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9
Izzy
We pushed through my front door. Any worry or shame I had about my apartment was shoved aside as we kissed. His lips tasted like cider. His hands found my hips like he’d held me dozens of times before. We’d never done more than hold hands, yet I moved against him as though we’d been doing this for years.
I slammed the door shut and led him slowly through my apartment, feeling him tug my hair out of my loose ponytail as we went. Usually, I’d have given some kind of a tour: here’s the living room, the kitchen, my bedroom floor.
The carpet was soft beneath us as we stumbled down onto it.
Our teeth clacked in the fall, but we moved past that and deepened the kiss further. I felt light-headed, lost in how good every single sensation was. He was on top of me, pinning me to the carpet as our bodies writhed and moved against one another. I’d never done this kind of thing — never let myself have this kind of fun. But this felt so right.
Rhuron was made for me.
He might have been the prince of some beautiful kingdom, but he was mine first and foremost.
I remembered the other women checking him out at the bar, their eyes scanning over every inch of his gorgeous body, and it flared a heat deep within me. He was mine, I was going to prove it. Without thinking, I moved my kisses to his jaw, then to his neck. Rhuron unbuttoned my blouse, pulling it off of me. Rough, insatiable, I sucked a mark into his neck just below his ear.
“Izzy,” he growled out in response. Grinding down against me, he let me feel how much he needed me, I needed him too. I was feeling greedy, and I’d take as much of him as he could give. I pulled and tugged on his shirt, figuring out the clasps to get it open. Someday, I’d understand his ornate clothing, but this was not the time. He chuckled at me and stripped off his shirt and jacket.
His body was breathtaking.
Gold-like markings against his tan chest formed a small, simple design over his heart.
I traced them with my fingertips, completely blown away at how muscular he really was. His pecs alone were more than enough, but his abs looked like each were perfectly sculpted, custom made for me.
“What are these marks?” I murmured.
“They’re my birthright, the mark of the royal family,” he explained. I traced them, and they glowed against my fingertips. Leaning forward, my frantic need ceasing for a brief moment, I kissed the mark softly.
“They’re gorgeous.”
“So are you.” He smiled and pressed his lips against mine. I kissed him back, melting into it. He wasn’t human; he really was some fantastical prince, a man I could hardly think of meeting in my job at the flower shop, much less engage in what we were about to do. If I let myself think about it anymore, I’d implode. I had to get what I wanted.
If I couldn’t keep him forever, I had to at least let myself spend one night with him.
Palming his chest, admiring the work he put into his body, I slid my hand lower until I reached the hemline of his pants. Our hips were locked against each other, and with every movement I could feel how much he needed me. His bulge was thick, hot through the layers of clothing, and it made my mouth water just thinking about it.
There wasn’t time for foreplay; I needed him now.
“Rhuron.” His name poured from my lips like praise.
He rolled his hips against mine, and I moaned from the friction.
“Please,” I begged.
How could he tease me at a time like this?
Didn’t he want me as badly as I wanted him?
Sitting up on his knees, he unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, tugging them and my underwear down my thighs. I gasped at the sudden actions. He leaned back down to gently caress my lips in his, propping himself up with one hand on the ground beside me. I could hear his other hand unzipping his own pants. Hungrily, I helped pull down his pants and gasped as my hands found his cock. It felt so heavy, so thick. The head of it was already weeping precum, ready and eager to be used.
The kiss became rough and hungry. He tugged my lower lip with his teeth before claiming my mouth again.
I couldn’t fight my lips from curling into a smile as I parted my thighs slightly.
His free hand slid between my legs, thickly dipping into my own liquid excitement.
“Fuck,” he muttered against my lips as he pressed in his fingertip. I writhed and moved against the pressure. It wasn’t nearly enough. I wanted his cock, but I knew I’d have to let him move at his own pace. At this point I’d take anything he’d give me — I was starving and desperate for him.
