practically spilling out of the tightly fitted top. Her hair pulled off her shoulders and piled on her head, the dress she’s wearing…she looks like she stepped off the pages of a magazine.
She looks like a doll. My own personal, slightly disheveled Cinderella.
Her lips fall open, parting just enough so that I can’t help but picture her mouth wrapped around me.
My dick twitches in response to the very idea.
“And yet, the thought of my cock in your mouth makes you wet, doesn’t it?” I ask. I know it’s true. I know she’s soaked just by the look she gives me when I ask the question. “I know that underneath that dress, you’re throbbing at the thought of tasting me. Tell me.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I want your cock in my mouth.”
I slide forward, the tip of my dick near her face, and her mouth falls open like a reflex, her tongue on the edge of her lips.
But I don’t give her my cock. Not yet. I reach around to the back of her hair, to that ridiculously appropriate updo of hers, and grab a handful before it tumbles over her shoulders. “I want those sweet lips of yours on me, Belle."
Belle directs her dark eyes to me, watching me as she wraps her hand around the base of my cock. Her eyes stay on mine while she licks me slowly, her movements languid as she moves over the head of my cock before she envelopes me in her mouth.
That warm and wet and perfect mouth.
I groan as she takes me in, running my hands through her hair and pulling it away from her face so I can watch her work her mouth over me. She makes little moaning sounds when she sucks me, her eyes closing each time she pulls back on the length of my cock, like she’s savoring the sensation of me in her mouth.
My groan seems to spur her on. She works me over, easing me deeper and deeper into her mouth until she’s practically inhaling me, swallowing me so far that it's all I can do to keep from coming down the back of her throat. I watch her head bob up and down on my length, her tongue working magic for what seems like an eternity until I can’t possibly take it any longer. When she brings me to the edge, I have to grab a handful of hair and wrench her away.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, looking at me with disappointment.
“God, no,” I whisper. “I just don’t want to come like that. I want to come inside you, luv."
I stand there in my designer dress, in front of the throne of Protrovia, as Prince Albert unwraps a condom and rolls it onto his length. I'm mesmerized by his cock. My mouth aches for him, mimicking the throbbing between my legs that is so incredibly insistent.
“You’re staring,” he says.
“You can wear a condom over the piercing?”
“Are you disappointed?” he asks, drawing me to him. His hardness presses up against my belly, and I instantly regret the fact that I’m still wearing my dress. I want to rip it off. I want to feel his nakedness against mine, his skin against my skin. "I'll take it off, if you'd like."
I want him inside me, bare.
I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. I want to feel his piercing inside me, pressing up against me.
But I don’t want to tell him that.
I can’t tell him that.
“No,” I say, my voice wavering. “I just…didn’t know you could.”
He doesn’t answer. He just brings his mouth down hard on mine, his kiss punishing in its intensity. My heart beats furiously in my chest as his tongue finds mine, and he kisses me until I feel like I'm drowning. I lose myself in his kiss, until there’s nothing left, no thoughts about anything except the two of us in this room.
“Don’t lie to me,” he whispers. “You were thinking about fucking me without one, weren’t you?”
“I was wondering how the piercing would feel,” I admit. “That’s all.”
Albie grins. “Don’t worry, luv,” he says. “You’ll still feel it.”
A fresh wave of anxiety courses through me as he looks down at me with those periwinkle-colored eyes. I’m suddenly nervous, despite the fact that this should be the least awkward part of the evening, considering the fact that my soon-to-be-stepsister thought the remote control to my vibrator was a bomb detonator.
Albie senses my hesitation. “Worried?” he asks.
“Never,” I lie.
He pulls at the fabric on the sides of my dress, lifting it up until it bunches around my waist, and slips his fingers between my legs. “Your body definitely isn’t nervous.”
As his fingers slide over my wetness, a whimper escapes my lips, needy and unbidden. “No,” I whisper.
“Even now, you're still saying no?” he asks, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips.
“No, I’m not nervous,” I lie again. I run my hands over this muscular chest, flinching as his muscles twitch underneath my palms, then down his well-defined abs.
Touching him like this, how could I not be a little nervous?
“I haven’t stopped thinking about your pussy since I met you,” he says. “Tasting you, touching you, being inside you…it’s consuming me.”
“I want you inside me,” I whisper.
“Do you?” he asks, sliding his hands under my ass to pick me up. He carries me toward the throne. “Because I seem to recall you saying the words, I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last prince on earth.”
“I don’t remember saying that,” I tease.
I remember exactly what I said.
Don’t make me remember that I said that.
“No?” he asks, setting me down in front of the throne. He spins me around and yanks the fabric of my skirt up before pulling me against him. His hardness presses against my ass and the only thing I can think of is how badly I want to feel him inside me.
“Maybe you misheard me,” I say, my breath hitching in my throat as his hands wander over my ass, his fingers spreading me.
“Yes, I’m sure that's what happened,” he says. His warm breath plays along my neck, and when he sweeps my hair off the nape of my neck, goose bumps sprinkle my arms. “So tell me now, how badly do you want me?”
“Please,” I say, closing my eyes and surrendering to his touch. He plants kisses along the back of my neck that make me whimper.
I could go. I could tell him no, and turn around and walk away.
I could do the appropriate thing.
But I don't. Instead, I say it again. "Please."
He growls, like an animal, a long low sound in his throat. “Get up,” he says. “Kneel, on the throne.”
I don’t even ask why. I don’t object, and I don’t question.
I just do what he tells me to do.
I kneel on the throne, facing away from him, every inch of my body screaming for his touch and my pussy throbbing for sweet release.
“I’m going to take my time with you, Belle,” he says, and I cringe at the thought.
I don’t want him to take his time with me.
I want to be fucked.
“But not today,” he says, kneeling behind me on the throne, as if he can read my mind. “Now, I’m going to fuck you, the way I think you want to be fucked – hard and fast and filthy.”
“Yes.” I barely choke out the word before he’s pressing against my entrance. "Oh God, yes."
Gripping the sides of the throne, I brace myself as he slides inside me without hesitation or mercy. His thick hard cock fills me up fully and completely. My hands find their place on the back of the throne as Albie’s slide over my hips, gripping me tightly.
"Oh hell," he says. “It’s like you were made to fit me.”
I murmur something, suddenly rendered incoherent. I can barely register what he's saying, let alone think rationally, not when he's doing what he's doing with his cock.
He fucks me, his initial thrusts slow and short, but only for a moment before I beg him to fuck me harder.
And he does. Gripping my waist,
he fucks me with deep, forceful thrusts, his piercing pressing up against the most sensitive spot inside me.
“That’s how you like it, isn’t it, luv?”
I can’t speak any other words but that one. Yes.
My head is yanked back as he grips a handful of hair and wraps the length of it around his hand, sending a shock of pain through my body. And instead of being a turn-off, the way that I think it would be, it’s the exact opposite. It intensifies everything.
He fucks me, his grip on my hair, pulling on it like a leash.
I can’t think about anything except his cock.
My whole world right now is his cock.
I accidentally blurt out the word “cock,” because of course I do. And I immediately flush with embarrassment when he laughs, the vibration ricocheting through my body. “What, luv?” he asks. “You were praising my cock?”
God, he’s such an arrogant prick.
I think those words, but they don’t come out of my mouth because I can’t articulate anything except yes.
Over and over.
I’m reduced to an incoherent, babbling idiot who can only say yes.
He grasps my breasts – not gently or tenderly. He pinches my nipples between his thumb and forefingers as he fucks me. And he talks to me, low in my ear, telling me all the dirty things he wants to do to me. “I’m going to keep fucking you because you’re mine, Belle."
I let go, savoring every sensation that washes over me as he brings me closer and closer to the edge – his hands on my breasts as he pulls me back against him, the warmth of his breath against my ear, his tongue flicking over the edge of my earlobe.
And that cock.
“Tell me how much you love me fucking you, Belle,” he says, his voice strained. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Oh God,” I breathe. “Yes, please.”
He slaps my ass cheek, the crack loud in the stillness of the room. “Say it, Belle.”
He delivers a second slap hard against my rear. “Fuck, Belle,” he says. “Say it. Say you want me to come inside you.”
“Oh God, yes.” It’s all I can say, pleasure rolling over me like a tidal wave, coursing through me from my head to my toes.
He yanks my hair and a shock of pain surges through me. “I want…to hear…the words,” he says, his voice gruff.
Then he pauses. He pauses, completely still inside me. I’m on the verge of coming, and I can’t remember what he wants me to say. My pussy throbs around him, my body pleading with him to thrust inside me again.
So I just say please.
“Please,” I whimper. “Make me come.”
“Fuck.” He lets out a loud groan. “Touch yourself, Belle. Now.”
He thrusts inside me, his movements swift, purposeful. Deep. And with a sense of urgency. The tip of his cock – his piercing – presses against me, sending pulse after pulse of pleasure soaring through me that only intensifies as I move my finger over my clit, faster and faster.
Everything about this is primal. This is not romantic sex, slow and languid and loving.
And it's the best thing on this fucking earth.
“Belle,” he says, his voice strained. “Come for me, Belle. Now.”
And I do.
I let go, a loud moan escaping my lips before his hand clamps down over my mouth to mute me. When he thrusts inside me, saying my name as he brings me over the edge, I come, harder than I've ever come before. Harder than I could ever imagine coming. I crash over the edge, blinding white-hot pleasure that obliterates my awareness of everything else.
Afterward, I’m trembling in his arms, my heart racing so fast I think it might explode. Albie slides his arms around my chest, hugging me to him. “You’re shaking,” he whispers.
“I don’t know why,” I say.
Probably because I just had the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life.
He squeezes me tighter against his chest, and puts his lips to the side of my neck. "Because I blew your fucking mind, luv."
"No one's mind was blown," I lie.
What's not mind-blowing is the awkward silence that follows, as my lust-addled brain begins to clear, and the realization of where we are and what we've just done sets in.
He shrugs back into his tuxedo, and I fix my dress, arrange my hair back into something vaguely resembling the updo that I came in here with, and steel myself to do the walk of shame right out of this room.
It's my first time doing a walk of shame, and I'm doing one out of the throne room in a freaking palace, after screwing my soon-to-be stepbrother.
I can picture my mother saying the words, her mouth turned down into a scowl. Actually, no. Scratch that. I can't even begin to imagine how she's react, especially given the fact that she was "devastated" by my broken engagement.
Fucking Prince Albert on his father's throne really would just be the cherry on the sundae.
Albie's phone buzzes and he picks it up, mouthing the word "Noah" at me, while I silently panic at the thought of one of the royal security team looking for us.
How could you be so reckless, Isabella?
I swallow hard to quell the growing feeling of nausea in my belly.
Then Albie turns around and looks at me. "That was Noah," he says. "Apparently my sister did talk to one of the security team about the remote. They're doing a sweep of the palace now."
I swear my heart stops beating. "What are you talking about? A sweep of the palace?" I ask. My voice is high-pitched, more like a squeak. "They're looking for the remote that goes with that…oh, holy shit."
"The remote to the vibrator?" he asks, chuckling.
The bastard is laughing. He thinks this is funny.