Page 17 of Prince Charming

He could no longer deny what he’d been trying hard to.

Not when his dick reared its ugly fucking head and took an interest in the sight before him.

It thickened in his jeans, swelling to full hardness.

When did this attraction start? A few days? Weeks?

Or right now as he watched her elongating body in motion to music.

Standing on the very tips of her toes in those weird block ballet shoes, she did moves he didn’t know were humanly possible.

Cycle shorts and tank top sculpted to a pair of small breasts and an ass that made water pool his mouth. Her waist tucked in the middle, tight enough he knew he’d be able to span it with his two hands.

Jesus Christ. He felt sick with dizziness. And it had nothing to do with the threatening headache yanking on the back of his eyeballs.

She was seriously beautiful.

The kind that made a man stupid to possess.

Her legs went on for miles. And as she twirled in her own world, tendrils of her dark hair, damp from exertion, fell around her flushed face.

The music swelled, and her movements increased as if she were answering each note with her body. When she held her arms out, fingers pointing in a certain way, it gave the impression she was flying to the tempo.

Tag couldn’t look away.

His body wouldn’t allow it.

Swallowing hard, he rested his shoulder on the doorjamb, but the leather boots reacted to the tiled floor and squeaked as the music faded away.

She spun too fast, eyes wide as she caught sight of him, then she crashed to the floor, twisting her leg as she went down hard.

With her cry of pain, Tag moved fast, closing the space between them. He tugged the denim on his thighs before he crouched down in front of her.

Even in the dim lighting, it wasn’t hard for him to notice how she flinched when he reached for her ankle. It put rocks in his stomach.

“Don’t touch me.” She said, then added softer. “Please.”

“Can I check if it’s broken?”

“It’s not.” Marianna said, with her head inclined down, she’d yet to look at him. She proved it to him by rotating her foot. Though she winced, it didn’t appear to be broken.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he started. “Never heard that kinda music in here before, thought we had weird as fuck burglars.” He half-grinned to put her at ease.

“My apologies. I didn’t know anyone was still here.”

“You can do your thing any time.”

Tag rose.

But this thing he had.

This new fucking sensation inside him he’d tried to ignore, because it had no legs to go anywhere. That thing grew until his hands itched to touch her.

To soothe the pain etched on her glowing face.

For months now, he ignored the fact he loved looking at her poutier than most lips. They were the starring role on her face and begged for attention. She licked them and Tag, like a fucking creeper, noticed. Wanting to be the one to taste the fullness and to make them glossy.

He’d never mistreated a woman, always thought he was a good boyfriend. He paid for shit; he gave attention when a woman wanted it and he was a fucking God in bed, it was just facts.

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