Page 46 of Penthouse Prince
Her feel, her taste, her smell, her sounds of pleasure and desire, it all brings decade-old memories and emotions rushing back with the force of a late-summer hurricane. But at the same time, everything is an intoxicating surprise. She’s changed, grown up into a woman, and I’m eager for the experience of learning everything about her all over again.
My hands roam, eager to linger over every detail both familiar and new, every curve, every inch of creamy skin. I run the pad of my thumb down the column of her neck, stopping until I can cup the weight of one breast in my hand. She rewards me with a soft but rough noise that jolts straight down my spine and into my dick.
Okay, slow the fuck down, Lex.
I pull back, breaking our connection, and Corrigan makes a small confused noise. Her eyes flutter open, and everything I see reflected in them makes my heart throb.
Desire. Hunger. Certainty.
She wants this as much as I do.
But it’s not just a beautiful woman I’m seeing before me. I’m seeing her, the true her she hides from the world. I’m seeing the possibility for something real developing between us, something even bigger than what we shared before.
My mouth moves to her neck, where I leave open-mouthed, sucking kisses.
Corrigan squirms. “Lex . . .”
Lex, not Lexington.
“Too fast?” I murmur, praying she’ll tell me it’s not, that she wants to keep going.
When she breathes out the word no, I almost die of happiness on the spot. It’s rare for me to have a kid-free evening, and to spend it with Corrigan—doing this, of all things—is a dream come true.
She touches my chest, her fingers flexing into the material of my T-shirt. I haul it off over my head. Her tank top comes off next, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning.
Her breasts are high and full, nearly spilling over the cups of her delicate lace bra. She’s gorgeous. And I still can’t believe she’s letting me touch her.
“Shit,” I murmur, filling my hands with her breasts. “God, look at you . . .”
Corrigan arches, her eyes drifting closed as I rub my thumbs across her nipples. A small choked gasp pushes past her parted lips. With a mischievous look, she bites her bottom lip and begins unbuttoning my jeans.
Holy unexpected plot twist.
My cock jumps, eager for her touch. And when her hand pushes past my boxers and touches my bare skin, I groan out my relief.
“Wait.” My voice is little more than a deep rasp in my throat.
Her fingers still, and she meets my eyes with a look of confusion.
“As badly as I want this, and believe me, I do . . .” I draw in a deep breath. “This isn’t all I want. You know that, right?”
Her eyes meet mine. “You really want to discuss this now?”
She has a point. Her hand is inside my underwear. Is this really the time to negotiate things between us, and risk the possibility of her walking away? But I have no choice.
“Go out with me.” The words tumble from my lips. I turn her face toward mine and press my lips to hers. “Please.”
Without missing a beat, she nods. “Okay. One date. For old time’s sake.”
My relief is instantaneous. Then Corrigan wraps my aching dick in her fist and treats me to a slow stroke.
“I should probably warn you . . .” I’m breathless, desperate, and can hardly get the words out. “I haven’t had sex in a very long time.”
She gives me another confused look. “How long?”
It doesn’t even occur to me to try to hide the truth from her. “Since before Grier was born.”
Shock is written all over Corrigan’s face. I can tell my answer surprised her.
The media in New York dubbed me the penthouse prince. Wealthy . . . handsome . . . one of the city’s most eligible bachelors. But the truth was so different. I’m a single dad, not the playboy everyone assumes.
I don’t date. But I want Corrigan to be the exception to that rule . . . if she wants to be.
“Then this is going to feel really good.” Her mischievous smile returns, and my head drops back onto the sofa as her hand begins to move.
“Oh fuck . . .”
With two fingers under her chin, I tip her mouth toward mine and devour her with kisses. With my other, I help Corrigan shimmy out of her shorts. She’s sitting on my couch now wearing only a bra and a pair of panties, and she looks good enough to eat.
But since her hand is still moving inside my boxers, I return the favor, touching between her legs, circling her clit as she moans and shifts closer.
Miraculously, she seems to remember exactly what I like—firm, quick strokes—and much too soon, I can already feel myself edging closer to my climax.
