Page 53 of Bitter Prince
“Are you going to kiss me?” He didn’t move. He didn’t answer. My body vibrated, overstimulated in his embrace. My heart pounded in my throat as goosebumps spread down my spine.
Done waiting and hungry for more, I took matters into my own hands.
I closed the distance and kissed him. I tasted him the way he’d tasted me earlier in my papà’s hallway, except here, I didn’t care who saw us. I nipped his bottom lip, urging him to take the lead. He was the first boy—man—I’d ever kissed, and I wanted him to teach me everything.
I pulled back to find his eyes burning with heat. His piercing gaze was locked on me and soaked in so much intensity, a tremor rolled across my skin in response. I couldn’t find enough air to breathe as I waited for him to kiss me again.
His lips touched me, barely. Softly. It reminded me of a whisper on a breeze. I brought my hands up and ran them through his hair, pulling him harder against me. This time, he nipped my bottom lip, the graze of his teeth stirring a moan in my throat. He drew my top lip in with a sweet pull. My senses vibrated beneath the surface, hummed and inflamed whenever our bodies touched.
I arched closer to him, his heat soaking into every fiber and cell. My lips parted and he sucked on my tongue, hungry and greedy. Each kiss turned harder. Each lick woke something dark and carnal inside me.
A blaze seared through me as I drew my blunt nails across his scalp. He growled low in his throat, and his mouth roughened on my lips. His kisses grew more demanding. His hard-on pressed against my lower stomach, igniting more flames through my bloodstream.
Amon’s lips moved down my throat, hot and wet, and my head fell back with a moan. Sparks set off deep in my core as a heavy heartbeat pounded between my legs, turning my vision hazy.
He dragged his lips past my collarbone and nipped the soft flesh there. My nipples tightened, sensitive against the material of my bra. I was desperate for his mouth on my breasts, to feel it warm and wet on every inch of my skin.
I lowered my hands from his hair, sliding them down to his shirt and beneath it to feel his stomach. He was all hard, smooth muscle. I could feel his heat and smell his cologne. Clean and citrusy.Hewas my favorite scent.
My heart raced, nearing the point of explosion. The frantic beat of it drummed in my ears. Our mouths clashed, our breaths becoming one. His tongue tangled with mine. I moaned into his mouth, starved for more.
I must have lost my mind, because the next words that passed through my lips were breathless. “Touch me.Please.”
I put my hand over his and brought it to my breast, arching my back into him.
In a move so sudden, he ripped away from me. Breathing hard, I stumbled back and would have fallen if he didn’t steady me. God, he felt good. So right. Like a piece of me that was missing and I had finally found it.
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes on me as he ran his hand through his thick hair. Then a string of curses followed. “Fuck, we can’t do this.”
I blinked. “Why not?” I jutted my chin up. “We’re both adults.”
“You’re not,” he pointed out. Damn him. Insecurity flooded me as the profound loss of him caused my teeth to chatter. Then his hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me back, my body flush with his. Everywhere his muscles brushed against me, I burned.
“Not yet.” His voice was dark, smoky. The way he watched me kindled a heat in my lower belly.
“Then when?” I whimpered; this need for him consuming me down to the marrow of my bones.
“You’re underage.” The logic made no sense, but I had no time to question it because his mouth slammed against mine. “Fuck, you’re getting under my skin.”Now he knew how I felt.
I wanted more of his touch. More of his kisses. I pressed myself against him. His one hand came down my bare thigh, his calloused palm rough against my soft skin. The heat flowing through my veins erupted into a full-blown volcano, every nerve within my body blazing with sensation.
Then, as if he knew what I needed, he pressed his thigh between mine, right against my clit. I moaned into his mouth as a wave of pleasure shot through me. I felt it in my spine and all the way down to my toes.
I rocked against his thigh with need—flushed and wanting—already feeling the budding pressure of release. He pulled back, his eyes full of heat on my bare thigh, watching where I ground against him. I wasn’t an expert, but I thought he liked what he saw.
“Are you going to come, my cinnamon girl?” His voice was thick with an accent. Italian, Japanese, English, I wasn’t sure, but it was the sexiest thing I had ever heard.
I gripped a handful of his hair and brushed my lips against his. He grunted, rough and low, then pulled out of reach. So I leaned in and pressed my lips against his neck, sucking and licking. God, he tasted so good. Just the way he smelled.
Tension lined his shoulders and the muscles in his arms strained. His fingers dug into my ass cheeks.
“Amon, I need—” My moans were desperate. I rocked against his leg, chasing friction. “I need more.”
“Fuck,” he rasped against my lips. For a fraction of a second, I thought he was going to relent. “No, not until you’re of age. For now, this is what you get.”
His mouth came down on mine, nipping my bottom lip. I sucked in a gasp and he went to work licking it, soothing the sting. He pressed his leg harder against me at a different angle and my orgasm slammed into me—a raging inferno that stole my breath from my lungs.
I buried my face into his neck as I shuddered against him, like he was my rock against the storm. His fingers came up to my hair, fisting it and pulling my head back to look at me. His gaze brushed over my half-lidded eyes and parted mouth while the hot burn of his lips still smoldered on my skin.
