Page 42 of The Prince and the Puck
He pulled back. “Was that a hockey joke?”
I rolled my head back and forth against the pillow. “I’m deadly serious.”
He grinned, and his eyes hooded as I stroked him, hard. “Hang on, I have a condom,” he moaned, rolling off me again to search for his wallet. When he finally came back, packet in hand, I felt like I might explode.
“Let me.” I snatched the packet from his hand and rolled the condom down his length. “Now go.”
“So demanding,” he chided, but he didn’t waste any time lining himself up. I grasped his back with my hands, trying to pull him into me, but Declan controlled the motion, sliding into my wetness slowly. Slowly enough to force me to arch upward to get what I needed. Contact. Friction. Fullness. I wanted it all.
Just as he was nearly inside all the way, he pulled back, and the whine that escaped me surprised even me.
“So impatient,” he whispered, finally pressing all the way in. I felt my eyes roll back in my head, and the breath leave me—it was perfect. It was everything. And finally, finally, my brain quieted and I was only sensation.
He pumped slowly, and I was powerless beneath him, enjoying every second more than the last. Every muscle inside my body felt like it was gripping as tightly as it possibly could, and just as I struggled for control, my brain introduced a thought that sent me right over the edge:You’re fucking the prince…
And as we ascended to the very precipice of some mountain I hadn’t even known existed, I wanted—more than anything—for this to be real. But as I lay in his arms afterward, both of us sticky with sweat and satisfaction, I knew a conversation loomed ahead that would change everything.
“I’m gonna have to get an Alaskan king-size bed, I guess,” Declan said.
“Oh, you think that was the bed?”
Declan grinned at me, those blue eyes dancing. I couldn’t help but lift my hand to rub it along the scruff on his jaw, which was every bit as soft as I’d imagined.
“There’s only one way to find out,” he said, mischief thick in his voice, making it deep and throaty. “We’ll have to do it again somewhere else. Maybe the kitchen counter?”
God, I wanted that. But I needed to talk to him.
“Maybe we should talk instead?” My voice was uncertain, because everything in my body was uncertain at that moment—a sensation I didn’t like and was not accustomed to.
“Yeah.” Declan did not look like talking was his first choice either, but I saw the same resignation in his face that I felt. There were things to discuss. “I bet you’re wondering why my truck blew up today.”
I smiled at him. I wondered if I knew more than he did about why his truck had blown up, but I didn’t say that.
“Yeah,” I said, hoping he would continue.
“Well, I probably should’ve been honest with you before we… did… this.” Declan waved his hand between us, as if the incredible sex we’d just had was a physical presence in the room. Honestly, it almost was.
“That’s okay. Just tell me now.”
“Well, there’s some stuff about me that you don’t know. Stuff about my past.”
Any other girl might have told him that we all had skeletons in our closets and not to worry about it. But I knew what he was about to say wasn’t just a skeleton in his closet—it was much deeper than that. It had to do with his very identity, and I needed him to tell me.
“Would you believe me if I told you I’m actually a prince?” Declan looked sheepish now, as if this was the most far-fetched thing he could possibly say.
I took my cues from him, but second-guessed myself the moment I faked surprise. At what point was I supposed to come clean? The broad strokes were outlined in my mission, but the details, the subtleties of maintaining a trusting relationship with this man while confessing that I’d been lying to him—that hadn’t been made clear.
“A prince,” I said slowly, working to keep my expression blank. “A prince of what kingdom?”
“It’s a tiny island nation that most people in the US haven’t heard of. It’s called Murdan,” he said, watching my reaction.
I said nothing, my brain working furiously to decide how to handle this. When did I tell him who I was?
He sat up, something colder settling across his face. “Lizzy? Why don’t you look surprised?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to say,” I admitted. It was the most honest thing I’d said to him since we’d met.
“This is not exactly the reaction I was expecting. Is it that you think I’m crazy? Do you not believe me?”
