Page 17 of The Princess Trap
The minute he noticed his security detailwasn’tfollowing them out of the car park—and decided to do nothing about that fact—he knew he was losing it. They probably hadn’t noticed him leaving, since he’d gone firmly against protocol and disappeared in someone else’s car, but he should’ve stopped then. Only he hadn’t, because touching Cherry felt more urgent than fucking protocol.
It felt more urgent than anything he’d ever done.
She led him across the car park through a little alleyway, their hands intertwined. “Shortcut,” she said, tugging him along. Her heels clicked sharply against the concrete. She was rushing. She was precisely as desperate as he was, and the knowledge made him harder than ever.
The winter sun was low over the horizon, the sky was a clouded bruise, and the streetlights snapped on around them. In the walkway between two apartment blocks, light faded and shadows grew tall. Cherry’s hips swayed in front of him, her hand tight around his, and the memories of her gasping little cries teased at his mind.
Ruben stopped walking.
She turned to face him, a furrow appearing between her brows. “What?”
Without a word, he pulled her closer. When she came towards him with a smile curving her lips, he wanted to roar in triumph. Even the slightest acquiescence from this woman felt like a prize. He slid his hands around her waist and pulled her into him, against him, her softness a balm to the ragged edge of his lust. But it wasn’t enough.
Ruben backed her into the wall beside them, covering her body with his own. He captured both her wrists in one hand, bringing them up over her head, his grip firm. His eyes on hers. Searching for something indefinable.
He found it.
She arched into him and said, “Hurry up.” So he kissed her, because he fucking had to.
He felt like he was on the edge of control, like something savage, but when their lips met his desperation calmed. He licked his way into her mouth, revelling in her taste. He must be covered in her damned lipstick by now. He liked that idea. Let her mark him. He traced a thumb along the line of her jaw, her skin velvety.
“Makeup,” she muttered against his lips, pulling away—but he tightened his grip.
“If you don’t want to mess up your makeup,” he said softly, “you’ve brought the wrong man home.”
“I don’t want you to get it on your clothes.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “They’ll be gone soon, anyway.”
“God, you’re so…” Apparently, she had no idea what he was, because with an adorable little growl she reached up and kissed him. Her tongue met his and she sighed, arching into him.
Fuck. He sucked on her plump bottom lip, imagined doing the same to the tits currently pressed against his chest—and then she released a whimper and wrapped a leg around his waist.
Ruben felt like he was drowning. Like every movement was slower and harder than it should be, than it needed to be, and he was desperate for things to speed up. He grabbed her thigh with his spare hand, pulled her leg higher, then shoved up the thick fabric of her coat because it was only getting in the way. Next he shoved up her skirt, and then his fingers came into contact with the softness of her stockings. But even that wasn’t enough.
He plundered her mouth as his hands crept higher, searching out heaven. Searching out her skin. Finally, he found it, soft and almost vulnerable. He snapped the elastic of her suspenders and dragged himself away from her lips. “You weren’t kidding about the stockings.”
She blinked at him, looking deliciously dazed. Her lipstick was indeed a mess. But she recovered in an instant, her eyes flashing as she smiled. “A figure like mine requires the proper foundation.”
“Oh it does, hm?” He bit his lip, hoping the sharp edge of pain would control the flare of his arousal. It didn’t. “Jesus. I wish I could fuck you right here.”
“You know what they say about following your dreams.”
He exhaled, clinging to the last of his control, feeling his grip slip. “You love to push, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She tilted her chin up as if she were the one in charge. Like his hand wasn’t binding her wrists right now. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Fuck, no.” His fingers abandoned her suspenders and travelled higher.
“So…” she breathed, the word shimmering in the air between them, white-hot.
“So don’t stop,” he repeated, and then his hand found the satin edge of her underwear, traced it until she moaned. “Push.”
Their eyes met, and he saw his own need reflected in the shadows. He knew, in that second, that he would do anything she asked.
Then he heard the footsteps, fast and heavy, splashing through the alley’s puddles.
Andthenhe heard his worst fucking nightmare. “Your Highness!”
