Page 73 of I'm sorry, Princess
The word pushes me over the edge, and my body shutters against his. A loud, uncontrollable moan escapes me, and I cling to him, my nails digging into his skin as the aftershocks ripple through me. Breathless, I rest my head on his shoulder, trying to steady myself.
When I finally gather the courage to look at him, my heart skips a beat. I’ve never seen a man as handsome as him, and right now, he looks impossibly perfect. His dark hair is messy, tousled from my fingers, his lips puffy from our almost frantic kisses. And his face, Gosh, that face. It’s the kind of face that makes you forget how to think, and right now, post-almost-sex, it’s devastatingly sexy.
His gaze locks with mine, intense and unwavering, and I can’t look away. My hands move on their own, cupping his face, my fingers brushing along the sharp lines of his jaw. His skin is warm beneath my touch, and I trail my hands downward, slowly, reverently, until they glide over the hard planes of his abdomen.
I’m still perched on his lap, my dress bunched around my waist, leaving me almost entirely exposed. My breasts press against his torso, my nipples brushing lightly over his firm muscles with every tiny movement. The sensation sends shivers through me, heightening the tension building between us again.
My pussy rests against his erection, bare and sensitive, the contact making my breath hitch. My body responds instantly, ignited by the thought of him, the weight of his gaze, the way he’s utterly still, as if waiting for me to make the next move.
All I can think about is him, how I could please him, how I could make him lose control completely, how I could make this moment go on forever.
And Gosh, I want him to let me.
I lean in slowly, brushing my lips against his, soft and deliberate. His mouth feels warm and inviting, the faintest taste of him lingering on my tongue as I pull back just enough to speak.
“I want you next time,” I whisper, my voice breathless and heavy with desire.
The words feel bold, foreign, as though they’re coming from someone else. But they’re mine, and I mean them. This man has given me three earth-shattering orgasms, and I’m already planning our next encounters, imagining all the ways he could ruin me again.
I don’t know where this courage is coming from. Normally, I’m more reserved, a prude, even. But with him,every inch of my body betrays me, responding in ways I didn’t know were possible. It’s wrong. It’s addictive.
His lips twitch into the faintest smirk, his voice low and husky as he murmurs, “And how do you know there’ll be a next time?”
His fingers trail lightly down my back, his touch leaving sparks in its wake, making me shiver beneath his hand.
“I don’t,” I admit, my voice soft but sincere. “But I wish there will be.”
For a moment, his gaze pierces mine, cutting straight to my soul. It’s intense, unreadable, as though he’s searching for something buried deep inside me.
Then he moves, grabbing the back of my neck with a firm but gentle grip, pulling me closer. His lips crash against mine, and this time, the kiss is different. It’s passionate, deliberate, slow but consuming.
Our mouths move together like we’re drinking from each other, desperate to satisfy a need that can’t be quenched. His hand tightens slightly on my neck, holding me in place as if letting me go isn’t an option.
Chapter Twenty-two
Lorenzo
“Fuck,” I growl, spitting blood onto the ground as his fist connects with my jaw. The sharp taste of iron fills my mouth, but it only fuels the fire in me.
This motherfucker has no idea who he’s dealing with.
I grin at him, blood staining my teeth, daring him to try again. His face twists in anger as he comes at me for another punch, but I see it coming. Idiot.
I duck, my leg snapping out with precision, catching him square in the side of the head. He crumples to the ground, still. The crowd erupts in chaos, shouting and screaming, their voices a chaotic blur around me.
I shouldstop.
But fuck that.
This isn’t about the rules, the fight, or even the money. This is about me, and right now, I’ve got something to burn out of my system.
I drop onto him, straddling his motionless body, and start swinging. My fists collide with his head, one after the other, blood splattering everywhere. My knuckles sting, but I don’t care. The sharp, wet sound of each hit only makes me want to keep going.
“Stop!”
The voice cuts through the noise like a distant echo. Could be someone outside the ring. Could be my own head. Doesn’t matter.
I ignore it.
