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“Fuck no.” She laughs as she searches my face wildly. “Why would I?”
She’s right, which I refuse to admit out loud. I’ve given her no real reason to trust me, and despite our truce to work together, we’re still complete strangers.
“That’s fair,” I assure her. “In that case, you’d better hold on tight.”
Her brows furrow and she opens her mouth, probably to ask for clarification, but I ignore it and slide her body higher up the wall. She squeaks as her head passes mine and grabs my horns for stability. I keep lifting, only stopping when my face is level with her sopping panties and I can throw her legs over my shoulders.
“Nor,” she whispers harshly, clinging to my horns for dear life. “Put me down.”
I chuckle and shake my head, my nose brushing lightly against the fabric of her underwear and making her shudder.
“That’s not how this works, Princess,” I remind her, keeping my voice low. “You do what I say, not the other way around.”
I make quick work of her panties, ripping both sides so they fall to the ground in defeat and leave nothing between my tongue and her delicate folds. My erection swells painfully, but I ignore it and gingerly run my tongue along her lips to taste her.
“Nor,” she gasps my name this time, and I can’t deny how thoroughly I enjoy hearing it on her lips. She could moan it. Scream it. It doesn’t matter.
I apply more pressure, running my tongue along every beautiful line of her sex, until finally landing on her swollen nub. She bucks her hips when I take it in my mouth, and I swirl my tongue around it in circles until she whimpers.
My shoulders alone are enough to support her, especially with her grip on my horns, but I keep a hand hooked around her thigh just in case and use the other to press two fingers inside her. She cries out before slapping a hand over her mouth, and I bury them deeper as my tongue continues its steady rhythm over her clit.
She clenches around my fingers as I pump them in and out, and I can hardly believe how tight she is. How is my cock ever going to fit in there? I joked about it before, but I’m now genuinely worried I’ll break her in the process.
It looks like consummating our marriage in the hallway is out of the question after all.
I pump my fingers faster, picking up speed with my tongue, until she’s moaning against her hand with every thrust. Even though they’re muffled, her noises of passion sound deafening in the silent hallway, but I’m too invested to stop if someone pokes their head out to check on the commotion.
They can enjoy the show.
I curl my fingers experimentally, massaging her inner wall, and she bucks wildly against my mouth.
“Oh,” she breathes. “Do it again. Please. Do it again.”
I don’t like taking orders, but this is an exception that has my cock straining painfully to find release. The princess can beg me to fuck her anywhere at any time, and I doubt I’ll ever tire of listening to it.
For once, I do as I’m told, and I curl my fingers again, repeating the motion until her legs are trembling against the sides of my neck. Swirling my tongue around her clit while I continue to pump my fingers has her coming undone, trembling as a spray of fluid drenches the front of my shirt. The sight is nearly enough to incite my own orgasm, and for a long moment, I stand in awe with the wetness sticking my shirt to my chest.
“Put me down,” she whispers sharply when she’s able to speak again. “Hurry up. Put me down.”
Although I’d be content to spend another hour with my face between her thighs, the urgency in her voice spikes my adrenaline and I swiftly help her off my shoulders. I gently place her on the ground, letting her lean against the wall for support, and swivel my head around the check the hall. The coast is clear.
“Did you see someone?” I turn to look at her again and find most of her face hidden behind one of her hands.
“No,” she whispers, her eyes locked on the floor.
“D-Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head and drops her hand, still refusing to meet my eyes.
“Then what’s the problem?” I ask, my impatience threatening to ruin the moment.
I look her over, checking for any collateral damage. Her cheeks are pink from the rush of her orgasm, and several strands of her hair have escaped their pins. Aside from her sagging shoulders and her refusal to meet my eyes, she seems fine.
Without looking up, she points at my chest. “That. That’s what’s wrong.”
“Me?” I ask, still not understanding.
If I’m the problem, she should have thought about that before panting my name and urging me to keep going.
