conversation they needed to have without clothes on. In fact, he couldn’t talk to Emma if she was still naked. He went over to the walk-in closet and unhooked a French terry robe from its hanger. He laid it out on the foot of the bed, where it would be easy for her to reach without getting out of bed. Naked.
He settled himself on an armchair in the sitting area by the bedroom window. He leaned his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers, tapping them nervously against his lips. Unable to sit still, he shot up to his feet and paced the length of the room, casting fleeting glances at Emma’s sleeping form. He wished she would wake up soon. He wished she would sleep till the next morning.
Prince Michel didn’t make mistakes, because the consequences would be too great. Apparently, Michel Chevalier made mistakes like a fool. But no matter how he wanted to pretend otherwise, this wasn’t the ordinary mistake of an ordinary man. The consequences of his mistake could be catastrophic. He could have blown his last chance at love. He took a deep breath. He had to think this through.
Sure, she would be angry at first that he’d kept something so important a secret from her. But being a prince wasn’t a crime . In the end, it might even help convince her to come to Rouleme with him. Wasn’t that the exact outcome he wanted? Not if she only came because of some fantasy of becoming a princess—a queen. The claws of his insecurities dug into him. Would he ever know if Michel the man, not the prince, would’ve been good enough for her?
But she wanted him just as he was. Wasn’t this afternoon proof of that? What they’d shared was more than sex—so much more than satisfying a physical need. They’d opened up to each other—given freely to each other. He’d never done that with anyone else. And he was certain the same was true for her.
Michel trusted Emma. He trusted what they’d shared. He would tell her the truth and trust that it wouldn’t ruin everything.