Page 13 of Princess

I feel his body. Iwanthis body—like I’ve never wanted anything before. It’s all I can do not to wrap my arms around him and pull him down closer to me. Twine my legs around his waist so I can feel his cock exactly where I want it most.

I don’t do either of those things. I can’t make a move on a man who’s never given me the slightest indication of that kind of interest.

Grant might not be a real friend, but he’s as close as I have right now. Emotionally I’ve been doing a lot better than I was the year after my dad died, but if I didn’t have these training sessions, my life would be a whole lot emptier.

“Get up,” I mutter, my voice raspy with something akin to desperation. “Grant, get up. Now.Now.”

He started to move at my first word, and it’s only a couple of seconds until he’s on his feet, several feet away from me. He’s flushed and sweating, but his face is as stoic and unreadable as ever. He’s eyeing me closely.

It should be a relief to be freed of his weight, but it’s not. It feels horrible. Empty and cold and aching. If I stay in this room any longer, I’m going to jump him. I know it for sure. It feels like my body is barely under my own control.

I turn my back to him and take a few steps toward the door.

“Olivia.”

The one word from him stops me, but I don’t turn back around. I stand staring at the doorknob, panting.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He obviously knows what prompted my reaction. He’s always been blunt and honest like that with me.

“I know,” I manage to respond. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine if you’re running away right now. I try to control it, but I can’t always help it. It’s a physical response.”

“I know it is. It’s not a big deal.” I still haven’t turned around. I can’t.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to make a move on you.”

I give a very slow blink as I try to process what he just said. I can’t. “What?”

“I’m not going to make a move on you,” he repeats. He’s taken a couple of steps closer to me. I’m still not looking in his direction, but I can hear his voice is closer. “So don’t start keeping your distance.”

He’s saying that. He’s actually saying it. Something so preposterous it can hardly be tolerated.

I whirl around. “You think it scares me? That I’m all trembly about the idea of sex like some kind of naive little girl?”

His blue eyes widen. “I don’t think you’re a little girl. That much should be obvious.”

“But you think I’m leaving now because I’m upset?”

“Aren’t you?” He’s frowning. Still searching my face.

“No. How can you not know what I’m feeling right now?”

After another few seconds, his gaze turns suddenly hot. Now he knows. I can see it. He holds himself perfectly still.

“I’m twenty-one years old. And I’ve been trapped in this bunker for four and a half years without ever having the chance to get close to a man because you’ve insisted on treating me like some kind of princess on a pedestal.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly saying this. Completely shameless. “I’m not a princess, Grant. I’mnot. And occasionally I’d like to be touched.”

His hands have clenched into fists, and I’m almost shuddering. Neither one of us says anything as we stare across the few feet of distance between us.

Then he finally mutters, “We’re coming out of lockdown in the next few weeks. Everything will be different then.”

“I know.”

“We’ve been living in a weird limbo down here. What you want now isn’t going to be what you want when you’re back in the real world.” His voice is full of gravel, but he doesn’t sound bossy or condescending or resentful or disappointed. Mostly just matter-of-fact.

“I know that too.” I’m telling him the truth. I don’t doubt a word of what he’s saying. Arousal is still pulsing through me, but I know that he’s right. It would be foolish of me to act rashly right now, compelled only by a random, passing impulse, and make a potentially life-changing decision when our whole world is about to change.

I did some hand stuff with my high school boyfriends, but I’ve never had intercourse before. And having sex for the first time with a man who doesn’t love me—one who still sometimes feels like a stranger to me—is likely something I’ll later regret.

---