Page 112 of I'm sorry, Princess
His body shifts against mine, his hard length pressing into my sensitive clit, rubbing, sliding, teasing me with slow, deliberate movements. A sinful, torturous rhythm that makes my breath catch in my throat.
I just came, and yet, I already need more.
I crave more.
I crave him.
A shaky breath escapes me, my chest rising and falling too fast, and the words slip past my lips before I can stop them.
“I want you.”
His body stills, his eyes darkening, his gaze flicking between my lips and my eyes like he’s searching for something, something deeper, something real.
The warmth spreads through me, my cheeks burning, my heart pounding, the butterflies in my stomach rioting.
He tilts his head slightly, his voice low and teasing, but something heavier lingers underneath. Something unreadable.
“Come again?”
Fuck.
That voice.
That deep, husky, sinful voice.
I swallow hard, already second-guessing myself.
But then his hips shift again, his cock pressing against me just right, and every rational thought flies out of my head.
“I want—” My voice trembles, the words lodging in my throat, my entire body burning from the intensity of his gaze.
He smirks, knowing exactly what I’m struggling to say, his confidence drowning me, suffocating me, unraveling me.
Just say it.
Fuck it. Just say it.
“I want you to—”
Freaking hell, why is it so hard to say?
His hands tighten on my hips. His cock presses against me again.
I whimper. Shit.
I clench my jaw, grip his shoulders, and finally let the words fall from my lips.
“I want you to fuck me.”
His entire body tenses, a visible reaction to my words, to my desperation.
His grip tightens, his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare slightly as if he’s trying to control himself.
Then, that smirk.
That freaking smirk.
He runs a hand through his thick, messy hair, his eyes dragging down my body, slow, deliberate, worshiping, devouring.
