Page 117 of Spearcrest Prince

His lips curl into a wicked smirk. He raises his hands to his shirt and unbuttons it slowly, his eyes on mine. When he’s done, he pushes his shirt off his shoulders. I watch him breathlessly.

Every part of him seems carved by an artist. The musculature of his shoulders and arms, the graceful taper of his hips, the V-line disappearing into his waistband. His gold necklaces glitter on his skin, and the muscles in his arms tighten when he reaches for his belt to pull it free. He opens his trousers and lets them fall down, kicking them away with a gesture of cool dismissal.

My chaotic heartbeat stutters when he stands by the bed in his boxers. Even through the black fabric, his arousal is obvious, the shape of him stretching the fabric. But instead of taking it off, Sev brushes his palm over the bulge, his eyes on mine.

“Do you want to see how hard you make me?” he asks roughly. “Do you want to see how much it turned me on when you came on my tongue?”

My face burns as his words send a deep pulse between my legs. How can he be turning me on this much when I’ve just had an orgasm?

He caresses himself shamelessly, watching me, enjoying my eyes on him. Then he takes off his boxers, kicking them away. His cock is beautiful, like the rest of him. He reaches for a condom, and there’s supreme confidence in the way he rips the wrapper off it with his teeth before putting it on.

He drops one knee down to the bed and crawls to me, bracing his arms on both sides of my head and settling his hips between my legs. He leans down to kiss me, deep and hungry and lingering. Taking his cock firmly in his hand, he rubs the tip against me, tracing my wet slit.

It’s an electrifying sight, obscene and shameless, but Sev doesn’t care. He watches his own actions, unabashed in his own pleasure.

When he pushes himself against my entrance, he pauses for a moment. His eyes flick back up to meet mine, and he tilts his head.

“Alright?” he murmurs.

I nod. “Mm-hm.”

He pushes inside me, watching his cock enter me.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Fuck, trésor. You’re so fucking wet.”

I turn my face away, and he leans down, kissing my exposed neck, my cheek. He presses his lips to my ears, thrusting in and out of me in slow, torturous strokes.

“You feel so good, mon trésor. Aah, open your legs a little wider for me.” His fingers tighten around my hip when I obey him. “Fuck, yes, just like that, good girl.”

His words slide like silk against me, making me clench around him. I shut my eyes tight, overwhelmed with sensations—overwhelmed with emotions.

The way Sev whispers in my ear, the way he clutches me as he thrusts deep into me—it makes me feel closer to him than I ever have. It makes me feel closer to him than I’ve ever felt to anyone.

For someone so thorny, so difficult, Sev fucks with the tenderness of a saint. He kisses me like my body is hallowed ground, and he touches me like he worships me.

Then he turns me around and thrusts into me from behind, his hands sliding underneath me to hold my breasts, my nipples caught and pinched between his fingers. He kisses my neck and murmurs dirty things against my ear, thrusting deep and slow into me, taking his time, sending glimmering waves of pleasure with each thrust.

“J’adore ton corps,” he sighs into my ear. “J’adore ta peau. Tes lèvres.” He hardens inside me, and his entire body trembles. He quickens his pace, his voice hoarse and strangled with emotions. “J’t’adore. J’t’adore et je te veux, tout le temps, pour toujours. Je te veux dans mon lit, dans mes bras, dans mon âme. Sois mienne.”

“Je le suis déjà,” I whisper in a half-moan as he rocks into me.

“Ah, fuck.” Sev moves against me, bracing himself. The movement of his hips becomes harsher, less controlled. He buries himself inside me and comes with a hoarse cry.

He rides the waves of his orgasm in erratic thrusts and finally grows still, falling on top of me, his burning skin radiating heat into mine.

The sound of our panting fills the room. With our bodies still connected, Sev picks up my hand in his and lifts it to his mouth, kissing my knuckles.

“I think I might be addicted to you,” he rasps against my hair.

I let out a silent laugh. “What does that even mean?”

He sighs, burying his head against my neck.

“Every time we have sex, I want to do it again even more than I did before.”

Chapter 41

La Vérité

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