The Prince and the Player

Cal doesn’t gently request, he invades, pillaging my senses. We lean back on the couch, and he’s above me, moving my mouth with his. I’m not stopping him. I’m desperate with desire. My hands are on his neck, and I’m kissing him back, hungrily keeping time with his movements.

He pulls away, and a little noise of disappointment comes from my throat. It makes him smile as he reaches down and lifts me off the couch.

“Don’t worry, sexy. I’m nowhere near finished with you tonight.”

“Cal…” My brain is fighting with me to get control, but he tosses me onto the bed, pulling his shirt off in one swift move.

My protests die when I see his bare body. He’s ripped and golden, beautiful, lean and muscular, and his light brown hair is tousled and tempting. My eyes trail down the lines of his stomach, getting tangled in the V at his hips, and all rational thought vanishes.

“Now you,” he says, climbing on his knees beside me on the bed.

He takes the hem of the shirt I’m wearing and lifts it over my head. My instinct is to cover my bare breasts, but he catches my arms.

“No way,” he grins, leaning us back on the bed. “Your tits are far too gorgeous for you to hide them.”

My face heats, and I start to laugh. “Stop it.”

He leans over me, then lowers gently until our bare bodies are stomach to stomach, skin against skin. We both exhale a groan.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, moving his lips over my shoulders.

I can only whimper, “So do you.” I am so screwed right now.

I can’t stop him as he slides lower, covering my left nipple with his mouth and swirling his tongue around the hardened peak before giving it a firm suck that registers straight between my legs.

“Oh, god!” I gasp as he moves to the other side to repeat. His hand is on me, giving my nipple a pinch before moving up. I meet his eyes as he pushes his thumb between my teeth.

Closing my lips around that thick digit, I give it a suck, and his eyes darken. “Fuck me,” he groans, rising up fast to claim my mouth again.

I’m on fire. Energy hums up and down my thighs. I’m so close to coming, he only has to touch me once more, and I’ll explode.

“I knew it would be like this,” he breathes, cupping my lips with his. “You are so fucking passionate. I want to fuck you so hard.”

“Cal, oh, god!” Those seem to be the only three words my obliterated brain can conjure.

I’m so ready for him to be inside me, and he’s gone, sliding down my body, kissing my sternum, my navel, then jerking the boxers off my hips.

“Oh, shit, bare pussy,” he groans before wrapping his forearms around my hips and pulling me to his mouth.

One slow sweep of his tongue across my clit, and I cry out. I’m trembling and exploding, pleasure snaking up my thighs like a vine. I can’t remember the last time I had sex, but lord knows it wasn’t with anyone like MacCallam Lockwood Tate.

“Jesus,” he gasps.

“Please,” I beg.

He hops off the bed so fast, I just barely see the large erection tenting his PJ pants before they’re gone. A rip of foil, a quick roll of condom, and he’s back above me.

“You are amazing,” he says.

“If you don’t fuck me now—”

A hard thrust, and we both cry out.

“Oh, yes!” I moan.

“Jesus, god,” he grinds.

He’s hard and huge and perfect, stretching and massaging me in the most erotic way. His hips speed up, moving fast and punishing, demanding, taking, holding my face as he kisses me roughly. I can only grasp his shoulders and ride this out. I’m building to my second orgasm, and he’s taking me there by delicious force.