No Perfect Princess

by Angel Payne

  Silence screamed between us.

  As the man seemed to take my words literally. His stare shackled me forever…for a second? For eons…or just minutes? The answers didn’t matter. All my fucked-up feelings didn’t matter. He was all that mattered. The moment of him. The now of him. The wonder of him.

  And then the power of him—

  As he swooped me off my feet and against his strength.

  Was this real? And once more, did I care? I didn’t want to dissect it. Only wanted to grasp the magic of it. This was happening—to me. For once, I was being carried like a treasure. Taken to the bed of the one and only man who’d ever truly mattered to me.

  A lump rose in my throat but I smashed it down by grabbing his head and kissing the hell out of him. There was no way I was going to let emotions fuck up the most amazing night of my life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Michael

  What the hell are you doing?

  It was stuck on repeat in my mind, which obviously hoped something else in my body would get the message. A dim corner of my consciousness fist-pumped in agreement. Christ. What the hell was I doing? This was the behavior of a desperate pussy, not a man who’d gone balls out—literally—for a woman, then left with same balls swinging in the wind—literally—because of a phone call more cryptic than a summons from Tony fucking Soprano.

  Even crazier thing? I’d actually added a mafia plot to the list of possibilities about Margaux’s trip to the cryptic. A mafia plot. What else was my imagination supposed to do but go there, when the woman gave me nothing but one-eighty behavior, lame excuses, and a getaway so fast, it was like a movie spliced on fast edits.

  Even then, I’d actually expected her to call and apologize. Or explain. Or even yell at me about “abducting” her off to the mountain to begin with. She’d dealt a blow even worse. Had pounded down the giant mute button between us again.

  This time, I hadn’t bothered with the calls to banter with Sorrelle. Or the stalker boy visit to her condo. I’d been in pure existence mode, one foot in front of the other, pausing every few days between work-sleep-food to let Keir beat the crap out of me on the beach again. I’d avoided any extended trips to my head or heart, terrified of what I’d find there.

  Petrified of finding out what I knew the second she stood again in my doorway.

  Somehow, in some crazy, idiotic, beyond-logical way, I’d tumbled far over the cliff of crazy for Margaux Asher.

  A fact not helping the current lose-lose I faced.

  Ease her ache, though I had no idea what I was easing—or cut this shit short right now and mitigate the pain while I could?

  The answer came as soon as I swept her into the bedroom, then lowered us both to the bed—and our stares twined deep as rainforest vines again.

  “Mitigate” the pain? Who the hell was I kidding? If I let her walk out now, two hours, or twelve hours from now, it would hurt. Like a motherfucker. So what was the difference—except that getting her naked again might, might, be the right key to unlocking her at last. Yeah, I know, stupid desperation at its finest—but never had I seen her so shaky and unsure, almost as if she wanted me to find that portal and blast it open now.

  There was a damn good chance I’d be miserable after this.

  Like I’d been Buddy the fucking joy-joy elf before?

  Some rides were worth the terror of the first drop.

  I slanted my lips over hers, closed my eyes…and let the zero gravity take over.

  Beneath me, Margaux whimpered. Then moaned. Fuck. She tasted better than I remembered. Felt even more incredible, with her legs tangling with mine, her body fitting against me as if there was a lovers’ version of bespoke tailoring. When a growl left my own throat beyond my cognizance or control, I gave over to the heady haze of discovering her once more.

  “You smell so good,” I rasped into her hair. “You taste so good.” As I licked her neck. “You feel so good…” As I slipped the buttons free on her lacy summer blouse and curved fingers around her breast—

  Until moisture from her face seeped through my stubble.

  “Sugar?” I jerked away a little. “Hey. What’s—”

  “I’m not good,” she blurted.

  “Huh?”

  “Stop telling me I’m good!” She snapped her head and flung a hand across her face, as if ashamed I was even looking at her. “I’m not good, Michael. Nothing’s good right now.”

  Damn. This was better than I’d expected. And worse. Her fissures were more unstable than I’d assumed. I braced myself for her next exposure, unable to do much else. I had no idea what exactly I was preparing for.

  “Can’t we—” she stammered, “just do this—like—”

  “Like what?” I kissed her as I asked it, firm but gentle. Instead of soothing her, it worsened her agitation.

  She snapped her face back, staring hard. “Like we’re animals again.” Her eyes went pure tigress. “The way you know I need it.” So did her lips, reaching for mine, pulling me down in savage bites. “Hard and sweaty and filthy. Make me wet and needy…totally yours to control…before you fuck me until I can’t see.”

  I groaned. The sound was as tormented as I felt. While every instinct in my blood roared to life, ordering me to just oblige the little she-cat and give her the hard pounding she begged for, a shocking percentage of my brain cells were still present and accounted for—shouting a different message entirely.

  What she wanted wasn’t what she needed.

  And dammit, if she was going to walk away into silence again after this, she’d do it with her needs met.

  I began by kissing her again—though purposely kept the dance of our tongues to a minimum. As I expected, Margaux was all for a solid veto on that choice, desperately trying to deepen the contact with every sweep I made inside her mouth. When I sensed her ramping up toward a full growl, I dragged completely away.

  “Mich—”

  Two fingers across her lips, along with the dagger of my frown, sliced her into silence. Her chest immediately pumped, signaling she was actually willing about it. Damn. Her compliant side was such a beautiful sight. For all the hiss and swagger she threw down at the world, it amazed me that no man had figured out how much she needed the tables turned when the lights were lowered and the sheets turned down.

  “Take off your clothes, sugar. Slowly. While I watch.”

  Her face bathed in a deep flush. As it descended over her neck and the cleavage I’d exposed, I hoped to God it didn’t stop there. I pushed up, leaning against the headboard for better sightlines as she unveiled her graceful curves, inch by breathtaking inch.

  When she finally sat before me in just her lacy bra and matching thong—red, of course, and fitted to her like a flawless paint job—she lifted a quiet, serene smile. If I was still smiling at all, it was wiped clean now—as my tongue hit my throat. Dear fuck. This wasn’t the woman’s normal come-hither smirk, practiced on a hundred other lovers. This was a smile just for me, timid yet eloquent, beaming from her eyes and as well as her lips, sucking my breath out in ways I could’ve never imagined.

  Thank God I’d made a pact with myself already. Needs. Needs. Remember her needs.

  “Now the rest.” It serrated up my dry throat and came out a little hoarse. That was going to have to be okay. Nothing wrong with the woman having a clearer understanding of exactly what her beauty did to me.

  As she unhitched her bra, I pulled off my shirt.

  As she slipped off her panties, I unzipped my fly.

  “Damn.” Much worse than the first croak. Like I gave half a fuck. My “verbosity” seemed to touch off a secret amusement in Margaux. She shook her hair, letting it tumble over her breasts, teasing at the dusky perfection of her nipples. Her gaze slinked to the swell beating at the opening in my jeans. Thank God they were old jeans, worn to softness, lending pliancy to my aching erection.

  “Like what you see?” The coy slant of her words was as clear as the emerald glints in her eyes. Yeah, the
come-hither Margaux was back, working an angle at guiding the situation back to what she’d come here for. Wham then stir; thank you, sir. As soon as she got my cock out of my pants, that was going to be a lot easier for her—a fact fully backed when said penis ignored orders from my big head and visibly jerked beneath my briefs, inspiring her to lean forward, hand stretching for the big brass ring, and—

  I clinched a hand around her wrist.

  With careful command, lowered it.

  “I like everything I see.” I pulled her in for the briefest, lightest kiss, finishing by licking along her top lip then her bottom. “But now I’m going to see more.”

  Her brows crunched in an adorable scowl. “Qué, Señor Pearson?”

  I smiled, indulgently. She could cling to the coy—for now. I actually looked forward to the process of prying her from it.

  “Lie back,” I directed, banishing the frog from my tone now. “Right here, in front of me. Knees up. Legs spread. Don’t hide an inch of yourself from me.”

  Not an eep fell out of her now. With a little gobsmacked on her face, she quickly checked mine. I arched a sharp brow. What the hell are you waiting for?

  Inside the next minute, she was in position as I’d asked, fully on display for my gaze. The well-trimmed strip over her mound glistened with dew already. I gave her an approving growl. She giggled and squirmed a little. “So happy to know you approve.”

  “Sshhh.” I swung forward and lightly smacked her mons. “No more words now. No more shielding yourself behind the banter and the snark. Just listen…and comply.”

  A tiny huff. “You expecting a ‘Yes, Sir’ now? Because it’s not—ahhhh!”

  She cried it as I swatted her again. Yeah, right there. Yeah, a little harder. “Listen.”

  She simply nodded. I kissed the tops of both her knees in appreciation before rocking back on my haunches.

  “You have no idea how much I love gazing at your pussy. It’s all the right shades, all the right textures. You know how badly I want to stretch it right now, sugar? How bad my cock is screaming at me to sheath up and screw the pigment out of your eyes?”

  Her moan, long and high and gorgeous, was her only answer. Her hands, now at her sides, twisted into the comforter. Her gaze, heavy-lidded and hot, dropped to the V of my jeans again.

  “You’re wet, Margaux.” I curled a one-sided grin. “You thought about me inside you, and your wicked little mind turned your pussy into a soaked mess for me. Your desire twisted deep inside your body and wrung out this little stream of sweet cream, so shiny for me.” I leaned back a little more, appraising her like a billionaire bidding on a car, pushing a thumb at my lips before dictating, “Show me more. I want to see exactly where my cock is going…that you’re wet everywhere.”

  As if there was a serious doubt in my mind about that—but the effects of my imperious tone on her were unmistakable. I watched her buttocks contract, her hips rock. This was exactly what she needed tonight. Complete surrender. Make me feel safe, Michael. That meant taking every decision from her. All of it. And oh shit, was I willing.

  “Do it, Margaux. Slip your hand there. Spread yourself for me.”

  As she complied, bucking her body higher, she unsheathed her clit. The dark red ridge was a shimmering gem for my gaze, matched by the stunning sight of her deeper tunnel, moist and tight in readiness.

  “Perfect,” I growled. “So fucking perfect.”

  She mewled in reply. Her fingers trembled against her flesh.

  “You want to touch your wicked little clit, Margaux?” When she intensified her cry in a wordless yes, I commanded, “Thank you for being so sweet about the request. But you may not stroke your clit. Use those nasty fingers on your cunt, instead. Fuck into yourself, beautiful girl. Show me exactly what you want my cock to do to you.”

  Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth opened wide, sucking in air to her straining, stunning body. With her thighs constricting and her free hand kneading the comforter, she was a mesmerizing sight of banked sexual heat.

  “Christ,” I rasped. “Look at how beautiful you are. Use two fingers now, sugar. Get them in deep.” I pushed forward again, needing to marvel at the light on her flesh as she creamed harder over her fingers. “So incredible. I could paint you like this.” Except that I was a shitty painter, and wouldn’t get past the base sketch before wanting to slide her fingers from her body and suck them into mine.

  Not a bad idea at all.

  She groaned as I pulled in her flesh, licking down to the sensitive skin between her fingers.

  Again.

  Again.

  Again.

  “Ambrosia,” I praised, unable to get enough of her. The smell of her on my skin heightened the perfume of her pussy in the air, swirling sweetly through my senses…and around my cock. I groaned from the siren temptation of it—as it transformed my erection from a tolerable pound to a deafening thunder.

  It was time.

  Fuck, yes.

  Instead of releasing her hand in order to get free from my pants, I guided it beneath my briefs. Not a single word escaped Margaux’s lips, bewitching me further with the magic of her obedience, especially as it took the form of sighs, moans and erotic little girl growls as she squeezed the pre-come from my pulsing head. My locked teeth and flattened lips surrendered deep grunts as she worked the length of my shaft, proving herself, hands down—pardon the pun—a damn artisan in how to stroke a man right.

  A lead I wasn’t going to let her take tonight.

  This was about her surrender. Her letting go.

  “Enough,” I issued, pushing her back. “Position again. Just like before. But spread your thighs wider.”

  She gave me a fresh version of our private smile before complying completely. That meant I had the VIP upgrade view before even reaching into the nightstand for the condom. While rolling it on, I reveled again in how perfect she was—in how lucky I was—before instructing, “Arms up high, beautiful. Over your head. Make them comfy. This is going to be…quite a ride.”

  She sighed harder while positioning her hands just as I asked. Her fingers twisted into her hair, now a gorgeous mess on the duvet and getting more so with her impatient writhing. I simply watched her for a moment, pretty damn proud of her. This was taking more courage than she let on, the control freak ice princess giving in to the blaze of pure surrender, but she was doing it. Goddamn, how she was doing it…

  My cock bloomed with more pre-come, a not-so-subtle reminder that the time to get poetic was far past. About fucking time.

  I pressed in, seating myself between her legs, fitting my cock to her entrance…locking my hands atop her wrists. Her face was the precious prize before mine, and I kissed her with deep languor while probing her sex with my own. Then a scraping bite. Another easy thrust. A thorough roll of tongues. Another teasing push.

  Though Margaux moaned and shuddered every time I entered her again, her breasts were soon heaving from frantic breaths, and her heels dug into my back. “Ahhh,” she groaned. “Ahhh, God. M-M-Michael!”

  “Sssshhhh.” I captured her lips in another long tongue tangle. “Take your fucking like a good girl.”

  “But—but I need to—”

  “I know what you need. Soften for me, Margaux. Surrender to me. Take my cock in whatever way I give it to you.”

  She pulled in air deeply through her nose. “I—I trust you.”

  “Then let go for me, too. Know that I’ll make this good.” I plunged in a little deeper, then swiveled. Retreated and entered, swiveled again. I saw what it did for her, and smiled. Just because she liked the tempo all hard and fast didn’t mean she couldn’t see the beauty in slow and steady.

  Beauty summed this shit up pretty damn good, too…at least with the effect it had on her incredible, classic face. I was spellbound by how different she looked when she wasn’t trying to make a point or prove something. Softer, lovelier—yet never more brilliant and full of life, as she grew fuller and fuller with me.

  For
maybe the first time in her life, she wasn’t obsessed with fighting a thing.

  Which meant she was free to embrace everything.

  “Michael!”

  When she burst with the scream, my spirit soared in victory. I meshed our hands while finally increasing the tempo to help her ride out the orgasm—and push mine to its final detonation temperature.

  “Yeah, princess. I know. I—I—”

  My groan made the rest impossible. I came with brutal intensity, white dots bursting behind my eyelids as I emptied myself with shattering completion.

  Completion.

  Holy. Shit.

  As much as it took every sensation of the moment and rolled it in vats of fucking corn meal, the word fit…with everything. Everything.

  Margaux Asher…

  Completed me.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or puke my guts out. Neither was the right call, considering that my dick still pulsed against her walls, and I’d barely relented my lock on her wrists. Afterglow, asshole. Remember? The minutes you have to cuddle her and kiss her, or at least high-five her. In this woman’s case, maybe all three.

  But I couldn’t look at her without thinking it. Without knowing it.

  Without wanting it.

  Dammit.

  “Hey.” Her breathy little summons was another twist to my mental torture rack. “You still here?” At my nod, she persisted, “Really? Because you look like you’re walking to the damn guillotine.”

  I shook my head. “Princess, one shouldn’t even joke about ‘off with his head’ when you’ve got a guy in this position.”