Page 37 of His Princess

His tightness squeezed me as the head of my cock pushed past the ring of muscle, and up until now, everything had seemed like one big game. But this was different. It was as though everything over the last year with Quin made sense. Bethany ceased to exist, her presence in my life fading until the memories consisted of only me and Quin.

Despite all the times I’d teased and pushed his buttons, I’d watched him more than I’d wanted to admit to myself.

There was more than one occasion I’d seen him come out of the pool, and I’d completely frozen, watching as the rivulets of water danced their way down his sinewy build. I’d brushed the moments off as the confusion of how pretty Quin was for a man, but now I realized it was more than that.

I’d been attracted to him more than his mother the entire time.

Before I knew it, I was balls deep and spreading him wide. He threw his head back, the arch of his neck enticing me to nibble more marks across his pale skin, and I did. I held him tightly, my palms splayed over his lower back as I claimed my possession. My wife.

“Move,” I growled.

He did as I’d ordered, rocking and raising himself up only to come back down again. The erotic sounds of our lovemaking filled the room, but all I could concentrate on was him and the way his body moved. He was elegant, with long lean lines that swayed with the kind of grace that would make ballerinas jealous. I couldn’t stop looking at every inch of him, from the peaked nubs of his nipples that pressed insistently against the transparent lace of his chemise, to his slim thighs that strained under the pressure of his movements, to his cock, which tented the red silk material. Everything about him was beautiful.

I held him even tighter, shifting my hands to his hips so I could help him ride me. My relationships had always mostly been about sex, but this was different, and the feeling that raged inside me was new and intriguing. I really did want to breed his pussy, even though it was impossible for him to get pregnant. Fuck, I would make him my legal spouse tomorrow if I could.

He rode me with expertise and enthusiasm, his back arching and hips rolling. Breaking eye contact with him was simply impossible, and I didn’t last long. The pressure built too quickly, along with the new emotions that burrowed deep in my chest, and I exploded, filling him up to the brim with my cream.

“Fuck, baby girl, gonna get you so pregnant.” I pressed my feet flat to the floor and shoved up a final time, then groaned.

He whimpered and moaned, the most salacious sobs falling from his lips. He reached under his chemise, lifted the material out of the way, and then tugged himself furiously. Within moments, his cock jerked and strings of cum shot across my shirt, some missing me completely and targeting the couch. He gasped through his release, squeezing around my half-hard length.

He collapsed against my chest, and I traced my finger down his spine, over the soft silk chemise. I kissed his temple and hummed.

“You did so good, sweetheart. My perfect princess. You’re the best wife.”

He sighed happily. “I liked riding you.”

I chuckled. “We’re definitely doing that again.” I pressed another kiss against his head, this time on his sweaty hairline. “I really enjoy having you as my wife.”

“Mm.” He gave me a silly smile, eyelids half open.

“Now you just need to learn to cook.” I smirked and my laugh grew louder when he pouted.

“You’re so mean.”

“Never to you, baby girl. I take care of my wife.” I held him closer. I had absolutely no plans to let him go.

14

QUIN

MORGAN HELD the icing bag to her chest while she stared at our instructor, who had been talking for a solid five minutes at the front of the teaching kitchen on a step stool.

“Don’t,” I whispered, tugging on the icing bag.

Morgan shot a look at me.

“You can’t hold it the whole time. You’ll make the icing runny. Put it down!” I gestured at the stainless steel table in front of us.

Morgan giggled as Ms. Dubufett blasted us with a frustrated glare that had other people turning toward us and snickering in a lighthearted way.

Morgan slapped down the bag, and Ms. Dubufett resumed her prattling about how to best decorate our cupcakes.

Morgan grabbed my knee-length mauve suede skirt and smoothed her fingers over the bit she’d pinched. “Oh my God, that feels amazing! It’s so cute for autumn, too. Where did you get it?”

“The mall. On the southside.”

She grinned.

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