At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

His arms tighten around me, helping me move faster against him, and everything feels heightened with the way our lips stay close, almost touching, but not quite. I’m so turned on by everything that is happening in this moment that I can feel how wet the lace of my thong is with each slide of my body against the hardness straining against his shorts.

I should be embarrassed by how needy I must look to him, this man who works around strippers every night and definitely has more sexual experience than I do. I’m whimpering and grinding myself against him as I grab a handful of the hair on the back of his head and clutch it. I’m too lost in the beat of the music and the smell of PJ’s cologne and how bolstering it is to be wanted like this to worry about anything, too busy realizing how amazing it is to let go, stop thinking, and just feel.

Feel the heat from his body, feel how tightly he holds me against him, feel his hips thrust up to meet me, feel his hand move from the small of my back to clutch my ass and move me faster against him.

Every inch of my body is on fire from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Ripples of pleasure I haven’t felt in years, maybe ever, overwhelm me, until I feel like I’m struggling to breathe as I slide back and forth in his lap. PJ’s mouth is suddenly on mine and he swallows one of my gasps of pleasure.

As soon as his tongue darts into my mouth and slides against my own, I topple over the edge. I moan into his mouth as I come, and he deepens the kiss. My hips churn against him and I ride out the best orgasm I’ve ever experienced in my life, making noises into his mouth, while he continues kissing me, that I didn’t even know I could make.

PJ’s body suddenly becomes jerky underneath me and he yanks his mouth away from mine with a whispered curse as he continues to move against me. He presses his forehead to mine while I continue sliding against him, and the grip he has on the back of my neck tightens, as does his hand on my ass. A string of curses flies out of his mouth when he suddenly thrusts his hips up roughly and holds himself in place against me. I cling to him tighter when I feel his cock pulse and grow harder between my legs.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, while I try not to let out a victory yell that I wasn’t the only one with a hair-trigger orgasm waiting to explode.

With one last push of himself against me, he slumps back down into the chair with a groan. My body goes with him, sprawling against his chest as my head drops into the crook of his neck and I try to slow down the erratic beating of my heart.

“Jesus Christ,” he curses again, letting go of the tight hold he has on the back of my neck to wrap his arm around me and hug me tighter to him. “I just came in my pants like a fifteen-year-old boy. Never, ever doubt anything about yourself again.”

I smile against his neck before pulling my head away to lean back in his lap and look at him, a small tinge of mortification starting to creep in that I just got myself off on this man’s lap before one song even finished playing over the sound system. My legs feel like jelly, and even though we didn’t have sex, I already know he’s ruined me for any other man. I shouldn’t feel nervous when we both experienced the same thing, but I do. This is uncharted territory for me. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to act, and for the love of God, where does one put her hands when she’s sitting on a guy’s lap in a postorgasmic haze?

Do I clasp them behind my head, do I hold them up for a high five and an “’Atta boy!”? Are jazz hands appropriate? What about spirit fingers?

His hands drop to my bare thighs and he rests them there as he looks up at me, and I try to refrain from waving my own hands in his face like an idiot who doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Just so you know, I lied before. That was a lesson.”

With no other choice, since jazz hands aren’t really my thing, I press my hands against his chest and shift myself on his lap. My eyes fly to his when he takes in a sharp intake of breath and his fingers dig into the skin of my thighs. I forget all about my nerves as I watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows thickly. When I feel him start to harden against me again, I can’t stop myself from wiggling a little in his lap as I lean closer to him.