Page 138 of Their Princess

“Just”—I panted—“do it.”

He searched my eyes until he seemed to find what he was looking for, then grabbed my hips and slammed me down as he thrust upward.

I cried out in pain and pleasure, then stopped breathing entirely.

“Don’t hold your breath, Adelina,” Graff gritted out.

“Okay. Okay.” I took a long, deep breath.

The pressure started to ease, so I repeated my breathing. And pretty soon, my body adjusted to his size. He stared up at me with a muscle ticking in his jaw as though he were holding himself back. His hands rested on my thighs, all but the fingers dug into my skin.

Resting, but not really.

I pried them up and drew one of his hands to my breast and the other to my lips, sucking his thumb into my mouth.

Even as he rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, Graff growled, and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back with his cock driving into my needy cunt.

“You’re so tight,” he said, leaving his thumb between my teeth.

I wanted to show him what I could do with my tongue too—not that I ever had. But he showed me how to give him a hand job last night. Perhaps he’d teach me to do the same with my mouth.

Our pace quickened. And sped some more until our sweaty bodies were slapping against one another. Then, our movements went erratic as I started to climb toward that sensation I’d found last night. The one unlike any self-inflicted orgasms. The high that only being filled completely by a man’s thick fingers or cock could give me.

“Graff,” I breathed.

“Go ahead, bella,” he replied—bella, beautiful. He wasn’t Italian, but he knew how to hit me in just the right spots—physically and mentally.

I came on a scream, my body locking up, melting, and then withering beneath him. My head kicked back in ecstasy as something about this release also squeezed me square in the chest.

After three more thrusts into my spasming pussy, Graff pulled out and gave his cock a few quick jerks until his cum was shooting all over my belly and chest in thick ropes.

His roar with the release was amazing. Powerful. Lionlike. And one day soon, I wanted him to do that inside me.

Graff fell forward, sandwiching his cum between us and pressing me down into the bed. I relished his weight on top of me and stroked his back in long, gentle touches while our breathing returned to a slower pace. It was beautiful and artistic, this coupling with Graff.

Last night had been rough and demanding and all about my future husband, but this experience belonged to my artist and me alone.

And damn, was I addicted.

When he caught his breath, he lifted up, planting his elbows at either of my sides and peered down at me. “Okay. Shower. And we have to get you on birth control, pronto.”

Showered,fully clothed, and full of food, I went looking for Graff. Or Rafe. Or even Sas. Just the thought of my future husband and Graff left me drenched.

I didn’t want to be a walking slut for my fiancé, though. It was power that I wasn’t willing to give him, but I had handed myself over to him last night. And the mere thought of another round made me rub my thighs together for just a little relief.

Before I knew it, I was standing in the doorway to the great room, overlooking the table where I had been tied up last night.

Sas wasn’t there.

Instead, the president of the club had his arms around his woman, cradling her growing pregnant belly. Wilde leanedagainst the table, Bou with her head in her hands. Heat flushed my cheeks at the power in their connection.

That was love in its purest form, as though that much adoration created an energy that radiated from the couple at the epicenter.

I bit down on my tongue before I said that table was where I got royally fucked last night. Something told me that I wasn’t the only one who had used that table for more than just business or dinner. Although, dinner had been an on-the-go event around here as far as I could tell.

Wilde kissed Bou on the cheek. “Keep our son safe.”

“We’ll be fine,” replied Bou.

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