Page 63 of Royally Rivalled

Astrid sat up, leaving a gaping puddle behind her on the couch.

“Fuck!”

She rushed to grab a towel, naked as a jaybird.

Astrid returned, nervous as if she’d offended me. I didn’t mind. She made me feel like a god among men. Even with her amateur status, I’d managedthat? We had some fun times ahead.

“How do we… like fix it?” Astrid asked.

I took the towel out of her hand to wipe my face down first. “We can deal with the rest later. I want to fuck you if you’re still game?”

She bit her lip. “Yeah, I mean, sure. But condoms. I can?—”

“I still have the ones from my trip in my bag,” I said.

She raced into the foyer to grab one, returning in good spirits. Before I could do much other than remove my trousers and pants, she’d torn open the wrapper and rolled the condom down my shaft.

Astrid climbed on top, using me to her full advantage.

She asked, “That didn’t bother you?”

“No,” I answered.

Astrid moaned happily. I moved her hips slightly up and down for my benefit. Her tits bounced wonderfully.

“It was lovely to watch you, Astrid.”

As she kissed me, I soaked up the feeling of being inside Astrid again. It got better every time.

She pulled back and growled, “Don’t stop! I’m gonna cum.”

I watched Astrid again lose herself. Her eyes rolled back as she dug her fingers into the couch. God, she was beautiful when she came!

I kissed her neck as she calmed, gently grinding against me now. The smell, taste, feel, and sight of her combined overwhelmed me. I was going to cum quickly if I didn’t move her off me. I slapped her arse playfully.

“Hands and knees. You got what you wanted, and now I will get what I deserve.”

Astrid shook her head playfully, “Why should I?”

“Because you want to get properly fucked, and you know I’ll get you off again.”

Before we could continue, we heard someone talking outside the front door. Panicking, she hopped up. The mad dash to put clothes on happened. When her roommate—a tall boy who looked more vampire than human in hiking shoes—arrived, we were guiltily cleaning up the couch and looking dishevelled.

I quickly said, “I had a juice bottle explode in my rucksack.”

“I’m going to get some…liquide vassaile?”

Washing up liquid.

Her friend looked confused but shrugged. It was adorable to see Astrid so flustered that she defaulted to French. I’d aim to rile her up this way again. Astrid returned with a dish rag and cleaned as if the spot haunted her. I suspected her reaction was the result of a shame spiral.

“Let me,” I said in French. “Calm yourself. It’s fine. Be a good girl, and let me do it.”

Surprised, she looked up and handed me the rag.

“Yes, I speak French—fluently,” I explained.

“Oh. Brilliant. Much better than my poor brother-in-law. His French is so embarrassing that people switch to English.”

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