A Princess for Christmas - Jenny Holiday Page 0,94
his hand with her other hand, and slowly, slowly, guided him inside her.
“Oh, fuck, you feel good,” he ground out, and she let loose a needy moan. “You’re so wet, I fucking love it.”
She started moving, and soon they’d established a rhythm, a slow, steady . . . dance, almost. That, along with the fact that she hadn’t let go of his hand, sort of reminded him of when they’d actually been dancing.
Except dancing hadn’t made him feel like he was going to explode. He tried to slow himself down, but it was no use. The pressure gathering was an unstoppable force.
So as with the dancing, he moved her where he wanted her. He slid himself down on the bed so he was lying flat, taking her with him. She’d been sitting up, grinding herself on him, but he pressed on one thigh to indicate that he wanted her to straighten her legs and lie on him. “C’mere,” he said gruffly, and she did, tipping forward until she was stretched out on top of him, those maddening, sharp little nipples scratching his chest. He slid himself down a bit, aiming to line up their bodies so her clit made contact with the base of his dick. Another of her moans told him when he’d hit a good spot, and he let one hand settle heavily on the curve of her ass to keep her in place. “Rock yourself on me.”
She did, burying her face in his neck. The hand that was still holding his pressed his own down on the bed next to his head, her fingers laced in his. Pinned down by the princess.
There were worse places to be.
He rocked in sync with her, resisting the urge to thrust in opposition to the movement of her hips and letting his free hand slide back and forth over the curve of her ass.
“Leo,” she panted against his neck.
As with the times she’d come before, her breathing changed. Her fingers tightened around his, and a shudder ripped through her as she came. He could feel her inner muscles spasming around his dick. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore. His hips had taken over, and they were going to move. With a groan, he snapped them up, a big, almost involuntary thrust that turned her moan-in-progress into a surprised-but-delighted yelp. It only took one more thrust, and he was emptying himself into the condom.
She pushed herself back up, and he grabbed the base of the condom, thinking she was going to climb off him, but she just sat there grinning at him, her face red and her braids mostly undone, looking both thoroughly fucked and thoroughly self-satisfied. She lifted their entwined hands, and suddenly, he didn’t want to let go. So he pulled her hand back. Brought it to his lips and kissed it.
“You are a very interesting mixture of qualities,” she informed him as she took her hand back—he had to let her—and slid off him.
“What do you mean?”
“You are very chivalrous, but you have such a dirty mouth.”
He shrugged. He liked sex and he had manners. He didn’t think that was such a remarkable combination.
Marie flopped down on her back next to Leo. “I can’t usually come with a man.”
“You mean from just dick?”
She sputtered with laughter and turned her head toward him. “No. I gather that’s not that unusual? I meant with a man at all. From his ministrations—regardless of which appendage is being employed. Yet that was the third time with you, so clearly I was mistaken.”
“So what you’re saying,” he asked, to make sure he had this right, “is that you can rub one out but you don’t come when you’re with a partner?”
“That might not be how I would phrase it, but yes. Usually when I’m having sex, I get the same feeling I do when I have to dance in public—like I’m the object of too much scrutiny to fully relax.”
He took that in as he stared at the—gilded—ceiling. He couldn’t have wiped the grin off his face if he tried. It was stupid to get such a boost from something as mundane as making a woman come. In addition to being good manners—literally, the least he could do—in his experience, reciprocity usually meant better, more frequent sex.
He supposed he was disproportionally pleased by the princess’s praise because it had been so long since he’d done anything that felt like more than merely surviving. And even then, he usually ended up feeling like he was