Page 43 of Crowning His Innocent Assistant

For that girl, she would have this pleasure.

Have this connectedness. She kissed him, reveling in the pleasure he created between them. And she let her hands roam over his body, let them move to the front of his slacks, as she undid the closure there, felt the hardness pressing insistently against her. He wanted her.

He really did. So regardless of whether or not he had asked her to be his Queen because of convenience, she could know that. That he was attracted to her. That he wanted this. His body could not lie about it. Which was good, because her own could not either. Because that slickness between her legs advertised her need for him, and as he added a second finger, she gasped, rocking against him, desperately seeking fulfillment. But she wouldn’t be fulfilled. Not until she had him. All of him.

With fumbling fingers, she tried to get his slacks pushed off completely, but he had to assist, pressing his body against hers, completely naked, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. His skin was so hot. And his desire was pushing against her with ferocity.

In this moment, she was wanted. Gloriously and without boundaries. And she would take it. More than take it. She would use it to rebuild. Use it to create something new. For she would know what it was. And there was some deep, undeniable satisfaction buried in the truth that he wanted something from her she wasn’t going to give.

That she would maybe be the one to leave him wanting more. And perhaps that was revenge against her mother more than it was anything, perhaps it had nothing to do with Matteo at all. But she had spent nine years wanting the man, so maybe it did.

A small, petty revenge that came with blindingly brilliant pleasure. She would take it.

He growled, kissing her, and then she could think of nothing more, as his fingers worked in and out of her body, as his lips played havoc with her. And then, he began to kiss his way down her body, blazing a trail past her belly button, down to the very heart of her, where he teased and stroked her with his fingers even as he consumed her with his mouth.

She gasped, rocking and rolling her hips, her head thrashing back and forth on the pillow as he brought her to new heights of pleasure she hadn’t known were possible. And then, she shattered, broke into a million pieces of crystalline glass, and she had no idea how he still held on to her, how he still pushed her higher, farther, with his wicked lips and tongue, because she didn’t think she was rooted to the earth anymore.

She was scattered in the wind.

She was all the glitter that she’d contained inside of herself. And she couldn’t be distinguished from it.

Not anymore.

While she was still sobbing and gasping her pleasure, he rose up over her body and kissed her, the flavor of her own desire heady on his lips as he pressed himself against the entrance to her body.

And then he thrust home.

She cried out in pain, and he stilled, holding her tightly against him, making a low, whispering sound, as if he was quieting a frightened creature.

And she quieted. She felt the pain between her thighs begin to ease, felt her body begin to relax around him.

And it didn’t take long for pleasure to begin to build again.

He moved back out slowly, then pushed back inside, and she moaned. And he took that as his signal that he could move.

And so he did. Establishing a rhythm, as he had done in his office when he had taught her to dance. She could almost feel it, echoing in her chest, in her soul.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

It was a different sort of rhythm, but it lived inside her all the same. It rose up like a wave, wrapping itself around her, that rhythm, that sound, simply in her blood.

And it all made sense then, why she had been able to dance with him that way. Because it was always meant to be like this. Always. And impossibly, she felt another climax building inside of her, and she didn’t think she could handle it. Honestly, thought it might destroy her.

But he held her tight. “Let go,” he growled.

“Yes,” she whispered, grabbing hold of his face and meeting his gaze.

Her lion. So fierce and powerful. But with a thorn in his paw.

He had said she had removed it, but she had not gotten to the one in his heart. She didn’t think anyone could. Not even his mouse.

It was a terrible sorrow, but it was eclipsed by the desire that rioted through her like a storm. And then, she broke again, a horse cry of desire rising in her throat even as her internal muscles contracted around him, deep inside.

And then, he let go.

He spilled himself inside of her on a growl, his release making him pulse, making him tremble. And right then, she felt they were equals.

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