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My cock pulses hard inside your pussy - I’m already dancing on the edge of climax, but you don’t stop me. You’re on the edge as well, and each thrust of mine pushes you closer to it.
I wanted to fuck you hard, and that’s exactly what I’m doing now. How could I do it otherwise with a woman such as you?
One final thrust and my train of thought stops. You explode, moaning hardly through gritted teeth; I feel you summoning all of your strength to remain standing up, your legs threatening to buck under your weight as your body trembles in ecstasy.
One second after and I jump after you down into the abyss of pleasure, my cock spasming violently inside of you. In a fraction of a second, I’m coating your insides with my warm cum. You sway your ass softly as I gush my load inside of you, an almost never-ending stream of semen filling you up to the brim. When my cock stops shooting, I pull back slowly, strands of semen dripping down your pussy and descending towards your legs.
You turn to me, smiling lazily. Fuck, I can’t even think straight right now.
"Perfect," I tell you, "that’s what you are."
I grin, pulling you into my embrace. You let me put my arms around you and, tilting my head to the side, I press my lips against yours. We kiss softly, both our bodies still reeling from a thunderous orgasm.
I don’t know what got into me, but I just lost all control. You’re not only easy in the eyes, you know how to drive a man completely insane. I’ve been through my fair share of women, but I never met one like you.
Fuck, I can’t wait to go another round with you.
You still rolling your eyes, babe?. This is all you, baby. I’m here, just for you.
Princely Passions
A Royal Romance
By Alexis Angel
Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angel Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
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Derrick
I own the motherfucking world.
Seriously, sometimes it just feels like I am the fucking prince of all fucking creation.
Never more so than when I'm looking out the fucking window of my condo in the fucking clouds high above New York City.
I live in One57. That's right. Right in the center of Manhattan on a street they call Billionaire's Row. You don't get much more fucking materialistic and pretentious than this.
"Your Highness," Pressly, my manservant says to me, coming into the large living room with floor to ceiling windows of the sky. "Your motorcycle is ready. Are you quite able to ride today?"
That's just like Pressly. Always watching out for me. Ever since my mother died when I was thirteen, he's become more like my primary guardian than anything else. He gives off the look and feel of Alfred from Batman, but I know Pressly's had his fun in life. He used to fight for my Kingdom, St. Livy, when we gave forces to the Americans in Vietnam. He lost his wife to cancer - same as my mother, only earlier. I guess we have that going for us. But the number one thing that makes him invaluable is that he doesn't fucking judge me like the rest of the world.
And the world would be fucking judge me right now if they could. I feel like shit. I only got in about fifteen minutes ago - around 5 am. I was at my nightclub in the Meatpacking District, having a fucking orgy with three Russian models in town for one night. Try drinking a bottle of vodka with some Russian birds and then cumming countless times on their eager faces and you'll understand what I mean when I say that I’m fucking tired enough to go mental.
"I've prepared some breakfast for you, Sire," Pressly continues, "It'll help you get some energy for the day ahead."
I turn to look in the mirror. Even for a night of heavy drinking, you’re going to think I’m a cocky fucking asshole when I say I look fucking good. My ice blue eyes are soulfully distant. They can look right into your soul. I have a strong as fuck jawline and a sculpted face. That’s the product of 2000 years of royal fucking blood flowing through me. My chest is cut. My shoulders are fucking broad. I may be a prince, but I look like a King. My arms are the product of over a decade of working out. And my abs. Fuck. Let’s just say that I’ve defined them so well that even if you’re blind, tracing your finger along them will get you fucking hot.
I’ve gotten you fucking hot now too, haven’t I?
Admit it. You’re fucking smiling.
No?
