Page 51 of The Princess Trap
She rolled over beneath him, and he didn’t make it easy.Every inch of her hips, of her arse, of her thighs came into contact with the thick ridge of his cock. He ground into her, and when she finally ended up face down on the pillow, he placed a hand on the back of her neck to hold her still and said, “Good girl.” She bit down a whimper at the sound of that deep voice, the feel of his hand. Controlling, demanding, protecting.
He settled his cock in the cleft of her arse and thrust back and forth, rolling his hips, showing her in no uncertain terms that he knew what he was doing. His weight pushed her hips into the mattress, created a sweet pressure against her swelling, aching clit.
He leant over her and whispered, “I can hear you moaning. Did you know that?”
She gritted her teeth. “I’m not.”
“You are.” His hand slid under her scarf, dislodging it slightly, to grasp at her hair. He jerked her head up off the pillow and said, his voice firm, “I’m in charge now. Don’t bullshit me. Stop fucking around and take what you need.”
She swallowed. “What do I need?” As if someone else had to say it for it to be real.
But his words weren’t exactly what she’d expected.To obey. To submit. To yield to me.He said, “You need to know I’ve got you. And I do. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she admitted. Her voice was a whisper. It felt like a shout. Right here, right now, in this bed, she knew without a doubt that he absolutely had her.
“I could pull out my cock,” he said, “and push your underwearaside, and fill you up right now. And you’d let me. You’d take it beautifully, I already know. Your pretty cunt would swallow up my cock, and you wouldn’t even flinch.” The pressure of his hardness moved from her arse to her pussy. He ground into her, as if to prove the point, and that little movement almost drowned her in desire. His arms were still braced around her and the hard length of his body pressed into her, suffocating her until all that was left was sensation. Sensation, and the feeling of being protected.
Protected and owned.
He slid a hand beneath her, lifting her hips and reaching between her legs until the heel of his palm pressed into her clit. She moaned, ragged and desperate, and he laughed low in her ear. “There we go, sweetheart. That’s what you want. Be a good girl and ride my hand.”
She obeyed, forgetting to feign hesitancy. Any embarrassment or nerves or awkwardness she might have felt were no longer an issue, because he was the one in control. Cherry rolled her hips against the pressure of his hand with nothing in her head but the pursuit of pleasure. He kissed her neck as she rubbed her aching clit against him, the movement bringing the head of his cock against her cotton-covered pussy again and again, until she felt almost delirious with sensation.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growled. “So good. I can feel how wet you are. Soaking through your fucking underwear.” He twisted his hips, his hardness parting her folds even through the cotton, and she moaned helplessly.
Beneath her, his hand began to move, as if he couldn’t help himself. He rubbed her clit roughly through her underwear,fast and hard, and she gasped, arching against him, urging him on without words because she could barely catch her breath and every nerve-ending lit up like a white-hot fucking flame until she—
Her orgasm was fast and hard and disorientating. The only constant as she was hit by wave after wave of ruthless pleasure was Ruben, covering her body with his, soothing her fevered skin with his kisses, whispering adoration into her ear.
“Cherry,” he murmured. “We’re going to do this again, you know. In the daylight.”
“Ummm…” She tried to protest, but her mind had turned to mush. Tiredness dragged at the edge of her senses.
He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “We are. Now go to sleep.”
She’d never been good at following instructions, but clearly she did fine with commands. She obeyed immediately and without effort, surrounded by him and satisfied.
Chapter Seventeen
Cherry perched on a stool at the kitchen island and ate her cereal. She kept her eyes glued to the little TV on the counter, and her spine straight—well, slightly arched—and her ankles crossed. She was wearing jeans, turned up a few times over her calves, and silk camisole beneath a buttoned-up little cardigan. Her hair was piled on top of her head in the kind of style that looked casual and effortless but actually took an industrial-strength hair tie, fifty hair grips and half a tub of product.
“We’re going to do this again. In the daylight”.
Oh, it had seemed so simple. In the dark.
But now she felt caged, waiting to bump into him in his ridiculously normal house. She would, sooner rather than later. Why couldn’t he have a damned mansion, for Christ’s sake?
She caught herself. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that, now she wasn’t avoiding him or sticking to her room, they’dalmost certainly be on top of each other. It didn’t matter that he could come in here at any minute, or that she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d say to him if he did. It would be fine. It would be—
“Morning, Cherry Pie.”
She clamped her teeth together, but that didn’t stop a strangled yelp emerging from her mouth. It also didn’t stop her dropping her spoon into her cereal, sending the milk flying.
In an instant, Ruben was beside her, a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” He frowned down at her, taking in the milk splatters on the table and—oh, dear. On her cardigan. So much for the perfect sartorial armour.
“Fine,” she managed. God, she could do better than that. She forced her smile into place, forced her voice to become light and airy. “I’m fine. You surprised me. Whoops!” A soft little laugh floated from her lips, and she let her fingers drift up to her cheek. Then she waited for him to look enchanted.
He did not look enchanted.
