Текст книги "Prince Albert"
Автор книги: Sabrina Paige
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CHAPTER TWENTY
Belle
It’s the big night – the night of my mother and King Leopold’s engagement party. Next week, we’ll head north to the summer estate, where we’ll be shielded from much of the media flurry that will inevitably follow the official engagement announcement.
We’ll go to the summerhouse.
Suddenly, I’m including myself in the future royal plans, as if I'm staying for the summer.
Who am I kidding? Last night, I fingered myself in the music room while Albie watched. Even from where he stood, through a window and an entire floor higher, I could see he was hard as a rock watching me, a very large bulge in his pants.
Of course I'm going to stay for the summer.
I'm not thinking clearly right now, obviously. My rational mind is clouded by unruly desire, my ability to think clearly diminished by my lust for my stepbrother. I'm not rational at all, not anymore.
But that doesn't mean I want to give in to his demand – to beg him to fuck me.
Even though every part of me is begging for it, lusting for it.
"You look…well, good enough to eat."
The voice is deep, sultry, soft – so soft that I'm the only one who can hear. At least, I hope so, anyway. I whirl around, or try to, but Albie’s hand is on my waist, guiding me around the corner, and down a service hallway of outside the main ballroom where the engagement party is being held.
"Albie, what are you doing?" I hiss, pushing against him, but he holds my arm, his lips near my ears.
"We only have a second," he whispers from behind me. The service entrance is empty, but anyone could walk through at any moment. I should be terrified of that – terrified of the possible repercussions, of the potential public embarrassment.
Instead, a surge of adrenaline rushes through me, a secret thrill at Albie's hands on me. The heat from his body radiates onto mine, and every cell in my body is on high-alert, acutely sensitive to him, aware of his every breath.
"We need to go to the engagement party, Your Highness," I say.
"Spread your legs."
"Excuse me?" I must be hallucinating, driven mad with lust. He did not just tell me to spread my legs right here in the hallway within twenty yards of the ballroom where our parents – the King and Future Queen of Protrovia – together with everyone who's everyone in this country, are celebrating their upcoming nuptials. Because that would be insane.
"You heard me, luv," he whispers. "Don't think. Just do it."
But Heaven help me, that's exactly what I do.
I stand here, in my ridiculously expensive designer cocktail dress, with my stepbrother's arm around my chest, pulling me tightly back against him, and I spread my legs.
"And?" I ask, provoking him. My heart pounds loudly against his arm, and he fumbles with something.
"I have a present for you," he says, slipping his hand between my legs from where he stands behind me. A sensation of something cold makes me jump.
"What the hell, Albie?" I yelp.
"This is your present," he whispers. "I sent it to you in your box. I borrowed it back."
The box he sent me with the sex toys.
"You are not touching me right here, right now, with one of those things," I hiss.
“It’s unfortunate you say that,” he says. “I guess I’ll have to take it back.” I feel a light vibration flick on, sending a tingle through my core, and then it stops as quickly as it starts.
He’s teasing me. Taunting me.
He knows I’m wet, just as soon as he touches me.
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t take it back.”
“Is that a yes?” he asks.
“I can’t believe I’m considering this,” I whisper.
"Make your choice, luv. One of the caterers or the staff is going to walk out of that entrance any second now," he whispers, his breath hot on my ear. "You don't want them to see you with your stepbrother's hand up your skirt, do you?"
I shake my head. "No."
He flicks the vibrator on again, and the sensation sends arousal rushing through me. "Then spread your legs, Princess," he says. "Because I'm not playing around anymore. Say yes."
"You're going to send me out there with that inside me?" I ask.
“Most definitely,” he says. “Say the word, luv. The word is yes.”
“Hurry,” I whisper. “Do it now.”
I don’t say yes. Just hurry. It’s the principle of the thing.
He chuckles, his breath warm on my ear, and I stand motionless with my body pressed against his as he slides the vibrator inside me, aided easily by my wetness. When he finishes, he takes a step back and puts a business-like amount of space between us. It’s just in time, too, as two servers carrying trays bound around the corner and stop sharply in their tracks. "Your Highness," one of the servers says, carefully balancing a tray of champagne flutes while bowing his head.
"Please," Albie says, waving them past us. "I apologize for being in the way."
Once they've walked past us, Albie holds up a small remote. "I like to watch you come," he says, slipping the remote into his tuxedo jacket pocket. "And I want to watch you come in a room filled with every important person in this kingdom."
"You're crazy," I say, except what's crazy is the fact that this is turning me on. "Someone will hear it."
He smiles, reaching inside his pocket, and I feel the vibration inside me. But I hear nothing. "What were you saying?" he asks. "This was especially-made for me. It's not exactly available on the open market. And yes, it's totally silent. So don't worry – people will have no idea why you're coming all night. Shall we?"
He doesn't wait for a response. He walks ahead of me, out the hallway and toward the ballroom, and I'm left to catch up. I take my steps slowly, carefully, and measured, conscious of the vibrator inside me.
I feel a weird mixture of nervousness and confidence as I walk toward the ballroom, several steps behind Albie. And arousal.
I definitely feel aroused, even with the vibrator turned off.
It’s a delicious secret Albie and I share. One among several secrets.
I push that thought out of my head, squeezing my muscles around the vibrator, assuring myself that it’s not going to slip out and clatter to the floor in the middle of this event.
Now, that would be a scandal.
“Darling.” My mother greets me like I’m the prodigal daughter, arms outstretched, her face beaming. She never calls me darling, but I can’t help but smile anyway. She looks happy. Really happy, like I haven’t seen her in years, and despite our differences, that makes me feel good.
“Mother,” I say, as she draws me in close, giving me two air-kisses. “You look really stunning.”
She’s breathtaking in a cream-colored chiffon evening gown that trails to the floor, a huge diamond statement necklace lying carefully over the scooped neckline of the dress. Her hair is piled on her head, and she wears a small tiara – not the royal crown, which she’ll wear during the wedding, but gorgeous nonetheless.
“Thank you, darling,” she says, smiling. As she pulls me close, she whispers softly. “I know you hate these big social things, but please try your best and I promise I'll make it up to you."
I smile politely, the moment interrupted when King Leopold takes my hand. “Isabella,” he says, his voice warm. “Have I told you how delighted I am that you’ve decided to stay for the summer?”
“I’m honored to be a guest in your home," I say.
Leopold laughs, a deep sound that comes from his belly. “My dear, you’re family,” he says. “Please don’t ever call yourself a guest again.”
“I’ll try to remember that, Your Royal Highness,” I say, bowing my head.
“Albie tells me he showed you around Senijk,” Leopold says, referencing the town where their summer estate is. My mind immediately flashes to exactly what Albie showed me in the village that day – his skill with his fingers.
“I showed her the most important parts of Senijk,” Albie says, beside me, and I avoid looking at him as the vibrator flicks on inside me, low and slow, but the movement surprises me and I yelp.
“Are you okay?” Leopold asks, and I just know my face must be bright red.
“Uh…yes,” I say, coughing to hide my embarrassment. “I just turned my ankle in these heels. I’m afraid I haven’t gotten used to wearing high heels again.”
“I imagine this entire thing is a bit of a shock for you,” Leopold says, as Albie increases the intensity on the vibrator. I look over at him and shoot him the most murderous glare I can muster under the circumstances.
The vibrator is one thing, but turning it on when I’m trying to carry on a conversation with his father is another thing entirely.
A very bad, very warped thing.
“It’s…yes…a shock, I would say.”
“It’s probably difficult to leave someplace that intense,” Albie says, his voice the epitome of professional and measured. Except for the fact that he looks me right in the eye, his expression filled with mischief, and lingers just a little too long on the word intense, turning up the intensity of the vibrator as he speaks.
“Uh-hum,” I say. What the hell were we talking about again? I can’t think clearly when all I can focus on is what’s happening between my legs.
It’s a good thing that there is a ballroom of people waiting for an audience with my mother and the king, because I there’s no way I can muster a coherent sentence. My entire body feels warm, heated to the point of discomfort by the arousal surging through my veins.
Albie leans close to me as we walk away. “Do I hear a faint buzzing sound?” he asks.
“Shut up,” I reply, through gritted teeth. Oh God, if he keeps this going, I’m going to have to walk out of here right now.
“I’m kidding,” he says. “Totally silent. Although, judging from the expression on your face, it’s obviously working.”
“I don’t know why I let you put it in me,” I hiss, barely able to choke out the words. Another surge of the vibrator, and I stumble, putting my hand on Albie’s arm for support.
“Oh, trust me, luv,” he whispers, smiling politely at someone from across the room, someone important who’s undoubtedly walking toward us to say hello. I can’t tell who it is because I’m practically seeing double already. “I’m going to be putting more than that in you.”
“Miss Kensington,” a voice says, and the vibration stops abruptly. Thank God, because I was about to cause a scene. I look up to see an older gentleman, and Albie introduces us – he's a politician of some kind. Or was it an earl? I've already forgotten.
Then Albie and I are split up. For the next half hour, one of the royal family's handlers, a public relations expert named Christine who dictates my every move, escorting me from guest to guest. There is a whole team of public relations handlers on staff, all dressed in identical black suits on non-event days and gowns and tuxedos on nights like tonight.
Christine is stiff and rigid, all business and no pleasure, her jet-black hair pulled up in a high ponytail that only serves to make her face look even thinner than it is. She introduces me to guests in a clipped tone, with just a hint of a smile, an expression that must serve her well in this capacity. Everything about her screams ‘don’t fuck with me.’
She's positively terrifying.
And the entire time, the vibrator flicks on and off inside me, at random intervals that Albie determines from wherever he is in the ballroom.
I smile and nod and exchange pleasantries with people until I’m dizzy, unable to think of anything except the throbbing between my legs. All-business-Christine introduces me to important people, reminding me between introductions of the importance of learning royal customs and maintaining royal bearing. And the whole time, Albie is sending random pulses of vibration through me that nearly leave me breathless.
I’ve been reduced to a weak-kneed, quivering bundle of desire, controlled by my pussy – and by my stepbrother.
Thirty minutes into this fiasco, and I’m worthless. All of my brain cells are now devoted to maintaining my composure while Albie turns on the vibrator again.
I will not have an orgasm here in the middle of this, I tell myself. It would be deeply humiliating.
Nevertheless, I can feel it building in my core.
“Are you okay?” Christine asks. “You look flushed. Should I send for a doctor?”
“No!” I snap, then quickly lower my voice, clearing my throat as I look over her shoulder. I'm desperately trying to find Albie in the sea of people, to telegraph the message that he has to stop what he's doing. “Um. I need…some water. Or some air, maybe. Champagne.” I’m babbling, making no sense. She must think I’m on drugs or something.
“Ten minutes,” she says, curtly, whirling around and walking briskly in the other direction, her hand on her earpiece.
I breathe a sigh of relief when the vibrating ceases, even though it does little to stop the pulsing between my legs. I mentally calculate how far it is to the ladies room and whether I can get through the crowd without being seen by anyone.
“Oh my God.” Alexandra takes my arm. “You got stuck with Christine. She’s the worst of the PR robots. Do you want to make an escape?”
I giggle, the absurdity of all of this suddenly hitting me. “She’s awful,” I whisper.
“You have to medicate to get through it,” Alex says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I totally like you, Belle. Have I told you that? You’re not terrible. I expected you to be terrible, like one of those really smug bitches, the kind who think they’re God’s gift to the earth just because they go around saving people and stuff.”
“You’re obviously well-medicated,” I say, laughing.
“I took some X,” she says. “Wow. Has anyone ever told you that your hair is really brown? Like, not poop brown, either. It’s pretty brown. Do you want some X? I have some, right in my clutch.”
“I’ll pass,” I say. As if I need to take anything that would increase the sensitivity of my body in any way, shape, or form.
“Quick,” she says. “Two o’clock. Sir Richard Benton. He’s hot, right? We should talk to him.”
"What? Who?" I ask absently. I catch a glimpse of Albie across the room as the crowd parts. He's standing next to a blonde – tall, long-legged, thin, and gorgeous. She puts her hand on his forearm, the gesture at once possessive and familiar.
"Richard Benton," Alex says. "Come on. Please tell me you've heard of him, at least. He's been in movies in the States. He was knighted in England. I can't remember why. Probably for being hot as hell."
I can't think of Richard whoever-the-hell-he-is, not when I'm looking at Albie on the other side of the room, with some girl hanging all over him.
Alexandra follows my gaze. "Ugh," she says. "That bitch."
"What bitch?" I ask. I find it unreasonably difficult to pry my gaze away from the two of them. The girl laughs – I can't hear it, but I just know she has one of those perfect little musical laughs, a tinkling sound – and touches his forearm again.
"Erika. She's the worst," Alex whispers, though not quietly enough. It's more like a stage whisper, which is wholly inappropriate for this setting. If it weren't for the fact that I'm completely distracted by Albie on the other side of the room, the entire thing would be laughable. I have a princess hanging on my arm, high as a kite and airing her opinions too loudly, and a vibrator inside me, my royal stepbrother at the controls.
And all of it, at my mother's engagement party, surrounded by the crème de la crème of Protrovian society.
"Why is she the worst?" I ask absently. Albie pats the bitch on the arm, then looks up. I avert my eyes, but not quickly enough. He makes eye contact with me from across the room.
"She's terrible," Alex says. "Manipulative and shallow. They were together years ago. I don’t know what he ever saw in her. She cheated on him a lot. Albie won't ever say it, but I think he was in love with her. And she broke his heart."
I swallow hard the lump that's beginning to form in my throat. What if he still has feelings for his ex? I definitely don’t want to do to someone what Derek did to me. Suddenly, everything about what I'm doing with Albie feels even more wrong. "Excuse me," I say to Alex. "I need to run to the restroom."
But before I can make my stealthy exit, Christine catches my arm. "I'll need you to take your seat, Miss Kensington and Princess Alexandra," she says. Then, looking up, "Ah, Prince Albert, you as well. You'll join the King and Queen at the head table."
"Wait, I –" I begin to protest, but I'm ushered along. Behind me, Albie steps too close for a split second, his breath warm on my neck. I tell myself to focus on something else, anything else, because walking this way through the ballroom, with my nipples erect underneath my dress, is the worst possible thing that could happen.
"You weren't about to sneak out of here, were you?" Albie whispers, and I feel the vibrator start up again, the rumble low and steady. But instead of being turned on, the way I was before, I just find myself irritated. I'd tell him to turn it off, but I know he'll just turn it up a million times more. So I just grit my teeth and promise myself there's no way he's making me come. I won't let it happen.
Willpower, I tell myself. Think of something else. Something un-sexy.
Like the image of Albie with that blonde's hand on his arm, giggling like an idiot because he said something that was most likely inappropriate.
"No," I say curtly. "I'm headed to the table to sit with my new siblings."
He turns up the vibration higher and I involuntarily yelp, a sound I quickly cover with a cough. “Behave,” he whispers.
“Apparently that’s something you need to learn,” I say, my words coming out breathier than I intended.
“Oh, you’re jealous,” he whispers. Then he shuts off the vibrator, leaving my muscles pulsing around it.
Of course he’s seated next to me at dinner. I’m seated between Alex on my right, and Albie on my left, probably a strategic move by the public relations team to make sure everyone is reminded how integral a part of the family I am. Mercifully, Albie leaves me alone during most of dinner.
My legs crossed, sitting in a chair, I almost manage to forget the vibrator is inside me. And, deliberately ignoring Albie, I’m almost able to forget about him and the ex-girlfriend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Albie
“I saw you talking with Erika earlier,” Sofia says, sipping from a glass of champagne. “Will she be joining us at the summer house? I’ve heard so many lovely things about her.”
On the other side of Belle, Alex snorts, her inhibitions lowered by whatever she took to get her through tonight’s events. I glance at my empty scotch glass, downing a glass of champagne as a poor substitute. “Lovely,” Alex scoffs. “I’ve never heard her called that before.”
“She won’t be joining us at the summer house, Sofia,” I say, my voice firm. At least that shuts her up. I’m not sure whether she’s manipulative or simply unobservant, but it’s obvious to everyone else that Erika and I are nothing.
“No?” Belle asks, her voice innocent. “You should invite her.”
I flick on the vibrator in response, and watch as a flush runs up Belle’s neck, then down the front of her chest. She crosses her legs, and re-crosses them as I increase the vibration a little more.
I was having fun with this whole thing earlier, the thrill of turning the vibrator on and off at inopportune times. But now, I’m not. I’m not going to wait any longer. I want to watch Belle come, sitting right here at this table.
“Are you okay, Belle?” I ask, cutting a piece of filet and popping it into my mouth. “You look a little feverish.”
“I’m…fine,” she says, looking straight ahead as she takes a sip of wine from her glass. No one else notices, but I can see her eyes close for just a moment too long.
The thought of her sitting at this table beside me, her pussy wet because she’s on the verge of coming, makes me hard as a rock, and I have to adjust the napkin that covers my lap.
When she finally looks over, her gaze falls to my lap, then up to my eyes again. I know she saw how hard I am. She looks away as quickly as she turned. “Prince Albert,” she says. “You should stand and make a toast, don’t you think?”
I cough to hide my laugh. Clever girl.
I flick the setting on the vibrator up higher, trying not to think of what that’s doing to her. I run quickly through mental images of anything that might deflate my raging erection.
“Oh, that would be lovely, Albert,” my grandmother says.
“Perhaps it would be more appropriate to save a toast for a less public event,” my father says, interrupting and saving me from having to reveal my massive hard-on for Belle.
“Yes,” I say. “Some things are better left for private, don’t you agree, Belle?”
She tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, then adjusts a few more strands with trembling hands, before running her hand along her brow. Her chest rises and falls, hardly apparent to anyone else, I’m sure, but I know what that means. “Certain things shouldn’t be done in public,” she says, her voice breathy.
“Are you all right?” Alex asks. “Seriously, you look like you’re not feeling well.”
“Isabella, are you having an episode?” Sofia asks. “She gets anxious during public events sometimes – or, she used to, anyway.”
“I’m…fine,” Belle says. The gravelly tone in her voice makes me even harder, and I turn up the vibrator again. She clutches the sides of her chair, her fingers white at the knuckles where she holds it tightly.
I wonder how long she can hold out. But mostly, I wonder what she’ll look like when she comes.
“Isabella,” my father says. “You do look flushed. Alex, why don’t you walk Isabella back to her room. Perhaps you should lie down.”
I turn the vibrator on the highest setting, determined to make Belle come before she leaves. She closes her eyes lightly, gripping the chair tightly, the wrinkle on her forehead the only other outward sign of anything happening. “Yes, Belle,” I say, “Why don’t you lie down. It looks like you’re tense. Perhaps you need a little relief.”
“Yes,” she gasps, far too loudly, then inhales immediately. It’s one word, and she says it in a way that’s so unmistakably erotic that it has to be the most inappropriate response ever given at a royal dinner. And I know by the flush that rises to her cheeks that she just came, right here at my father's engagement party.
This is definitely one for the history books.
The table is silent, and my grandmother’s eyes go wide as she glances uncomfortably at Belle before gulping her water. “Well,” my grandmother says. “I guess that’s a yes, then.”
Belle clears her throat. “Yes,” she says, this time more measured, but still breathy, as I turn down the vibration. “Excuse me.”
She stands to leave, her hand on the back of the chair to steady herself, and she looks down for a moment at me. “I’m fine by myself.”
“Oh, no, I’ll go with you!” Alex jumps up quickly, obviously eager to get the hell out of here, taking Belle by the elbow before anyone can object.
I wait a whole five minutes before I make a bullshit excuse to get up from the table to follow them. On the way out, I see Erika walking toward me, no doubt trying to chase me down and throw herself at me, the way she did earlier tonight. I make a mental note to let security know she’s off my approved list, regardless of whatever idiot sends her an invite to a palace event in the future.
Outside of the ballroom, Alex is talking to Finn Asher, laughing as she opens her purse to show him something. Several feet away, her bodyguard Max stands in a suit, his arms crossed, glaring at the two of them. He looks like he’s two seconds away from throwing Alex over his shoulder again, the way he did at the summerhouse.
“Where did Belle go?” I ask, my tone accusatory.
“She said she wanted some air,” Alex says. “Don’t be a nag.”
When I walk outside, I see Belle standing on the edge of the granite deck, her forearms resting on the railing. When I reach her, she doesn’t look at me. “You shouldn’t have followed me out here.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
That gets a rise out of her. She turns to face me, her eyes icy. “No,” she says, and I can tell she’s trying hard to keep her voice measured, restrained. “That is not what I wanted.”
A couple walks past us carrying glasses of champagne, and I turn my head. The last thing I want is to talk to a nosy, irritating socialite and her husband.
In fact, the last thing I want to do is talk to anyone right now.
“You’re awfully cranky for someone who just had an earth-shattering orgasm,” I say quietly, watching her face turn scarlet.
She looks around before speaking. “I did not have an earth-shattering anything,” she says.
“Liar,” I say, turning on the vibrator again.
She flinches. “Stop it, Albie.”
“Too much?” I ask. “If you like, I can reach up there and retrieve it.”
“Thanks but no thanks.” She turns, walking down the stairs from the deck to the lawn that stretches for acres behind the palace, trimmed on the edges with large trees to hide the massive walls that secure the palace grounds.
“You’re angry,” I say, following her across the lawn. She walks faster, trying to get rid of me, and I let her, until she reaches the side of the glass enclosure that surrounds the swimming pool.
“I’m not angry,” she says, turning to face me. “Besides, someone is going to see us out here. You should get back to your girlfriend.”
I flick on the remote to the vibrator. “Don’t lie, luv,” I say. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“Stop doing that.” She glares at me, then glances toward the deck.
“She’s an ex.”
“I didn’t ask who she was,” she says. “Will you turn that thing off now?”
“I’ll turn it off once you admit you’re just being cranky because you’re jealous.”
“I’ll admit no such thing,” she says, as she marches toward the pool house and yanks open the door. I follow her inside, flicking the vibrator up all the way, just for added effect.
“Oh God,” Belle says. She faces the wall, leaning with one hand over her head, and lets out an exasperated groan. But I don’t turn the vibrator off; I only turn it down. I’m not a monster, after all.
Walking up behind her, I take her other hand and put it against the wall. She stands with both palms flat against the wall and her ass sticking out, and I run my hands along those curvy hips.
“You’re not done yet, luv,” I tell her.
She lets out a moan, long and low under her breath, her fingertips pressing against the wall. “It’s too much, Albie,” she says. “I’m so sensitive.”
“Just come for me, Belle,” I whisper. “That’s twice now that you’ve come and I didn’t get to hear it. I want to hear you moan.”
“I…oh God,” she groans. “Screw you, Albie.”
“Not yet, luv,” I say, letting my hands graze the length of her evening gown, squatting as I follow it down to where it falls on the ground. I pull the entire thing up around her waist, draping it across her bare ass. “But soon.”
“Oh God,” she says again, arching up her back as she presses her hands firmly against the wall. The movement has the added effect of pushing back her perfect ass at me, and I run my palms over her smooth skin.
“Oh, Albie,” I tell her, one hand caressing her ass cheek. “That’s what I want to hear you say. That, and please. Please make me come, Albie.”
“I’m not begging you,” she says, her voice strained. Then, “That feels so good.”
Running my palm over her ass, I draw my hand back and bring it down hard, the crack reverberating through the room.
“Damn it, Albie,” she says, then moans. And she doesn’t move. She shakes her hair, tossing her head back, and I realize something.
She likes it.
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” I ask. “You’re so close to coming, and you liked my hand on your ass, spanking you.”
“Maybe,” she whispers, looking at me over her shoulder.
I reach between her legs, my fingertips brushing along the length of her pussy lips. “You’re drenched,” I say. “Soaked. You fucking love this. Say it. You want me to make you come.”
“I’m not saying it,” she says. “I won’t beg.”
I bring my hand down on the opposite cheek, and she flinches. But she doesn’t stand up and walk away. She arches her ass out more. I caress the red mark that’s rapidly spreading across the expanse of her skin, while she moans low under her breath.
“Say it, luv,” I tell her, reaching between her legs from behind until I find her clit with my fingertip. But I don't move my finger. I just press it gently on her clit. “Tell me how much you want me. You want me inside you. You want to feel me, coming inside you.”
“Albie,” she says, groaning loudly, her frustration evident.
"Belle."
"What?" her eyes are closed, her forehead wrinkled, and I know how much she wants to let go.
"You're the only one I want to make come. Not Erika, not anyone else. Do you understand? Now say what I want to hear."
“Yes." She whispers the word so softly that I barely hear it.
I don’t move. I know she’s close. I know she’s on the edge, so close to coming, and I want to send her hurtling over the edge. “Yes, what, luv?”
She groans again. “Yes, I want you inside me. Yes, I want you to make me come.”
“Not enthusiastic enough,” I tell her. But I finally move my finger on her clit. “You want to come. You want release. All you have to do is tell me how much you want it.”
“Oh my God, Albie,” she whispers. “Please.”
The please is what gets me. It’s the please, coming from Little Miss Do-Gooder, Miss Propriety, that kills me.
But I can’t stand not seeing it on her face. I want to see the expression on her face when she comes.
When I take my fingers away from her clit, she practically cries, until I spin her around and push her roughly against the wall. Yanking the piles of fabric of her dress up, I thrust my fingers between her legs, returning them where they were on her clit, and she practically melts against me.
It takes all the willpower I have not to crush her mouth under mine, but I want to see her face as I roll my fingers over her clit, faster now. “Come for me, luv,” I tell her. “I want to hear you say my name.”
“Fuck,” she says, clutching at my wrist, pressing my hand against her pussy as she jerks involuntarily, a full-body spasm. “Albie. Oh my…holy shit, Albie.”
