Chapter 25 #2
He lifts my hips a little, lowers his head, and oh dear God, I might be about to explode before his mouth even reaches me.
The groan that comes from deep inside him the moment his tongue touches my clit vibrates through me.
My hands fly over my head and grip the pillow. The heat of his mouth, the circling pressure of his tongue and his pulsing little sucks are almost unbearable.
“Fucking delicious,” he says against me before he pulls a hand out from under my butt and moves it between my legs.
“Oh my God, Oliver.”
His tongue pauses for a second. “Come on.”
I open my eyes for just long enough to see him watch himself slide two fingers inside me.
It’s too much to bear. A cry flies out of me and my head falls back again as I give myself to him completely, sink into his mouth, and bear down on his hand.
His fingers glide in and out as his tongue pulses against my clit. Everything behind my eyes is as dark and heavy and lush as the velvet curtains framing the night sky outside the windows.
It’s just me and Oliver. Not a reporter and an interviewee. Not a prince. Just two people who are connected in some way deeper than this physical pleasure of each other.
The hand that’s still on my butt loosens its grip and slides inward until he reaches the top of my crack, then a finger gingerly traces a line downward. The second he reaches that sensitive circle of nerve endings, the pressure of his tongue and pace of his fingers inside me increases.
And that’s it. I shoot straight to the peak, no steady climb—I’m right there, no turning back. The circles he rubs on my rear entrance mirror the circles of his tongue on my clit, and I’m gone. The darkness explodes with shattering stars and bursting fireworks.
My inner walls contract around his thrusting fingers, and I’m vaguely aware of my head thrashing from side to side as I crash over the top with a cry I don’t recognize. As everything inside me undulates with ecstasy, I release the pillow with one hand and grab Oliver’s hair to anchor myself.
After one final deep arch of my back off the bed, I collapse again, ribbons of pleasure rippling through my body as he slows his pace and brings me back down.
“Holy shit,” I say on a sigh. “What the hell was that?”
Then he’s on all fours over me. Gazing down like he’s stumbled across a rare treasure and can’t believe his luck.
“It was the most beautiful fucking thing I have ever seen. That’s what that was.”
I reach for his jeans because, after what he just did to me, this man deserves everything I can give him. Also, I want to get my eyes on the dick behind this bulge and have it inside me as soon as humanly possible.
After I’ve popped the button and lowered the zipper, I plunge my hands inside his boxers—no hesitation, no embarrassment, no awkwardness, only a pure desire to please.
The second I make contact with his smooth, hard shaft, he lets out a guttural groan.
“Shh,” I whisper, suddenly irrationally worried the bug might catch us.
“No need,” he pants, as I get to my knees in front of him. “Everyone expects us to do this, remember?”
Oh yeah. It’s just feels like it should be a secret.
He pushes his hands through my hair at the temples, bending lower as he pulls my face to meet his. “You literally had us making fake sex noises the other day. Now they get the real show.”
And he kisses me. It’s fast and passionate, and he rocks himself into my hands, completely out of control.
“Fuck, Lexi.” He grabs my breasts and thrusts hard. “I can’t… I’m going to… Oh God.”
And he comes right then, in my hand, less than a minute after I first touched him.
“Shit.” He pumps and pants, his back arching, face contorted with pleasure.
Then he slumps forward, forehead resting on my shoulder as his pace slows.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible. I couldn’t help it.”
“Don’t be silly.” I slide my hands out, grab some tissues from the nightstand to quickly wipe them, then wrap my arms around him. While I can’t deny I was pretty damn eager to know what he felt like inside me, I don’t want him to feel bad about it.
He lifts his head to reveal a face full of shame and runs his thumb along my jaw. “All I wanted was to be inside you.” He drops the most tender of kisses on my lips. “But I couldn’t make it.”
The emotion in his expression pulls at my heart. It’s like he feels he’s let down yet another person, like I’ll now be disappointed in him like he thinks other people always are.
“You’d already given me everything,” I say, trying to reassure him.
“But it’s embarrassing.” Maybe it’s more than a postcoital glow that’s making his face flushed. “And it’s not only because you’re gorgeous and incredible and turn me on by only looking at me.” He pushes my hair off my face. “It’s also been…a while for me. Like, a really long while.”
“When was your last relationship?” As the words leave my mouth, I hear them sound like an interview question. But now I want to know for my own nonprofessional reasons.
“Not long before I left the UK. The bartender who everyone hated because she was beneath me. And the press coverage about her being a gold digger and me dating ‘The Most Common of Commoners’ drove her away.”
“You mean you’ve not been The Playboy Prince sleeping his way through Manhattan’s society events?” I giggle to try to lighten the mood. “It was all a lie?”
The outdoor lights catch his green eyes looking right into mine, sending that—now familiar—unique spark shooting through me.
“My whole family lives a lie,” he says.
I have done some emotional interviews in my time, but never have I ever heard such deep, heartfelt truth in someone’s voice.
“But I don’t want it to be like that anymore,” he adds.
Then he kicks off his jeans and boxers and rolls us onto our sides, his naked body spooning mine, and pulls the covers of the royal four-poster bed over us.
What has this man done to me? What has he brought me to? And how can I ever go back?