Page 78 of The Princesses of Ruin
She stands over me and drops her pants, then peels off her shirt. I admire her from the ground with awe, enjoying the perspective. Her breasts are full, teardrop shaped and slightly separated.
“Perfect.”
She lowers herself over my lap, holding my gaze as she does.
I grab her hips and stop her. “I’m not taking a potion.”
She smiles, her thumb tracing my lower lip. “I am.”
“You are?”
She gives me another pitying look. “I fuck at every port, Adrik.”
A flare of envy blooms in me, but I crush it down.
Not fast enough, though.
She grabs my erection and laves it up and down her wet center as she whispers, “I think I like that look in your eyes.”
Chapter twenty-nine
Emillia
Fire burns in the pit of my stomach.
“You don’t like that I’ve fucked a lot?” I ask, circling his head on my clit. The silky soft pressure is maddening, and I want more, faster, but I also need this. I need to see…
Is he serious? Am I perfect, just the way I am, with all my flaws and all my fucks?
“I don’t care about how many lovers you’ve taken,” he says, his voice husky with jealousy and lust.
How could this be true?
I twist my hips and push him down to my opening. “You care about how many I’ll take after you?”
He hooks his thumbs in the crook of my hips dominantly, holding my gaze like a man possessed. “I wish it to be none.”
That’s it, Adrik. That’s the answer I need. The one I crave.
More. Please, more.
I ease down onto him an inch as reward. The pressure is perfect, his heat stretching and my pussy welcoming. He tightens his ass and pushes into me another inch. The swiftness makes me gasp. I lean forward and plant my hands on his chest.
“I want to be the last cock to fill you,” he says, pulling me down slowly.
He stretches me inch by inch and I adjust to his girth with a sigh. His hand skates up my side, his fingers dancing over my sensitive skin. The fire crackles next to us and I sense him losing control. He grips the back of my neck then drags me down, putting my chest to his, our faces an inch apart.
“I want to be the last lips on your lips. The last one in your heart. The final port on your journey,” he says in a hush that’s pure white and true. He feels it. Believes it.
My knees slide through the blankets, lowering me all the way so our hips seal. We huff out the same satisfied breath at the joining.
“You’ll be the first,” I say, the delirium of passion loosening my lips.
His thumb smooths across my cheek. “The first?”
“In my heart.”
His pupils swallow the color in his eyes and he pulls my mouth down to meet his. We connect in a hot tangle of tongue and lips, pushing, nipping, biting, groaning, and sighing. The hand still tucked in my hip shifts me back, rocking me on his lap. The adjustment presses him against something just behind my clit that sings with pink glittering stars.
