pressing against me, makes me so heady with desire that I can't see straight. I can't think straight.
Which explains why I say what I say next.
"I could be a very bad girl."
I think he growls. Actually growls. Like an animal.
He kisses me so hard I taste blood, and his hands yank mine up roughly over my head and press my palms against the wall. My heart beats wildly in my chest as every part of me responds to his forceful touch.
When he runs his hand over my body, it's not gentle. And I don't want him to be gentle. I want him to fuck me like he did in the throne room – with wild abandon.
I want to let go.
He abruptly pulls away from me, leaving my lips throbbing from the intensity of his kiss. "I'm clean," he says, his eyes suddenly soft.
"So am I," I whisper. "I'm on the pill."
But I leave out the most important part.
I've never done it this way with anyone before.
“Fuck, Belle.”
He lets go of me, unbuckling his pants, and pulling them over his ass. When I pause to admire his perfect cock and he asks me what I’m doing.
“I’m just looking at what I want," I say.
“Hell, you are the sexiest thing when you do that."
"Do what?" I ask. I can't take my eyes off his cock. The overhead lighting in the passageway glints off of the piercing, and the mere thought of him inside me, totally unprotected, makes me hotter than it should.
"When you say things like that," he says. He doesn't even pull off his pants. He slips his hands under my thighs, his fingers pressing into my skin, and holds me up against the wall, sliding into me in one swift movement.
Then he’s inside me, and I can’t think of anything else. There’s nothing else that exists in the entire world apart from the sensation of his cock.
There’s nothing else except his thick head of his cock pressing tightly inside me, the metal piercing hitting me in just the right spot to send shivers of arousal rushing through me.
I clench my ankles tightly against his back as he thrusts into me. He yanks my hands above my head for leverage, our fingers intertwined together, as he thrusts into me again and again, his movements quick.
From somewhere outside myself, I hear my own moan echoing down the passageway.
The rational part of me knows this is dangerous. Anyone could walk down the passageway – Albie's bodyguard, his sister, any member of the staff.
The rational part of me knows I should care. It knows I should maintain some sense of decency, some semblance of control.
But I don’t care.
Not when he’s fucking me like this, grinding harder into me, as he whispers into my ear. "I love being bare inside you, Belle."
Not when every part of me is acutely sensitive to him, every inch of me consumed with how it feels to have him inside me, skin against skin.
Not when all I can think about is the way his piercing feels as it presses against me when he thrusts inside me, bringing me so much higher, so quickly. “Oh my God.”
It’s all I can say.
I lose myself in the raw, overpowering pleasure, not caring enough to try to mute the whimpers that escape my lips.
"Tell me, Belle," he whispers, the guttural undertone of his voice betraying his need. He’s close. I can tell, even more now that he’s bare inside me. His cock is so swollen, so rigid, so hard.
I’m so close. I think if I tell him that, if I speak the words aloud, it will push me over the edge. “I…can’t.”
I barely choke out the words, clinging to the small scrap of lucidity I have left.
He thrusts into me harder. "Tell me, Belle," he says. "I can feel how much you like it."
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
"Yes."
"Your pussy is so swollen for me. It’s so tight, so wet," he says, an edge to his voice that makes every word sound painful.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
"I'm so close," I whisper.
He pauses, his cock throbbing inside me as he looks into my eyes with an intensity I haven’t seen from him until now. But all I can think about is the fact that he’s left me breathless, aching for him.
I arch my hips against him, tighten my legs around him, trying to get him to move. But he doesn’t. When I squeeze my muscles around his cock, he flinches.
"Don't do it, Belle," he warns. "Tell me how much you like fucking me, and I'll fuck you again."
"I love fucking you."
Thrust.
"Tell me again," he says.
"I love fucking you."
Thrust.
"I'm going to take you into my bedroom, and do this all damn night," he says.
"Oh God," I groan. I'm so close.
"This is the sweetest, tightest, wettest pussy," he whispers. "And I'm going to fill it up with my warm cum. Tell me how much you want me to come inside you."
I can't answer. I don’t wait for him, and I don’t wait for permission to come, the way he’s made me wait before.
His words send me hurtling over the edge, the rush so unexpected it takes my breath away. My orgasm washes over me. It’s so overpowering that I start to scream, but he covers my mouth with his, his tongue warring with mine as he thrusts inside me again – once, twice, three times.
When he comes, I feel it. I feel every bit of it. He floods me with his warm seed, and the sensation only intensifies my orgasm.
Afterward, he stands unmoving, still inside me, my legs wrapped around him. We’re frozen in place, neither of us speaking. The only sound that cuts through the stillness in the hallway is the sound of our breathing.
"I'm going to do that again as soon as we get in the room," Albie whispers.
"Okay."
Okay? That's all I can muster?
It’s possible that fucking Albie might have made my IQ drop by ten points.
When he slides me down from the wall, slipping out of me and pulling up his pants, he looks at me approvingly. "You're disheveled," he says.
My hand automatically goes to my hair, then to my mouth, feeling the presence of his lips still on mine. "I feel disheveled."
"It looks good on you," he says. "Like that night in Vegas. You’re meant to be disheveled."
He takes my hand, and I walk with him the ten yards or so to his room, my thighs pressed together.
I can feel his cum dripping from me, and the sensation makes me feel dirty.
I feel filthy and used.
And I think I like it.
The realization shocks me, and I still must look stunned when Albie turns around at the door. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I say, shrugging. This is definitely not something I'm ready to put into words.
"You’re giving me a look."
"Um, I think I need a towel or something."
Albie grins. "That's kind of hot."
"It's kind of gross."
"Hot," he says, pressing his thumb against a keypad at the door. The door swings open, and he quickly walks across the room toward the bathroom. "Make yourself comfortable."
Make yourself comfortable.
Like I'm a guest and not the stepsister he just fucked up against the wall.
Albie reappears with a warm washcloth in his hand, bending down to kiss me while he slides it between my legs. There's something incredibly erotic about the way he moves it over my skin and cleans me.
When he’s finished, he stands. “I’m going to let Noah know I’m indisposed for the next few hours,” he says, turning.
“Wait – what if someone comes looking for me?”
He turns and looks at me with a cocky grin. “Then they’ll find you underneath me, I guess.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Albie
When I come back from giving Noah a bullshit excuse for missing whatever the hell is on the agenda this afternoon – some scheduled activity, no doubt, even though we’re sup
posed to be having a relaxing summer – Belle is naked.
Belle is naked, in my bedroom.
She’s walking toward the bathroom, her perfect ass toward me, and I stand there for a second, watching her.
This is the first time I’ve seen her totally naked.
She turns and looks over her shoulder. “Did you make an excuse for me?” she asks. "Security assigned me a bodyguard, you know."
"I did," I say. "Your bodyguard knows you're here."
"What?" She spins around toward me, looking at me with wide eyes. Her hand is on her hip, her perky breasts visible now that she’s facing me, and I make no attempt to hide the fact that I’m ogling her.
And I don’t make any attempt to conceal the raging hard-on I get from looking at her. She’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.
"Relax," I say. "I told him you're here because we're discussing my involvement with the charity work you're going to be doing."
"In your bedroom," she says, scowling. "Noah isn't stupid."
"No," I agree. I'm sure he suspects something is going on between Belle and I. "But he's very loyal."
She purses her lips for a moment, as if she’s considering leaving. “You’re staring at me like I’m a piece of meat.”
“I haven’t seen you naked before. I’m admiring the view,” I say. “I enjoy looking at what’s mine.”
“Has anyone told you you’re kind of a misogynistic prick?”
“More times than you think.”
She laughs. “I’m not sure I like someone referring to me as his possession,” she says.
“You liked it a few minutes ago,” I say, walking past her and pausing long enough to slap her ass. Just to emphasize the whole misogynistic prick thing. “Besides, I’m just stating a fact.”
She follows me into the bathroom, standing in the doorway as I turn on the water in the oversized tub. “You think owning me is a fact?”
Crossing the room, I keep my eyes on hers as I reach between her legs, my fingers pressing against her clit. When she inhales, her breasts rise, her nipples grazing my chest. “You’re saying it’s not?” I ask. “I thought I left my mark a few minutes ago.”
A crimson flush rises to her cheeks, and she opens her mouth but doesn’t speak.
“Don’t leave your mouth hanging open like that, luv,” I say, crossing the bathroom to shut off the water. “It only tempts me.”
I don’t wait for her to respond before I disrobe and step into the tub.
“A bath?” she asks, watching me from the door.
“Get in.”
She pads across the marble floor with light steps, and dips a foot in the water. “You should stop ordering me around.”
I wait until she sinks into the water to respond. “You should stop doing what I tell you to do.”
Belle sits on the other side of the bathtub, like she’s suddenly chaste and trying to keep something from happening between us. “What?” she asks, when she catches me watching her.
“You’re nervous.”
“This is weird.”
“You mean sitting in a tub with your stepbrother?” I ask. “What could be weird about that?”
“Stop calling yourself that.”
“I only do it because you’re so hung up on it.”
“I’m not hung up on it.”
“Sitting in the tub with my wife, then.”
Belle’s eyes widen, but the corners of her mouth curl up and she splashes me playfully with water. “I told you not to call me that, either.”
“I thought we already established you don’t do the telling here, luv.”
She laughs. “You have some major control issues.”
“I’m a prince,” I say. “What do you expect? And I already know you enjoy being told what to do, despite your protests otherwise.”
“Do not.”
“Come here.”
She smiles and arches an eyebrow. “And what if I don’t?"
"Come over here," I tell her.
It's not a question. There's no trace of a question in my tone.
She studies me for a long time before relenting, sliding across the expansive tub until she's face-to-face with me. "And?"
"Turn around."
"Why?" she asks, but she turns before I can answer. Pulling her back tightly, I press my hardness against her.
"Because I want to feel you against me." I slide my hands over her arms, across her breasts, down her stomach. When my lips hover near her neck, she tilts her head to the side, responding to my touch, and I breathe her in deeply.
"Did you just smell me?"
"No."
"You totally just smelled me. I heard you sniff."
"I like the way you smell."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
She finally relaxes in my arms, as I run my palms over her taut stomach. When she leans her head back against my chest, I sit there, holding her for a long time.
The rational part of my brain tells me I should get the hell out of this bathtub.
I should get the hell away from her.
This feels too much like something more than it can be.
I’m not this man, the one sitting in the bathtub holding a girl like this.