Page 61 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
“I do love a good costume.” I bite my lip, fixating again on his swoopers.
“Oh, really.” Noah arches a brow at me. “What do you imagine yourself dressed up as?”
I flash on an image of myself in my Ember costume. My latex bodysuits. Fishnet tights. Platform boots and talon nails.
“I dunno,” I say. What would I like to dress up in for a session? “Maybe an elf? Or a princess?” OrEmber.I want to just come out and say it. Maybe with the character’s accent. I want to shock him to see how he reacts when I do. Maybe it would turn him on. The Ember Enchantress has that effect on a lot of men. They want her. They want her to crack her snakeskin whip and tell them exactly what to do to her.
I know this for certain because there are whole subreddits. Scary ones. But Noah isn’t scary. Noah is annoyingly calm and steady. I can’t help myself. I want to rattle his cage.
“How about … the Ember Enchantress?” I tip my head coyly and stare at him through the fringe of my lashes.
“Oh, please. You’re nothing like Ember!” Noah bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry to tell you … you can’t pull that character off, Kenna.” He shakes his head sadly.
“Excuse me? I think I do a perfect Ember impression,” I huff. “Lorelei Dupont has nothing on me.”
“Well, you’re right about that.” Noah stops drawing and glances up from his map. He looks me right in the eye. “I like you a hell of a lot more than Lorelei Dupont.”
“You’re telling me you’d kick Lorelei Dupont out of your bed?” I counter.
Push, push, push. Why can’t I stop?
“I’m telling you I wouldn’t kickyouout of my bed.” Noah reaches out and catches the porch swing, pulling it closer to him. The air is charged, and I wonder if he’s going to lean forward, maybe try to kiss me. He’s close enough. But at the last minute, he lets the swing go, giving it a shove. He turns back to his map.
Dammit.
“So what would you dress me up as?” I ask, trying to cover my disappointment. I set down the campaign and move to the table beside him, leaving the empty swing dangling and jerking awkwardly in my wake.
Noah looks up again and studies me.
“Not everyone dresses up for our sessions, Kenna. I wouldn’t want to make you come as anything that made you uncomfortable. If you wanted to come, you could come as you are.”
Come. Come. Come. Come now.
I can’t take it anymore. I get up and lean forward on the table, lick my lips, and let him have it, guns blazing, all my desire on full display. “And when you saycomeas I am?”
And then we are kissing. Hard. Fast. Crazy. With tongue. Noah stands and drags me back to the swing, roughly pulling me onto his lap.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this,” I moan, straddling his obvious arousal and rocking.
“Don’t I?” he asks, gripping my hips and repositioning me to make the most of the swaying motion.
“I might … you know,” I warn him.
“Might what?” he asks.
“Come. As I am.”
I don’t even care that we’re sitting on his front porch, in plain sight of the world.
“No,” Noah commands, stopping the swing from rocking. “Not here. Not now. And not like this.”
He holds my hips still as I try to grind against him.
“I said no.” He raises his eyebrows, speaking sternly. Now he sounds like an English teacher.
Is he freaking kidding me?
“Are you kidding me?” I pant.
