Page 14 of His Fairytale Princess
Chapter Eight
Stunning.
Brinly is absolutely gorgeous and my mouth goes dry the moment she descends from the stairs and I get a good look at her.
“Wow, you look beautiful,” I mumble in awe, holding open the door to my car. I get a peek of her thigh as she slides into the passenger seat, her skirt shifting above her knee as she does.
When she looks up at, she takes my breath away.
“Thank you. You look handsome, too.”
As I walk around to the opposite side of the car, I try to regulate my breaths and racing heart. I shouldn’t be this nervous for a first date. I’ve dated girls before, it’s not that difficult. But something inside me wants to make it perfect for Brinly tonight. I already know I want more than just one and I hope by the end of the night, she feels the same way.
I start the ignition and glance over my shoulder to back out. My eyes can’t help but admire her profile. Smooth skin, soft cheeks, perfectly pointed chin, and her tits. Holy shit. That sweater fits her like second-skin. My fingers twitch to touch her. To run my hands over the curve of her breast, to play with the hardened buds of her nipples.
Clearing my throat and my thoughts, I refocus on the road.
“Where are you taking me tonight?” she asks, her hands clasped in her lap.
I’m hoping by the end of the night those hands will be in my lap and I can take her to bed with me. Unfortunately, though, I don’t think Brinly is that quick to jump in the sack with someone. I can only hope for more of those kisses like we shared the other day.
“The Fall Festival.”
I sneak a glance at her to see what she thinks of this idea and the smile on her lips tells me it’s a-go. The college town hosts an annual fall festival, complete with rides, games and fair foods every year before the weather turns cold and winter is bustled in.
“I’ve never been to one before.”
“Really? Never? You’ve never played carnival games or eaten sticky cotton candy?”
She shakes her head. “I was in New York City and I guess it wasn’t a thing. I mean, you got the Jersey Shore and Coney Island, but my mother would never take me. This is so exciting.”
The enthusiasm in her chipper voice puts me at ease and relaxes my nerves. I was worried she wouldn’t like the idea. Some girls wouldn’t. It’s outside, the weather is unpredictable, and well, it’s not a ritzy, classy affair. It’s just good, wholesome fun.
I find parking in a lot a block away from the town square and I open her door for her.
“You’re going to have to try the deep-fried Twinkie. It’s a delicacy.”
She giggles, brushing a strand of her hair out of her face, and then pats her hips. “Hmm, sounds very healthy. I don’t think my hips would approve.”
Even if she’s kidding, the joke falls flat. I reach for her hand and stop her forward momentum, pulling her into me. She gives me a startled look.
“You are perfect, Brinly. A Twinkie or elephant ears aren’t going to change that.”
To prove my sincerity, I place one hand on her hip, the other I slide behind her neck, the silky-curtain of hair slipping through my fingertips. She stares up at me with bright turquoise eyes, her lips parting as if to refute what I’m saying. But I won’t let her. I kiss her instead.
She tastes sweeter than cotton candy or sugared mini-donuts. Her lips form to mine and part for me, as I slide my tongue into the seam of her lips and sweep it over her teeth. I capture her moan in my mouth, as the sound reverberates down my spine.
The brush of her breasts against my chest sends sparks of lightning down to my toes and back up again, landing in my crotch. My dick twitches when it feels the heat of her radiating from under her skirt.
Realizing where we are – standing in the middle of a sidewalk – as town people stroll on by, has me reluctantly putting an end to the kiss. I pull back and am pulverized by the look on Brinly’s face. A hint of amusement, a lusty fire simmering in her eyes and a grin that is both wicked and sweet at the same time.
“I know I’ve already said it, and I’m not that poetic, but you are so beautiful, Brin.” I lean in for one last kiss.
“Your kisses are like poetry,” she replies, her cheeks blooming with a rosy color. “And I love poetry.”
Grinning like an idiot, I take her hand and place it in mine, weaving our fingers together as we head toward the carnival lights and sounds.
We spent the next two hours indulging our senses with sugary and fattening fair foods, playing unwinnable carnival games (although, I did win her a small bear after the twentieth dollar at the ring toss game), and riding a few rides which Brinly deemed as “safe and not life threatening.”
