Page 71 of I'm sorry, Princess
I glance around, my chest tightening as I notice the girls are gone. Even Sienna has disappeared. I’m alone now.
I move toward him slowly, my legs feeling like lead, but he notices immediately. His long legs shift, parting slightly, an invitation, or maybe a command, for me to step between them. My heart pounds in my chest, and I silently pray he doesn’t expect some degrading apology for dancing with his friend.
But this scene, it’s sinful.
The way he lounges on the couch, shirtless, his broad shoulders and muscled chest on full display, is enough to make anyone weak. His legs are sprawled, his body radiating effortless dominance. His muscles ripple beneath his skin as he watches me approach, and my eyes drift to the ink that covers him, intricate tattoos trailing over his arms, chest, and torso. I wonder what they mean, each line and symbol a story I’ll likely never know.
When I finally step between his legs, he doesn’t hesitate.
The gun in his hand shifts, trailing toward my thigh, and I freeze. My breath catches as the cold metal grazes my skin, sliding slowly beneath the hem of my dress. Every inch it moves sends a shiver down my spine.
He’s deliberate, his eyes following the path of the gun, drinking in every place it touches. The room feels electric, the tension thick as “Desert Rose” by Lolo Zouaï begins playing, its sultry melody wrapping around us like smoke.
He runs his tongue over his teeth, a slow, predatory gesture. “Don’t stop on my account,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and rough, scraping against the air like sandpaper. “Give me my birthday gift.”
His other hand moves to my waist, sliding down with excruciating slowness until it cups my ass cheek. His grip is firm, possessive, like he’s staking his claim on me in front ofeveryone, his eyes flicking briefly to his friend as if to drive the point home.
He’s not asking. He’s telling.
And I can’t do anything but obey.
I begin to move, my hips swaying slowly to the rhythm of the music. The beat pulses through me, matching the deliberate, teasing roll of my body. Sliding onto his lap, I press myself against him, feeling his erection hard and unyielding against my core. A wave of heat rushes through me, and I know, he knows, the effect he has on me.
I let my body take control, fluid and sensual. My movements grow bolder, rising and lowering with a deliberate seduction, my ass dragging against him in a way that makes him groan low in his throat. Liquid desire pools inside me, soaking through the thin barrier of my thong.
Turning to face him, I trail my fingers lightly across his chest, tracing the hard ridges of his muscles. His breath hitches, and a low hiss escapes his lips. Slowly, I slide down, my face nearing the level of his groin, every movement designed to tempt, to break his control.
“Everyone out,” he commands suddenly, his voice rough and commanding, cutting through the music.
The air in the room shifts as the others scramble to obey, leaving without hesitation. His gaze never leaves mine, even as the room clears.
I step back, moving between his legs, ready to leave as well, but his hand shoots out, gripping my waist. With one quick motion, he pulls me back onto his lap, completely onto his lap.
The position is intimate, almost unbearable. My dress is bunched up to my waist, and my soaked thong is pressed directly against his erection. The friction sends a shiver down my spine, a reminder of just how exposed I am.
The music blares around us, a heavy bassline reverberating through the room, but all I can focus on is him, his scent, his presence. He smells of mint and smoke, a mix that’s both intoxicating and grounding, pulling me deeper under his spell.
As his hands tighten on my waist, memories flood my mind in sharp, vivid flashes: his lips crushing against mine, the heat of his body, the way he felt inside me.
“My dance isn’t finished yet,” he growls, his voice low and rough, vibrating against my skin.
His face buries itself in the curve of my neck, his breath hot and uneven. I begin to move again, my hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure against my clit making my knees weak and my vision blur. My eyes flutter closed as a shiver runs through me, the pleasure almost overwhelming.
He kisses my neck, his lips trailing fire over my skin before his teeth nip sharply, leaving faint marks in his wake. His hands grip my ass possessively, kneading and pulling me closer, as though he can’t get enough.
His tongue, wet, hot, and maddening, slides over the sensitive skin of my neck, and I can feel my body responding without hesitation. My wetness grows, soaking through the thin fabric, leaving no question about the effect he has on me.
The room feels surreal, the air heavy with the pulse of the music that seems to be stuck on replay. The sensual beat wraps around us like a spell, amplifying the heat and making everything feel too much, too erotic, too intoxicating, too dangerous.
And then I snap.
I pull myself off him, trembling as I shift away. My dress remains bunched at my waist, exposing my bare ass to the cool air, the sharp contrast jolting me back to reality.The cold breeze brushes against my wetness, a harsh reminder of how far this has gone.
I steady myself, swallowing hard as my chest heaves.
I can’t let this happen. Not again.
He noticed my hesitation, the resistance I was barely holding onto. His eyes darkened with something dangerous, and then the gun was back, trailing slowly over my leg. The cold metal grazed my thigh, sending shivers up my spine, before stopping directly at my core.
