Page 78 of A Princess for Christmas

“Wow, you really have had some duds, haven’t you? I’m glad the bar is so low.” He was joking about that last part. The bar wasn’t low. The bar—the very, very high bar—had nothing to do with her past lovers. It had everything to do withher. With showing this woman that she was desirable and that she deserved the best—and not because she was a princess.

Also, who was he kidding? He wanted to impress her.

Which he needed to not think too much about, or he’d freak himself out. When he’d saidWe’re overthinking this, he’d meant it. The “we” part included. So he leaned forward—they’d both been sitting cross-legged on the blanket—intending to kiss her. But he leaned slowly. Despite what she’d just said, despite the shredded NDA, he wanted to make sure she was into this. In general, but also right here, right now.

In the queen’s cabin in the goddamn Eldovian Alps—and what evenwashis life?

The little sigh of relief she exhaled into his mouth as their lips touched told him that she was. Her lips were cold. So was her face, he discovered, when he peeled off his gloves and settled his hands on her cheeks. So he set to work heating her up, letting his mouth slide lazily from spot to spot, taking his time at the corner of her jaw, the juxtaposition of impossibly soft skin over sharp bone doing something to him, before migrating back to her mouth and licking into it. Their tongues stroked together, lazily at firstbut then with increasing urgency. She grabbed his parka like she wanted to pick him up, or—

Like she wanted to use him as a handle to lever herself onto his lap.

“Oh god,” he bit out as she straddled him. The sudden, exquisite pressure of her, even through all their layers of clothing was both welcome and insufficient.

“Leo,” she whispered, trying to kiss him and unwind her scarf at the same time. “Leo.”

“Yes,” he answered automatically as he helped her get the scarf off. “Yes.” He wasn’t even sure what he meant. Was he answering to his name? It felt more like he was acknowledging something she wasn’t saying, something his name stood in for.

She was grinding on him, like she had last time. He loved that she was doing it of her own accord, without the need for encouragement. Hell, he loved it, period. He thrust his hips up to meet her, and soon they were chest to chest—or parka to ridiculous red coat—rocking back and forth.

She started huffing short little pants that sounded familiar. She’d made those same noises last time, just before she’d come.

“Not yet,” he said gruffly, his body protesting as he lifted her off him.

She protested, too, a little whimper of displeasure that went to his ego and his dick in equal measure.

Normally, he would have exactly zero objections to a woman dry humping him until she got off. But this wasn’t what she wanted—or at least not the optimal version of what she wanted. He had listened carefully to her last night. She wanted him to talk dirty. She wanted to have sex.

And while they weren’t going to get naked and fuck right here in the subzero woods, he did sort of feel like he needed to up the ante a bit from yesterday.

“Shh,” he soothed as he guided Marie to lie on her back on the blanket, moving some of the food aside. He drew a focusing breath as he took in the sight of her, her cheeks pink, her pupils dilated despite the afternoon sun shining into the roofless cabin, her hair more out of today’s braid than in, loose tendrils fanned out against the gray blanket.

Leo was at a loss for how to proceed. Not because he didn’t have any ideas, but because he hadtoo manyideas.

But that was actually an opportunity, in this particular instance, wasn’t it, given what she’d told him?

He could just ask her.

He started undoing the buttons of her coat. “I can’t decide what I want to do next. Should I make you come with my fingers or my mouth?”

She gasped.

He ignored her, peeling back the sides of her coat like he was opening a book. “I want to do both, but which doyouthink I should do?”

That got him another gasp but not an answer. He didn’t know if he was hoping for an answer or a not-answer. Not having a clear direction was turning out to be an awful lot of fun.

He considered getting rid of her sweater, but itwasawfully cold. So he settled for shoving his hands up it. He slid them under the band of her bra, too, and cupped her breasts. They were soft, but tipped with hard little nubs that he rolled gently between his thumbs and forefingers. “Oh, no!” she cried.

Shit. He pulled his hands off her immediately. How had he made that much of a miscalculation? He’d been sure she was enjoying herself.

“No.” She reached for his hands and settled them on her bare stomach. “I don’t want you to stop. I just didn’t want to come too soon.”

“Ah. And that would have been a problem because...?” he teased.

“Because when you asked me if you should use your hands or your mouth, that is not where I imagined your hands.”

God, she was too much. But she was right. It would be a shame if this ended before he got to feel her. So he went to work on her jeans. The scratching sound the zipper made as he lowered it echoed across the otherwise silent clearing.

She was wearing black lace panties. She didn’t seem like the black lace panties type. She seemed like the white cotton nightie type. “Did you put these on for me?” This was a case where he wanted an actual answer. And he thought she would enjoy it if he pressed her on the matter. Their interests were aligned here.

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