Temporarily His Princess (Married by Royal Decree 1)

“Taking off pieces of clothing should be simultaneous.”

She jerked from her mesmerized gawking, fumbling with her train, almost tearing it off in her haste.

Then it was his turn. “The moment you walked into the room that first day and looked at me with those incredible eyes, I wanted to push you back on my desk, whether anyone remained in my office or not, spread your silky legs and devour you to a screaming orgasm before I even knew who you were.”

The fire in her loins was spreading, consuming her, flowing down her thighs. And all he’d done was expose her to his visual and verbal desire and make her confess hers.

He prowled toward her, giving her a hormone-roaring show of contained power and inbred poise as he slipped off his jacket. By the time it thudded to the ground in his wake, she’d torn off her veil, tumbling her chignon in disarray.

“When you showed up on my doorstep that night,” she panted, “I thought it would be the first and last time I had you alone. I fantasized about seizing the opportunity, dragging you in, tearing you out of your clothes and losing my mind all over you, even if you fired me for it.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his Herculean torso and abdomen, shrugged the shirt off then yanked off his boots and socks. “All those licentious thoughts when you were a virgin, too.”

As she bent to take off her stilettos, a warning finger stopped her. She straightened, swaying in place. “Being a virgin made my fantasies even more licentious. I had no expectations or experience to water them down.”

His zipper slid down with a smooth hiss that made her start to shake in earnest.

He let his pants fall then kicked them aside. “Whatever happened to the fantasies after you experienced me?”

Her zipper was undone in a far less assured fashion. Her dress peeled off her swollen breasts under its own weight, sighing in a rustling mass around her ankles. She struggled not to stumble as she stepped out of it.

She stood facing him, in her white lace thong, jewelry and four-inch stilettos, her gaze glued to the erection stretching his boxers.

“They ended.” At his frown, she elaborated, “I realized they were actually modest, almost pathetic. You surpassed any fantasy I was creative enough to have.”

A shock wave of lust blasted off of him.

Her lips trembled in triumph. “Do I win?”

His chest was heaving now. “All those years, I fantasized about going back for you, dragging you away wherever I found you, taking you somewhere where there was only us, only ever us. I would be in my lab, or in a board meeting or at a summit and I’d sit and plan everything I’d do to you touch by touch. I planned whole nights of arousing you and taking you to the edge again and again until you were begging me to take you over it, to do anything and everything to you, with you. I mapped out the number of orgasms I’d give you, their variations and method before I had mercy on you, took you, rode you until I drained your magnificent body of every spark of sensation it was capable of. Then I planned how to keep you in my power, how to have you beg to be my pleasure slave, and a slave to my pleasure.”

“Vincenzo, pietà…have mercy now…you win.” She stumbled the last steps between them, crushed her breasts against his hard chest, assuaging the pain, accumulating more. “Now dictate. Any intimacy. And just do it.”

He grabbed her head in both hands. “I always started our intimacies as the hunter, the seeker. Even when you did anything to me, it was at my request, my prodding. But I always fantasized that you’d take the initiative, do anything you want to me. This is what I dictate. That you show me your desire, Gloria mia.” His hands stabbed into her hair, pulling her away by its tether, demand vehement in his eyes. “Do it.”

*

Vincenzo watched Glory as she pulled away. Her eyes were eclipsed with hunger as she started demonstrating her fantasies.

She touched him all over, explored and owned and worshipped him, in strokes and caresses, in suckles and kisses, in nips and kneads—his chest and abdomen, his arms and hands, his neck and face—telling him how she’d always wanted to do that, every second of every day, how she’d thought nothing, real or imagined, touched him in beauty, in wonder.

He reveled in feeling his mind unravel with her every touch and confession, in feeling her craving cocooning him, claiming him. Then, without warning, she dropped before him, wrapping her arms around his thighs, burrowing her face into his erection.

His eyes glazed over at the sight of her as she knelt before him. The ripe swell of her buttocks, the graceful curve of her back, the gleaming luxury of her hair, her unbridled expression as she drew deep of his feel and scent, as she pulled his boxers down. His engorgement rebounded against his belly, throbbing, straining.

Then she was showing him in glorious sight and sound and touch. And words. Feverish, explicit, uncensored words, confessing all. Exposing the true extent of her desire.

His body hovered on the edge of detonation with every touch, yet plateaued in the most agonizing arousal he’d ever experienced. He felt his life depended on, and was threatened by, prolonging this. His groans merged as her hands owned and explored him, her breath on his flesh a furnace blast, her tongue as it swirled and lapped the flow of his desire a sweep of insanity. Then she engulfed all she could of him, poured delight and delirium all over him. And his mind snapped.

“Enough.”

Then she was hauled over his shoulders, gasping and moaning as he hurtled across the room. Her teeth sank into his shoulder blade, unleashing a roar from his depths as he swung her over and down on the bed. He stood back for one more fractured heartbeat, looking down at her, a goddess of abandon and decadence lying open and maddened with need among the petals, her satiny firmness sparkling in his kingdom’s treasures, trembling arms outstretched, bidding him come lose his mind. He first rid her of jewels, leaving only the ring, then he lost the last shred of the civilized man and let the beast claw its way out of his skin.

He came down on top of her, yanked her thighs apart and crushed her beneath him. She surged back into him, grinding herself against him, her legs spreading wider, her fingers and nails digging into him, her litany of “don’t wait, don’t wait, fill me, fill me” completing his descent into oblivion.

Incoherent, he gripped her buttocks, tilted her, bore down on her, then, in one forceful stroke, he plunged inside her, invading her to her recesses. She engulfed him back on a piercing scream, consuming him in her vise of pure molten pleasure.