Page 37 of Rags to Royals

I taste her fully, letting her know that I haven’t forgotten a thing about our time together. I know how she likes to be kissed. I know that sliding my hands into her hair makes her whimper. I know that nipping at her bottom lip will make her arch closer.

I need more though. A firm surface behind her, so I can truly press into her. I need to be against her. I need more than her mouth.

Then she’s walking me backward, and I feel one of the kitchen chairs at the back of my knees. She pushes me down into it and climbs into my lap, straddling my thighs. My hands move to grip her ass, pressing her against my aching cock as her hands slide into my hair.

We both groan at the contact. All of the contact.

It’s been nearly two years for both of us, but it’s as if our bodies have simply been waiting for one another. She circles her hips and I press up into her, relief and frustration flooding through me at the same time.

My fingers steal up under the hem of her shirt and I spread my palms over the bare skin of her back. I stroke up and down, absorbing the warm, silky feel of her.

She copies the action, dropping her hands from my hair to my waist and bunching my shirt up so she can get her hands underneath. She glides her hands up my ribs and around to my back, curling her fingers into the muscles, then stroking up and down.

The feel of her touch again after all this time sends a wave of lust through me.

I drag my mouth along her jaw to her ear. “Need you so bad.”

She tips her head back so I can drag my stubbled jaw down her throat. My hands slide around to cover her breasts. She’s wearing a bra, but I can feel the pebbled tips of her nipples, and I rub my thumbs over them, eliciting a shiver and moan.

“So much,” I say against the front of her throat, kissing, then nipping lightly.

“Me too,” she pants. Her fingers are digging into my shoulder blades again, holding me close.

Her breasts are small, but they fit perfectly against my palms. Her nipples are incredibly sensitive, and I remember every minute of teasing them with my hands and mouth.

I pluck a nipple. “Can I make you come? Right here like this?”

Her answer is a soft moan and her pressing down against my cock.

“Oh yes, I remember this greedy pussy very well,” I say, kissing along her collarbone and moving one hand down to cup her through her shorts.

She grinds against my hand, almost instinctively.

“Cian,” she practically pleads.

“Right here, my good little witch. Whatever you need.”

Just then a door shuts somewhere in the house, and she jerks back.

I realize that she forgot where we were for a moment. I take pride in that. But now that she’s remembered, we’re done here.

For now.

She quickly pushes back then gets to her feet. She stands, staring down at me. She’s breathing hard, her cheeks are pink, and she’s clearly not sure what to do. I reach down and adjust the fly on my jeans that is pressing against my very angry-at-being-blocked cock.

Her eyes follow that movement. She squeezes her eyes shut and runs a hand through her hair.

“Scarlett,” I say, keeping my tone calm. “It’s okay.”

She shakes her head, then opens her eyes and meets my gaze. “It’s not. I can’t do this.”

“Fuck me in your kitchen with your family in the house? Or are we talking about something more?”

“Yes. More. Both.”

“Okay, I get the not in the kitchen part. Why not the rest?”

“Because…”

---