Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“Yes,” I wail, reaching for Conrad, only to have him pin my wrists on either side of my head. “Please. Please. I can’t take any more.”
“I haven’t even gotten started on your hips. How they buck and wiggle and drive me insane. Or your perky ass that slides right into my lap, like it was built to fit.” His voice drops to an unsteady rasp. “And my God, your face. I don’t even have words for it. Hell is a place where I can’t envision your eyes. Or your mouth. That would be the ultimate punishment. And son of a bitch, hell is what I deserve for what I’m about to do.” He reaches between our bodies and jerks down his zipper, rising up on his knees and positioning himself in a kneel above my head, his long, heavy shaft gripped in a fist. “Blame your succulent fucking mouth for the fact that you’re going to be late this morning. I need to get my dick inside of it, baby.” He groans brokenly, beating himself off with tight strokes. “You did this. You addicted me.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my expression contrite as possible, my fingers playing with my stiff nipples and making him pant. “You better stuff it in and teach me a lesson.”
With an animal growl, he does exactly that, planting himself between my lips and slowly pumping forward, stretching my mouth wide, salt splashing against the back of my throat, his pleasure so immense that his legs shake, trembling the bed, and after only a week together, I already know from experience that the commander is on edge right now and will come fast, probably cursing and praising my existence in the same breath. And he speeds toward his peak now, choking on his own breath, his hips thrusting unevenly, the thickness of him spearing in and out of my mouth, his grunts echoing off the walls, his balls knocking against the underside of my chin.
“Princess. Princess. Princess,” he heaves. “I want three fingers in your cunt when I finish. Sink them in, now. Pump the way I’m pumping in your throat.”
Eagerly, I do as I’m told, barely able to fit three digits, gasping as the sensitivity he created heightens, along with the pleasure of giving my Daddy what he needs, and my muscles stiffen at the same time as the commander’s big body, release pulsing through me while warm male essence blasts the rear of my throat, his giant, hairy thighs flexing against my cheeks, squeezing, his cock fucking into me one final time, his explosions decreasing, decreasing, along with his tension, along with the hoarse calls of my name, until finally Conrad falls to the mattress beside me, breathing incredibly hard, but still managing to reach over and tuck me tight to his chest, his mouth whispering over my temples and cheeks, praising me, and I bask in it.
I bask in him. Our connection.
My love.
I hold onto it, vowing never to let it go.
Or let anyone rip it away…
eleven
. . .
Conrad
It takes every iota of willpower in my body to appear unmoved while observing Greta waltz on the other side of the room. This is the hour of her dance instruction, and the rate at which my heart pounds cannot be safe. Fucking besotted is what I am. She’s wearing an actual ballgown and heels in order to learn the steps while dressed in the heavy fabric, her hair pinned in a crown of curls on top of her head. I don’t know what to do with myself when she looks this beautiful. Problem is, she looks this beautiful all the goddamn time.
Morning.
Noon.
Night.
My sweat glands work overtime now, my skin uncomfortably tight as the princess is twirled by the female instructor, her movements graceful and delicate. The afternoon light streams in through the windows of the room, burnishing the crown of her head like a halo. Her chin is raised, proudly, her shoulders on display, the way she’s liked having them recently. If her instructor noticed the love marks left by my mouth, she said nothing about them. Or perhaps she chalked them up to heat rash.
I’m dealing with my own heat rash now, forced to tug the collar of my shirt to allow some air to cool my hot neck…and then Greta smiles at me, and nothing short of jumping in an icy lake could lower my temperature now. God, she’s extraordinary in everything she does. Riding, dancing, shooting. Caring for the animals at her sanctuaries, which we’ve been visiting more and more now that she’s comfortable leaving the palace grounds.
As if that isn’t enough, she fucks like a horny fairy tale.
I might be in charge between the sheets—or wherever I happen to get ten minutes alone with her—but I’m irrevocably wrapped around her pinkie finger. She slips deeper into the role of my little girl every time we’re intimate. Last night, she sat on my lap in her nightgown and shyly asked me to teach her how to kiss, her tongue teasing and hesitant, her hips gradually starting to rock in my lap. We made out for hours, Greta gasping and blushing every time I tried to lift the hem of her nightgown higher than her knees, telling me that her pussy felt funny, but she’s too good of a girl to let me see it.