Page 109 of I'm sorry, Princess
I kiss her harder. Deeper. Desperation bleeding into my touch as I push the thought away.
I’ll deal with it later.
I hold her tighter, like if I let go, she’ll disappear. Fuck. Even after I washed her with my shampoo, the vanilla still lingers on her skin, still intoxicating me, still driving me insane.
Her hands start to explore me, tentative but eager, tracing over my wet shirt, feeling the solid lines of my body. And then, she starts pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to my neck, her lips warm, teasing, fucking sinful.
I grit my teeth, my grip tightening on her hips as I fight every single fucking urge to pin her down and take her apart.
She’s testing me.
She’s pushing me.
And she knows it.
She keeps moving, her body shifting against me, her bare skin sliding against my soaked clothes, her warm, wet cunt rubbing against the rock-hard proof of how badly I need her.
A growl rips through my chest as she trails her kisses lower, down my neck, over my shoulder. My control is fucking slipping, and I know if I let her go any further, I’ll have her pinned against this tub in the next second, legs spread, begging for me.
Before I lose myself completely, I stop her.
I have to.
I grab her wrists, turning her around in the water and pulling her back against my chest. She lets out a soft sigh, her body melting into mine, and I press a slow, lingering kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in.
She’s perfect in my arms.
She belongs here.
I don’t fucking want to let her go.
Minutes pass, the water cooling around us, and I know we need to get out before I actually lose all reason. I pull herup with me, stepping out of the tub. She doesn’t say anything, just watches me as I grab a towel and wrap it around her, taking my time, drying every inch of her, memorizing her.
She just stands there, looking at me.
Watching me like she’s trying to figure out what the fuck is happening between us.
Like she’s trying to make sense of why she’s here with me.
I don’t have a fucking hairdryer.
Because no woman has ever invaded my space like she just did.
Well, invaded is the wrong word.
Because I kidnapped her.
And I have no intention of letting her leave.
I carry her to my bedroom, laying her down on my bed, her damp hair splayed against my pillows. The sheets swallow her up, making her look even smaller, more delicate.
Mine.
I grab another towel to dry her hair, but by the time I turn around, she’s already passed out. Completely knocked out.
I exhale sharply, staring at her for a moment. The way her breathing has evened out, the way her body is curled up under my sheets like she belongs there.
Fuck.
