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Shiraz stiffened. Jerked away a little. “It is not—you do not like it?”
Weak laugh. But not unwelcomed. A hint of levity was probably what we needed. “Oh, I like it plenty.” I raised my head but my gaze stayed hooded, especially when studying the curves of his mouth, now swollen like pillows. Pillows. Really? You’re thinking of this man and anything related to a bed right now? “It’s just…intense.”
“Intense is not comfortable for you?”
“Intense is not comfortable for me.” I was completely honest.
His chin jutted. His eyes darkened. “Oh.”
“That’s why I really, really like it.”
“Oh.” Comprehension was a new thread in his tone. He got it. Just like that, he simply knew. If I had any doubt about it, the fresh force in his grip took care of it. What the man lacked in experience—and at this point, I began wondering about that—he more than reclaimed in enthusiasm. Clamping down on me harder, he monitored every nuance of my reaction—as if masking them was possible. My chest pumped double-time, betraying my hammering heartbeat. My nipples formed stiff moguls in my T-shirt. I was flushed and hot, practically writhing with arousal.
“Fuck.” Before I could think of stopping it, the desire rushed out. “Oh…damn!”
A low hum unfurled from him. “I know,” he rasped, dipping a heated kiss to my forehead. “Yes, Lucina. I know.”
I tilted my head to meet his stare. “You do, don’t you?” I didn’t disguise my wonderment. “You…just know. You’re not saying it just to assuage me, or to be polite and princely.”
His blue steel gaze pierced through the hair cascading over his forehead, seeming a combination of chastisement and cherishment at once. “Tupulai,”—he inserted another defined slide of his hips—“does this feel polite or princely?”
I gasped as his heavy bulge violated more of the space between my thighs. Moaned as I opened wider, helping the friction by another degree. Shiraz slipped back then rubbed forward again. We stared at each other over the little billow of my T-shirt, the soft cotton yielding to the force of his denim. Even our clothes had the right idea.
“No,” I finally got out, in answer to his sarcasm. “It feels…” But then hesitated. Should I disclose what I was really thinking?
“Like what?” He emphasized the command with another push of his hips. Well, that did it. Time to suck it up and fully confess shit.
“It feels like a man who knows what he’s doing.”
His brow furrowed. “And that concerns you?”
“I’m not concerned.” It was the truth. “I’m confused.”
But so was that—and his bizarre silence of a reaction didn’t ease anything. Okay, as silent as a man could possibly be while turning a dry hump into something as intense as the real thing, finally interrupted by his measured pull of breath. But his gaze was still unflinching. While the valleys persisted in his brow, so did that knowing glint in his eyes—that light emanating from the window he alone had carved into my mind…
Making it possible for him to give words speaking straight to my soul.
“For the first time in a long time, I am not confused.” He let go of my hands to slide his grip around my thighs. He repositioned me, making me open for him in a full-facing missionary. It was wonderful, and I was so damn wet—except for one glitch. Neither of us had taken off a stitch of clothing. “From the moment I walked out of my office and saw you today…everything simply seemed clearer.” He smiled despite the mutual quivers of our bodies, as he settled himself tighter between my legs. “Better.”
“Better?” My incredulity was as naked as my body yearned to be. He lived and worked in a palace on one of the lushest islands on the planet. He was a prince of this land.
But hadn’t I learned the prime paradigm of the rich and famous by now? Perfection was just redirected perceptions. The grass was always greener when one didn’t have to mow it.
But still…I’d brought a sliver of better into his world.
Made his grass a little greener, just by walking across it.
So why was I questioning it? Though he didn’t seem surprised that I did. Even flashed a hell-to-the-yes gaze at the chance to answer me.
“You surprised me,” he admitted, lips tilting up. “And strange as it seems, I am not surprised by much anymore.”
“Why would that seem strange?”
His eyes flared. His mouth quirked. Surprise was one breathtaking look on the man. “Between both my brothers’ betranlis and the interactions I have on the phone with New York and Los Angeles, I thought I had American females—how do you say it?—‘sized up’, yes? Figured out?”
Narrowed eyes. “Come on. We can’t be that different from Arcadian girls.” I hissed as he rocked harder against me. “Most of—the important stuff—is the same.” Through my sarcastic snorts, I managed to emphasize “important”.
When he countered that with a growly chuckle, delighted shock joined my lust. “My little surprise party, you have redefined ‘the important stuff’.”
