Page 65 of Princess of Hawthorne Prep

He knows exactly how to touch me to elicit a response.

My teeth sink into my lower lip as he continues to pat and rub my breasts before tweaking each nipple. The chain reaction from those innocuous touches sets off an explosion deep within my center and a whimper bursts from my lips.

There is no point in trying to stave it off and remain unaffected.

He unravels me in the best way possible.

All I know is that I want more of this.

Of him.

I’m so greedy for all he’s willing to give.

He doesn’t say a word as he hunkers down to reach my midsection and then thighs. As I stare at the top of his dark head, I marvel at the tightly harnessed power kneeling before me. Any moment, it’s going to break free.

He’s meticulous in his task, making sure to wipe my belly and hips before stroking the towel against my pussy. My lower lips are sensitive and swollen from the way he played with me in the tub.

Unable to remain still, I shift beneath his hands as he takes his sweet damn time drying me.

When I continue wriggling, he slants a look at me before swatting my clit. “Stop it.”

I yelp in surprise. Pain slices through me before it’s quickly followed by a heady rush of pleasure. Arousal gathers inside my lower belly, swirling like an impending storm. It wouldn’t take much to shove me over the precipice and into oblivion.

For a second time.

“Spread your legs so I can dry that pretty little pussy.”

When I widen my stance, hungry for his touch, he drags the towel against my sensitive flesh. A moan wells in my throat as my teeth sink into my lower lip.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he murmurs. “I don’t think it’s from the bath, do you?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks at his need to point this out.

We both know it’s not.

When I remain silent, he tips his head until his hooded gaze can lock on mine and arches a brow as if impatiently awaiting my response.

“No,” I force myself to whisper.

“No,” he agrees, voice growing deeper until it sounds like it’s been roughed up by sandpaper. “It’s not.” He carefully caresses me with the thick material, sliding it against my lips.

Over and over again until I want to come undone.

A moan slips free and fills the silence of the room.

“I’m the one who did this to you. Such a soaked little pussy. I just can’t seem to get you dry. The more I rub you, the wetter you become.” He glances at me again. “Are you crying for me, Delilah?”

My mouth is so dry that swallowing past the thick lump lodged in the middle of my throat is impossible. Barely am I able to concentrate on the words tumbling out of his mouth. I’m only cognizant of the pleasure rushing through me.

I gasp when he gives my clit another swat with the tips of his fingers.

“Yes!”

“Do you understand that I’m the only one who will ever be able to make you feel this way?”

“Yes. Just you,” I repeat, voice rising with each syllable. It’s becoming more difficult to keep everything contained. I’m caught between wanting him to smack my clit and pleasing him with the correct answer.

“Good girl.”

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