Joni
His princess treatment lasts long enough for me to stop listening for alpaca screams, long enough to nearly lose consciousness for real when his self-proclaimed, earth-shaking orgasm delivery hits. The man knows his strengths, not that he has any weaknesses when it comes to sex.
“Are all twenty-eight-year-old men so skilled these days?”
“Nope. Just me. Not just at twenty-eight either. All other men are lacking those skills.”
“I was widowed before I met you, not dead.”
“You were also available, so how skilled could they have been?”
“You’re cute when you’re cocky. Speaking of cocks, if you switch places with me, I’ll return the favor.”
“You can do me the favor of staying right where you are, princess.” With his body hovering inches above mine, he adds, “As much as my cock loves your mouth, it’s too addicted to your sweet pussy to wait another minute for it.”
My whimper is short but audible as he pushes his full length inside me with one forceful stroke. That ephemeral sensation of the initial stretch breaks my composure every time. How can anything so fleeting feel so crucial to everything that follows?
“You know that princess as a nickname is not going to work for me, right?” I ask, rolling my hips to match his rhythm.
His warm breath ghosts over my ear, sending a shiver down the back of my neck. “You prefer I go back to beautiful, huh? I can do that. Unless pretty, pretty princess might work?”
I clench my core with every ounce of strength I possess, clamping my muscles tightly around his dick in mid-thrust, challenging its advance. He pushes through the added constriction. His strength overpowers mine, but his eyelids drop and his jaw locks telling me mine didn’t go unnoticed.
“If you’re trying to convince me you wouldn’t like it, you might want to try a new tactic because right now, it feels like being called pretty, pretty princess had a very favorable effect.”
“You know I did that on purpose, right?”
“Shh, let a man live a fantasy for a moment, you tyrant.”
“Hmm, I’m not opposed to being an evil queen.”
“You couldn’t be evil if you tried.”
“But queen is an option?”
“Stop talking, and squeeze my dick again, beautiful.”
“Beautiful what?”
“Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Yeah, okay, that works.
The harder I squeeze, the faster he thrusts. And when the earth shakes for him, I know I’m the reason.
I don’t think single can be my first word anymore. That realization feels strange and foreign and scary and . . . beautiful.