Her tongue licked him inside her mouth, and she closed her eyes as if she liked it.
He pumped into her, feeling the heat of her mouth and the tight barrier of her throat against the head of his cock.
No need to draw this out.
Dieter let himself go, and the world whited out except for his fingers tangled in her hair and her hot mouth around his cock, a moment of silence and blazing fire.
He breathed air in, returning.
His balls clenched tightly to his body and pulsed down her throat.
He held her mouth on himself, making her swallow, and then dragged her backward and shoved her down on the bedsheets.
“But I thought—” she said. “I thought guys couldn’t—”
He crawled up her smooth body, kissing her deeply, somehow still ravenous for her. His hands explored her body, discovering her curves and hollows, the soft rounds of her breasts and the tight buds of her nipples. His mouth followed, tonguing and sucking her until she was writhing and panting.
He was hard again, and he wanted to drive himself into her.
Instead, he lowered himself down her taut belly, pressing his mouth to her sex to tongue her folds and the nub that made her thighs shiver around his head and shoulders.
She reached down and threaded her fingers through his hair, moaning again.
God, that sound.
He touched her opening, pressing one finger into her. He rubbed her, gently, inside.
Another moan, lower this time.
He rubbed his tongue over her folds, then pressed his whole mouth to her skin and sucked and caressed her like a deep French kiss.
Her hands tightened in his hair, and she gasped, straining her hips, and a scream ripped from her throat as she pulsed against his mouth, her thighs shaking over his shoulders.
Her channel clenched his finger, throbbing inside.
He wanted to feel her come around his cock so much that he had to fight not to grab her hips and thrust himself inside her.
Dieter backed off, sucking gently, keeping her orgasm at a throbbing peak.
She gasped and tried to get away from him, but he pressed his finger deeper inside her until his fist rocked against her opening, and he rubbed the flat of his tongue on her as her hips bucked.
Her hands left his hair, and she grabbed the pillow around her head, completely mindless as she strained, orgasming again, and harder.
Dieter kept doing it to her, holding her at the peak, for more pulses and licks until her exhausted body collapsed under his hands and mouth.
Yeah, that was how he liked his women to be afterward, not hurting and bleeding, but semi-conscious and panting, trying futilely to recover as they stared at the ceiling like they were seeing God.
He loved seeing women look like that, shaken and out of their minds from what he had done to them.
And now, with the woman who had been Flicka in his bed, he wanted to do that to her again and again. He wanted to tie her down and never let her regain her breath. He wanted to possess her body with his hands, his mouth, and his rod.
If she’d been an experienced woman, he would have flipped her over, dragged her to the edge of the bed, and taken her ass while she was still flying.
But she wasn’t. So he didn’t.
This time.
Flicka’s blond hair was tangled in her fingers across the pillow. A fine sheen of silver sweat covered her skin. “Oh, my God.”
Dieter crawled up her body and folded her into his arms.
She was shaking, and she clung to him. “I’ve never—” she gasped. “Not like that.”
“We need to remedy that.”
“Did you—” She swallowed and buried her face in his shoulder. “Did you do it?”
“No. Our first time together shouldn’t hurt.”
“But I wanted you to be my first.”
His hands roamed her body, stroking her satiny skin and threading through her silken hair. Afterward, he loved to look at the women, loved to touch them, caress their breasts and thighs, whisper the dark thoughts that swam in his mind, and soothe them until they fell asleep in his arms. It was almost a fetish with him, to continue his dominion over their bodies even after he’d taken them, for hours.
He whispered, “Oh, I will take you, but not tonight. This isn’t a one-night thing, not for me. I’m going to make you come like that every night after we come back here, and some mornings and afternoons, too, until you respond to my touch so hard that you’ll come when I take you for the first time. And the first time I take your ass, too.”
Flicka had stopped breathing, and she stared at him with wide, green eyes. The corners of her mouth turned up, the slightest suggestion of a smile.
“Okay,” she said, her voice breathless.
Dieter told her, “Out there, you may be a royal princess who could have ruled the world, but in my bedroom, you’re mine.”
Not Her First Time
Flicka von Hannover
It was the best year
of my life.
Flicka wafted through the next week like a dream.
Out in the world, she was Prinzessin Friederike Augusta, a ridiculously wealthy young woman with massive responsibilities to her charities and pressure from attending one of the most elite music conservatories in the world.
In his bedroom, she was his, and she didn’t have to think about all that.
In their apartment, he allowed her all the time she needed to work, but he was always there.
When he walked by, he let one of his fingers drift down her spine or caressed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.
At school, while driving, and at events, Dieter behaved just like he had always been: aloof, strong, and watching the area around her for danger.
At home, Dieter was just like he had always been, too. He studied hard at his antique desk in the corner and grinned at her piano theatrics when he thought she wasn’t looking.
He still rubbed her feet while they watched the BBC sports recap every night.
But some things were different.
The next morning, when she was making coffee for them like she always did, Dieter stood behind her and dragged his fingertips under the cotton of her nightshirt, touching her thighs.
She’d gone shock-still, waiting.
His minty breath brushed the back of her neck, and the warmth of his body seeped through her jammie shirt.
His voice was deeper as he said, “I never noticed how good you smell.”
Should Flicka joke about shampoo and regularly showering? Knowing all the basic personal hygiene practices?
His fingers drifted higher, over her hips and the sides of her panties, and she forgot her smartass comment.
His hands flattened over her stomach and side. “And how soft your skin is.”
He stepped closer to her, his chest brushing the backs of her shoulders.
Flicka leaned back, laying her head on his shoulder.
His hands moved up, and his lips touched her neck.
Flicka breathed. Was this it? Was her first time going to be in the morning? She’d always thought her first time would be at night after dinner and something romantic and something else. She wasn’t sure what those things were because she had never done this before, but people shagged in the morning, too, right?
Dieter turned her around and kissed her, his hands still on her waist under her shirt. He kissed her until she was dizzy. He kissed her until she sighed. He kissed her until she moaned against his lips on her throat.
When she did that, his hands tightened on her skin, and he turned her around and pressed her chest and face down on the chilly marble countertop of their small kitchen. The smooth stone chilled her cheek.
He flipped her tee shirt up and ran his hands over her ass and thighs.
Flicka closed her eyes and clutched the counter.
The calluses on his hands were rough on her skin as he stroked her flesh, slowly tugging her panties down her legs and pushing her thi
ghs apart.
Rustling rippled the air, and Dieter’s hands changed position on her hips as his shoulders lowered behind her.
His lips touched her spine, sucking on her skin as he kissed his way down to her tailbone, and then farther.
His mouth pressed against the inside of her thigh. Flicka opened her eyes. The sunshine coming in the window warmed her hand, shining on her blond hair that had flipped over her face.
Dieter mouthed her skin upward, nipping her skin at the tops of her thighs, and his tongue slid through her folds.
Flicka arched her back, and her panting breath became a moan.
The sound seemed to be a signal to Dieter, and he rocked his mouth against her folds and the bright spot of pleasure near the front somehow, driving his tongue deep inside her.
Flicka scraped her nails on the cold marble countertop as he pushed into her, a warm, soft invasion that made her body tighten.
His arm circled her waist, and he stroked her from the front with his fingers, each touch deeper in her folds.
Her body clenched with each stroke of his hand and tongue, spiraling more tightly.
Dieter massaged her, a firm, slow movement that forced her over the edge with an authoritative push, and waves lifted her as she floated.
Bliss carried her, and she clung to the counter as her legs shook around his tongue and hand.
Her forehead pressed against the cold marble as she tried to slow her breathing. If she backed up in the slightest, she would fall.
Dieter wrapped his arms around her and dragged her to standing, and he spun her around so that he held her to his chest.
Flicka grabbed him around his neck and hung on until her pounding heart slowed.
His strong arms held her up when her legs would have let her fall.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve got you.”
Terms and Conditions
Flicka von Hannover
Lieblingwächter, always.
Thursday evening, Flicka was practicing for her final exams in piano performance coming up in a few weeks, pounding the keyboard and consumed by the music.
The slightest shadow fell over her keyboard, and warmth touched her back.
“Dieter?” she asked.
His fingertips stroked down her arms. “We need to talk.”
She wrenched her headphones off her head. Dread fell through her that he was already regretting starting this affair with her. “Okay.”
“There have to be some rules,” he said.
Relief.
She leaned back, feeling his heavy muscles through their clothes. It was springtime outside, so she was wearing a sundress. The thin cotton of her dress and his tee shirt and jeans did nothing to slow the heat of his body. “Okay.”
“You need to see a doctor.”
“Done. I’ve been on pills for three months.”
His pause spoke volumes. “What?”
“I can show you the half-empty packet I have in my bathroom.”
He ran a hand through his blond hair, and he looked somewhere on the other side of the room as if the answers might be somewhere over there. “You’ve been thinking about us for three months?”
She looked up at him from where she sat, and his gray eyes stared down at her. “I’ve been thinking about us for years.”
“Okay.” He sucked in a breath. “All right. I need to call in one of the other Welfenlegion to be your primary bodyguard.”
“Absolutely not!”
“Flicka, I can’t be with you and be your personal protection at the same time. It’s a conflict of interest.”
“Nonsense. The conflict of interest comes when you’re guarding someone and dating someone else in the principal party. In that case, you might protect the person you have a relationship with at the expense of the person you’re supposed to be guarding.”
A smile curved one side of Dieter’s mouth. “Dammit, you have been listening to me.”
She smiled back at him. “All the time, Lieblingwächter. All the time.”
“It’s unprofessional to be involved with any principal at all.”
“When we’re out there, I know better than to ask you to carry my purse or snog in public. Your hands and eyes must be free to protect me. I understand that. We’ve always had that understanding. What we do when we’re here, when you’re off duty, is no one’s business but our own.”
“It’s ill-advised. I’m too old for you. You’re too young. You’re a princess, and I’m a soldier in your older brother’s private army.”
She’d been preparing for those arguments. “None of that matters one bit to me.”
“It will matter to other people.”
“Then they don’t matter one bit to me.”
“You don’t know what it will be like, Durchlauchtig. People can be savage.”
Flicka laughed out loud. “I went to boarding school and hung out in the upperest of upper-class society. Don’t tell me about cliques, personal politics, and drama llamas. I’m an expert.”
He frowned, and his hands clenched at his sides. “If we try this, it has to be a secret from everyone.”
“Okay, fine,” she gave in.
He slid his hands up her shoulders, stroking her neck. “You can’t tell Wulfram, for the love of God. You can’t tell your girlfriends. You can’t dance around the suggestion that you might have a secret lover.”
She nodded as his firm hands stroked down her back to her ribs. She would have agreed to anything.
“You have to go out with other men. You have to dance with them at these balls and cotillions you go to. I can’t dance with you. I’ll be on duty.”
His hands dipped farther, grasping her hips. She nodded again, almost unable to hear what he was saying.
“Out there, I’m your bodyguard. I’m a personal protection professional, and that’s all.”
“Lieblingwächter,” she whispered.
“In here, you’re mine. I’ll make love to you, and you’ll be my Durchlauchtig.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
“But no one can know, ever. I’m begging you, Flicka.”
“No one cares whether or not I’m a virgin anymore, Dieter. That’s so eighteenth century.”
“No, but they might use your youthful indiscretion with a bodyguard against you in some way. It’s the oldest cliché in the fairy tale: the princess sleeping with her bodyguard. I don’t want you to be a joke.”
Flicka’s heart caught as she recognized the truth in it, but she didn’t want to admit it. “No, it’s not like that at all—”
“And I’m supposed to be a professional,” he continued. “It’s unprofessional to sleep with your client, or actually, your client’s younger sister.”
“One more time.” She let some steel enter her voice. “I am a grown woman. I am twenty years old. My body is not my brother’s property nor a feudal bargaining chip, and I will not be treated like it.”
“He trusts me to not take advantage of you.”
Flicka kneeled on her padded piano bench. “Stop treating me like I belong to someone else or am a child. I’m Flicka von Hannover, I’m an adult, and if I want to take a man to bed, I will.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard.
Dieter didn’t hesitate.
He picked her up with his arms behind her back and her knees and carried her to his bedroom.
When he carried her like that, she felt small and delicate, which was funny considering that she was usually the tallest woman in the room, a tad shy of five-feet-eleven.
Dieter lifted her far off the ground and held her close in his burly arms. Everything about him was tall and muscular and ripped and oversized.
Everything.
Seriously, a few days before, she’d almost choked to death, and she hadn’t even sucked down half of it.
He laid her down on the bed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She grabbed fistfuls of the crisp fabric of his s
hirt, trying to drag him down to kiss her.
“This weekend,” he said. “We’ll order dinner in and have a glass of wine.”
“Tonight,” Flicka said, still clutching his shirt. “Now.”
“Let’s wait. We’ll make it special.”
“It is special. You’re special. I don’t want to wait anymore. Make love to me.”
Her words seemed to change something in him because his inhale was sharp, almost shocked, and a shiver ran through him like a current.
He kissed her, leaning over from where he was standing, and he pulled his shirt and shoes off before he lay beside her on the wide bed.
She ran her palms over his chest. His silky hair below his collarbones felt like satin, and it tapered to a fine trail between his abs and downward.
His gray eyes were already unfocused from passion. “Flicka—”
She kissed him, hard, wrapping her arms around his neck and fitting her body against his.
The fuzzy lust left his gray eyes, and his gaze sharpened until he was a laser focused on her.
Dieter slipped his arms around her, holding her. He kissed her more deeply, his tongue stroking hers between their lips, and rolled her over on her back. He tented his arms around her head and kissed her so hard that her heart thumped in her chest.
She pushed her hips up, seeking more of his skin.
But he didn’t let her. He held her down and kissed her until she was thrashing on the bed, trying to get her dress and his pants off. His hands were everywhere, stroking and gripping her breasts and hips and the round swells of her ass.
Her head spun with his touch and the faint, masculine musk of his body, and she felt drunk as hell even though she hadn’t had a sip that whole day.
When he let her sit up, he stripped her dress off and pushed his pants away, and they were skin to skin. She wrapped her leg around his sinewy thigh, desperate to touch him.
His breath was ragged, too, but his gray eyes watched her like a hawk watches prey.
He grabbed her hair and dragged her head back to press his mouth to her throat. The warmth of his breath on her skin stunned her.
In Shining Armor Page 8
