Chapter Ten
Claire
I don’t look at Michael when I get back to my seat, but I can feel his eyes on me. Everyone’s eyes are on me. This is the part I’ve been dreading all week. I close my own eyes to give myself a moment’s reprieve from all the congratulations and hand shaking that is sure to come my way.
As honored as I am by the award, I didn’t seek it out. The spotlight was never my goal, and now that Mrs. Walker is moving into her final remarks, all I really want to do is get away from the crowd.
“Hey,” says a low voice in my ear. Michael has pulled his chair in close. “You doing okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
Mrs. Walker has stopped talking and the room erupts in applause.
“Can you get me out of here?” I ask as I keep my eyes on my napkin. I seem to have twisted the life out of it.
I hazard a glance at his beautiful face, and I am so glad I did. In so many ways he is still a stranger, but everything about him is warm and comforting and supportive. He takes my hand in his and strokes his thumb over my knuckles.
“You should probably greet your fans. I think there are a lot of people who’d like to say hello. You should soak up the attention.”
“You’re the only one whose attention I’m interested in.”
His eyes flash, so I guess my meaning is clear. “Then we’ll make our way straight through the crowd. You’ll feel my hand on your back the whole way. Shake hands as you go. Accept their congratulations. And then, when we get to the end, make a dash for the front desk. I still need to check in.”
Michael
As we rise from our seats, there’s an immediate crush of people; first the couples at our table, then the rest of the room seems to collapse around us. I keep a slight but constant pressure on Claire’s back as she accepts congratulations and thank-yous, moving steadily through the throng, until we’ve reached the outer edge near the concierge.
A minute later, we’re riding the elevator up to the twentieth floor. As soon as the door slides open, she’s walking backward down the hall, tearing at my tie before we’ve even reached the room. The buttons on my shirt are undone before we’re inside and I’ve turned the lock.
“Thank you,” she says, peppering my face and neck with kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t think I could have survived all of that without you.”
I shuck my jacket onto the floor and yank my shirttails out of my pants. “Oh, I’m sure your cousin, boy-Jacob, or even ‘geriatric man’ could have got you through that crowd of rabid fans just as quickly as I did.”
She shoots me a brief but curious look that’s quickly replaced by a sly smile that grabs me by the balls. “But none of them could have relaxed me so well beforehand.”
This reminder pulls a groan out of me. “Definitely not.”
“And I don’t want to see any of them naked.” She pulls my shirt off my shoulders then undoes my pants. Once she’s got me naked in front of her, she takes a small step back to admire her work.
If I wasn’t hard before, that awestruck look on her face finishes me off. “Glad to hear that, Princess.”
Her gaze flicks up from my engorged cock to my eyes. “If you didn’t pick up on that speech Mrs. Walker gave, I’ve never been much of a princess.”
I step forward so my chest grazes hers. Her nipples harden through the fabric of her dress. “You’ll always be a princess to me.”
She drags the back of her hand down my chest and over my abs, turning her hand to cup my side.
I pull her into my arms as much to hold her as to reach the zipper that runs down her back. Once undone, the dress falls from her body like the shedding of a skin, and she stands in front of me in a black corset and silver high-heeled sandals.
Fuck. This woman. So fucking beautiful.
“Can I keep seeing you?” It’s not a question I usually ask at this point in the evening, but I’ve got to know right now. I need to make this woman mine. For real. Not just for tonight.
“Of course.”
“How do you feel about roadhouses?” God, why am I still talking when we should be fucking?
She steps closer and whispers in my ear as she palms me. “I have a running beer tab at PJ’s.”
“Christ,” I say, responding to her words as much as the warmth of her hand as it wraps around my cock. I thrust into her hand. “You’re perfect.”
“Show me how perfect, Michael.”
I don’t need to be told twice. She gasps at how quickly I move. In half a second I have her pressed against yet another wall, then I drop to my knees in front of her. Worshipping her like the goddess that she is.
All I want is to taste her again, to drink her in. I look up. Her creamy breasts are heaving over the top of her corset. Her eyes are locked with mine, waiting to see what I have planned for her. I spread her folds open and—damn!
“Do you always get this wet, this fast?” I stroke my finger slowly through her core.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and her words came out as barely more than a whisper. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?” I keep at her with my finger, and she arches her back against the wall. I kiss her inner thigh.
“It’s been a two-year dry spell before you.”
I kiss her other thigh, and she squirms as my ’stache tickles her skin. “A woman like you should never have a dry spell.”
I mean for this to be all about her but as soon as my tongue swipes through her folds, a feral growl rips out of me. If the sweet taste of her wasn’t enough, it pulls up the memory of watching her come in my truck, how she dragged her wet fingertip across my lip. It was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced, and it causes me to dive in like a man starved.
I suck, and lick, and taste, and fuck her with my tongue—I devour her—until her back arches and her fingers scrape at my scalp; air hisses through her teeth, and her hips rock against my mouth.
I keep at her. I don’t let up. Not even when she’s saying she can’t take it anymore.
“Don’t give up yet, Princess. I want you to come on my tongue.”
I look up and her eyelids are fluttering. One of her hands is flattened against the wall, and her fingernails scratch at the textured wallpaper. She’s on the edge, and the sight of her is sheer heaven.
My tongue finds her clit again. It’s swollen under her hood, and I circle it once while my hands dig into her thighs. She groans, and I draw out her pleasure. It’s as much for me as it is for her, and the scent of her in my nose—as it has been all night—is going to make me come right where I kneel.
She’s panting. Her right hand finds the back of my head and holds me to her, as if I’d ever want to leave this sweetness. I keep at it, building friction, until she cries out and claws at my shoulders.
“Come for me, Princess. Don’t hold back. Do it.”
And she does.
She screams as her release shatters through her body. It’s like surfing a tidal wave. Her hips jerk against my mouth, then her knees buckle. It’s all I can do to keep her upright while my own thoughts scatter at the sheer intensity of it all. Who knew someone else’s pleasure could rock my world so hard?
I stand, as she slumps against the wall. Then I lift her limp and sated body into my arms. “I’m not done with you yet.”
She circles her legs around me and I reach between us, gripping my cock and directing it into her slick, wet canal. Even as drenched as she is, I still feel her stretch over me, and I have to clench my teeth against the sheer ecstasy of it.
We say nothing, but gasp against each other’s mouths, letting the satisfaction of our joining sink in. The frantic pawing is over for now. I want to give her time to recover because—as soon as I get her into the bed—I mean to make her come again.
She grins at me once her breathing settles, and I take that as my signal. She doesn’t lose an inch of me—even as I lay her on the bed—then I start to move, slowly sliding out. When the frustration of my absence shows on her face, I slide home again. God, so sweet.
“Holy shit,” she says.
“Fuck, yeah.” I pull out again, taking my time, until only my tip remains nestled in her tight, wet heat. I hold there, for as long as I can stand it, which isn’t long. I need to be inside her. Now.
I thrust, closing my eyes to feel her along every inch of me. God. So good.
“Baby.” Her fingers grip my biceps like she’s holding on for dear life.
I angle up, and she flinches when I hit the same spot that made her come before. I pull back again, not wanting to get us there so quickly, but then I lose all control and slam into her, this time right up to the hilt. “Fuck!”
“Yes.” She lifts her hips and digs her heels into my ass. “Fuck me. Make me yours.”
All bets are off now. My hands anchor her hips to the mattress, holding her still so she can feel the full force of my merciless pounding. Her legs squeeze my sides, her muscles spasm as she draws me deeper, rocking into my thrusts, gasping against my mouth.
I palm her breast, rolling the hard little nipple each time I fill her. Her juices are spilling out over my balls. Her obvious pleasure sends a blistering jolt of electricity right up my spine as I feel her muscles tighten, sucking me deeper, deeper into her body.
“Michael!”
“Don’t hold it back. Feel it. Feel me.”
“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I’m going to come again. How?”
“Then come, Princess. Do it. Do it now!”
She cries out as she comes for the fourth time today. Her tight pussy convulses around my cock like a vise grip. I pick up my pace, slamming into her, moving her up the mattress with each thrust until she has to press one palm against the headboard to keep from going through the wall.
Claire’s nails scrape down my back to my ass, and my heavy balls pull up. I’m like a fucking machine, and the more I work, the longer her orgasm pulses on. It won’t fucking stop.
I’ve never felt anything like it, and it’s my undoing. I push up on my arms and shoot into her, over and over, filling her pussy with my cream as her aftershocks continue to pulse around me, milking me dry.
When my balls are finally empty, I shudder and collapse onto her sweat-slicked body. We both lie there. Limp. In each other’s arms.
For a while, I think we both might be dead. Then I grow conscious of my hammering heart and the feel of her fingers slowly stroking through my hair.
I test my lungs. Yes. I’m still breathing. This is good. Very good.
She lifts her hips, and I roll off her. She rolls with me, snuggling into my side with her arm draped over my chest. I’m exhausted. My body feels like it’s made of concrete. I have a half-conscious thought about getting a washcloth and cleaning us both up, but I can’t move.
A minute later, I’m on the cusp of sleep when she swirls her finger through the hairs on my chest. “So,” she says.
A small smile pulls at my lips. I guess she likes to talk after sex. My smile gets even bigger when I realize I’d talk to her forever if that’s what she wanted.
“So?” I ask.
“Why did you ask how I felt about roadhouses?”
I laugh internally at the realization that all this time, she’s been thinking while I’ve been on the verge of needing life support. “Nothing important.”
“You think we’re too different, don’t you?”
I open my eyes and turn my head. Her hair is a mess; her expression is worried. There’s no need for her to worry. I won’t be gone in the morning. “No, Princess.”
“You said you wanted to see me again, but you’re not sure we really will.” Now she sounds accusatory.
I drag my finger down her nose, then lean in to kiss her lips. When I pull back, her face has softened.
“Earlier... This afternoon... Yeah, I thought we might be too different for us to work, but I still would have seen you again.”
“You would have? Why?”
“I figured...” I kiss her one more time. “Worst-case scenario...” I kiss her again. “We’d catch up whenever your Mercedes was in need of a repair.”
Her eyes go wide, and she pushes up on her elbow. “But who knows when that would have been?”
Her alarm pulls a laugh out of me, and I get her to lie back down again. “Soon, Princess.”
“Soon?”
I tighten my arm around her and kiss the top of her head. “I may have told Jimmy to leave your distributor cap a little on the loose side.”
“But...” She lifts her head off my chest, and she blinks in disbelief. “I might not have come back to your garage to have it looked at.”
Now I really laugh. “Yes, you would have.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because you want me as badly as I want you. Haven’t you ever read a fairytale? The princess always gets her prince.”
She makes a little snort at that and snuggles back in. “Princes aren’t real. At least, not in America.”
I don’t know if it’s intentional or done subconsciously, but her hand grazes over my abs, going lower until she’s cupped my balls, claiming them as her own.
My very willing cock swells in response. “And you wanted a real man, Princess?”
She gives me an affirmative squeeze.
“That’s good. Because I’m as real as they come.” I roll onto her and take her mouth. She lets her knees fall apart and kisses me back. Her one hand slides into my hair while the fingers of her other hand come up to trace the side of my ’stache.
When I feel the heat rolling off her pussy, I groan down her throat, feeling inspired. “How many times can you get your engine revved in one day?”
“Don’t know,” she says, smiling against my mouth.
“Then buckle up, Princess. We’re about to find out.”
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