Page 105 of Cocky Prince
“You did?” I choke. Damn tears, clogging my throat.
“Or maybe it was the moment I saw your ass in the air inside your office that first day at Blue?”
I smack his chest. “This is a serious moment!”
Grinning, he ducks his head and kisses my mouth. “It is serious. Everything I’ve said is true. I’m not leaving you. Honestly, it was probably more punishment for me than it was for you. I damn near left town because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Being close and not with you was killing me. Give me another chance?”
“If you’ll give me another. I was stubborn. I’m so sorry for not trusting you.”
He rolls his eyes.
“What?”
“You are stubborn. I don’t expect that to change. I like your stubborn side. Keeps me on my toes. Speaking of…” He reaches down and tickles my feet, sliding his hand up my leg. “You have on far too many clothes.”
“Really? I was rather comfortable,” I say, pretending I didn’t catch his innuendo.
“Oh no. You’re going to be too hot in just a moment.”
His hand dips between my thighs and his mouth covers my nipple through my shirt, which he found blind through my top, homing in on it perfectly. I moan lightly. “You’re right. It’s too hot. You’d better take off all your clothes too.”
He chuckles and starts ditching his shirt. I get distracted by his chest. “Wait. Too fast,” I say with a smile, as I run my hands all over his stomach and chest and arms.
“Nope.” He yanks at my pants. “Have you any idea how long it’s been since we’ve—” He waggles his eyebrows.
“I think I have some idea. Someone decided we needed to abstain,” I say pertly.
He unhooks my bra. “That man should be shot.”
“Eh, I’ll keep him around. He has his uses.” I palm his erection, get frustrated with the jeans he’s wearing—with the hammer still tucked through a belt loop, getting all up in my business—and scramble to the bottom of the bed to tug them off.
I drop the hammer on the floor. I like his tools, but that’s not the one I’m interested in right now.
“While you’re down there,” he says, on his back now, his arms crossed beneath his head, “might as well slip off your pants too.”
“Is that how it’s going to be?” I grab a condom from the econo-sized stash Adam bought weeks ago.
He shrugs.
I slip off my top—because apparently that wasn’t as important as unhooking my bra to him—kick off my jeans and underwear, and climb up his body.
“Shit,” he breathes. “That’s the sexiest image.”
I rub his erection, which is straining for his belly button, and pull it back until it’s upright. I slide the condom on. Adam’s eyes widen and he grips my hips. I lift up and glide down, until I’m fully seated with him inside me.
Adam’s head drops back. “Fuck.”
I brace my hands on his shoulders and circle my hips, sliding up and down in slow movements. “This what you wanted? For me to do all the work?”
His face is strained. He flips me over. “Not today. Been too long.” And then he’s rocking into me, his hand on my breast, the other hand cradling the side of my face as his body hits all the places shouting their approval, having sorely missed his presence.
My orgasm doesn’t roll over me; it hits me like a thunderbolt. I scream, gasping for air.
When my head finally returns to Earth, I notice beads of sweat dotting Adam’s forehead, his chest glistening. He flips me over so that I’m on top again, and bucks into me, gripping my hips, stomach muscles clenched and ripped.
A groan tears from his throat. His pace slows, becomes unsteady.
He flattens his hand on my back and folds me to his chest, pressing soft kisses to my face. We roll to the side and stare into each other’s eyes.
