Peach

This couch is worn and the cushion flat, like the rest of the palace, and my leg is squeezed between the back of it and Viktor’s side, my other leg dangerously close to slipping off the edge. We could be upstairs in a massive bed in under a minute.

But there’s something insistently sweet about Viktor’s kiss tonight.

It’s slower. Softer. More thorough.

His hands are making a leisurely exploration of my entire body. From shoulder to fingertip. Neck to ass and around over my thighs. Up my ribs. Cupping my breasts, then dragging his fingers across my collarbone and up my neck.

Handling me as delicately as if I were an antique porcelain doll.

As if I’m precious.

As if I’m his. His to protect and savor, every inch.

Which is oddly more of a turn-on than his thick, hard cock nestled perfectly between my thighs.

He’s seducing me in slow, subtle degrees. Making love to my entire body instead of going for the obvious spots.

My breasts ache for his attention, and my panties are already so wet I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.

He likes me wet.

I like me wet.

Wet and ready and hungry for carnal release with a man who’s learned my body and knows how to use his royal scepter.

“Are you quite comfortable?” he murmurs as he trails a line of kisses over my jaw to suckle my skin beneath my ear.

I gasp as he rides that line between utter bliss and tickling me. “Yeaash,” I manage.

He strokes my trapped leg, as much as he can reach. “Even here?”

His fingers light up my skin, even through my pajama pants, and I manage to gurgle out a nnneerrgh.

“Ah, that won’t do,” he says.

With a lift and a twist, he’s settling me gently on the rug on the floor. One of the throw pillows goes under my head, and then he’s kissing his way down my neck. “May I remove your shirt, my lady?”

It’s such a Viktor question, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t adore him for asking. “Only if you do it with your teeth,” I reply.

“Ah, a challenge.” His smile flickers in the dim light, and those dimples—gah. I cannot resist those dimples. “Shall I start with your arms, or your hem?”

Only Viktor. He’s the most unexpected combination of hilarious and sweet and sexy as fuck. “My arms.”

He shifts for an angle at my sleeves, and his teeth graze my inner elbow. “You surprise me, my lady.”

“Do I?”

“I was quite convinced you’d demand I attempt the impossible with pulling it off by the neck.”

The thought of him trying to use his teeth to drag my shirt over my chin makes me laugh. He licks my upper arm on his way to my sleeve, and my laugh catches in my throat, because it’s a feather-light touch of his tongue that’s leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He takes my hand while he bites my sleeve, and guides my arm through the hole.

And then he leaves me trapped, my hand sticking out while my arm is tucked at my side like a chicken wing. “Viktor.”

“Patience, my lady,” he instructs while he moves to trap my other arm the same way.

I could get out. Maybe. The cotton is stretched pretty tight.

But I’m curious.

And I trust him.

Holy Thor.

I completely trust him.

He lifts my hem with his teeth, then drops it, and smooths his hand over my belly before dipping his tongue to my belly button. My entire body is humming in anticipation, and I arch into his mouth.

His fingers settle at my waistband. “May I?” he asks as he tugs the strings of my pajama pants.

“Please,” I gasp, because now his nose is tickling my belly button while his lips are drifting lower, and I don’t care how he gets to my pussy, I want him there.

He lifts his heavy-lidded gaze, surveys my chest and my hands flapping out of my arms, and he smirks.

Thor, I love that smirk.

Especially when he smirks right on my lower abdomen as he tugs my pants down my hips.

I huff out a laugh until he presses a kiss to the apex of my thighs, and then I’m gasping for sheer pleasure again. “Viktor—we should—someone could—”

“’Twould serve them right.” He punctuates the sentence with another hot kiss to my panties over my clit. “And I daresay amuse the dickens out of them as well. Your hands are quite the sight.”

“You—aaah,” I finish on a sigh as he licks the satin over my seam.

“Do tell me if you become quite bored.”

As if that’s possible with his mouth teasing my clit and his fingers stroking the edges of my panties between my thighs. My legs fall open wider, and I tilt my hips to offer him a better angle.

“More, my lady?”

“Eat my panties off.”

“You’re quite obsessed with my mouth.”

“I like to keep it busy so you can’t talk.”

He chuckles, and the reverberations against my clit almost make me come on the spot.

“You wish me to remove your undergarments?” he asks, right there with his nose and his lips hitting all the best places through my panties.

“Yes,” I gasp.

“With my mouth?” He stroked my inner thigh again, and this time, I barely whimper out an mm-hmm, because it’s all I can force through my lips with him talking against my panties.

“And then you would have me lick and stroke your fanny?”

This man and his European slang. I’m caught between laughing and losing my breath again. “Viktor—”

“Ah, a thousand apologies, madam. Your peach blossom.”

“You are not—”

“Oh, my lady, I am quite funny,” he assures me.

And Thor help me, I can’t stop the laugh. He is.

In his own way, he’s very funny. I squirm to try to reclaim control of my hands, but my shirt is stretched as tight as it will go, and then Viktor strokes a finger inside my panties, right over my seam, teasing my entrance “You’re quite wet, my lady.”

“Deeper,” I gasp. “Viktor, more.”

He bites my waistband and tugs my panties down. His nose brushes my clit, and I buck off the ground.

“The lady approves?”

“Touch me.”

He finishes stripping me out of my panties, settles between my legs again, and licks me back to front with his flat, hot tongue, then flicks at my clit.

“Oh, god, Viktor, more.”

He thrusts two fingers in and out of my pussy while he nips and sucks at that hot bundle of nerves as anticipation throbs and hums in time with my heartbeat, tightening and spiraling and climbing, hotter, deeper, faster. My hips are jerking against his mouth, his fingers are thrusting deeper, and I’m crying out incoherently, the ugly chandelier above me swaying in my vision until I shatter with a massive starburst deep within, clenching and pounding and squeezing, Viktor urging me deeper with a crook of his fingers and a hard suck of my clit.

I cry his name.

I strain so hard a seam rips on my pajama shirt.

And my release crashes over me and through me, my vision a hazy white with pink glitter hearts swimming through it, wave after wave after wave of undiluted bliss pulsating in my core until my body goes limp on the rug. “Holy fucking hell,” I manage to whisper.

“I’ve passed then?” Viktor murmurs. He kisses his way up my stomach, bites the edge of my shirt again, and drags his torso along mine while he pulls my shirt over my neck and chin.

And leaves it there.

The bottom of my shirt is draped over my face, blocking my view.

And trapping my arms even harder with only my hands still sticking out of my sleeves.

I heave out a laugh. “What are you—oh.”

He licks a trail around my nipple, and goosebumps erupt over my entire body. Even on my butt cheeks.

“Viktor—”

“’Tis so rare I get the opportunity to fully appreciate your body,” he murmurs while he traces the swell of my other breast. “The lovely curves and exquisite silkiness of your skin. I rather like having you at my mercy. I wonder if I could bring you to climax merely by teasing your breasts.”

“I d-doubt it,” I rasp out.

“A challenge, my lady?”

“You’re s-smirking again.”

“I do so love a challenge.”

I’ve never loved men playing with my breasts, but Viktor doesn’t try to juggle them, or assume biting the very tips of my nipples is all it would take. Instead, he loves all of my breasts, taking his time stroking and licking the underside, exploring my sides, taking my entire nipple into his mouth and working my sated body back into a frenzy with two hard sucks.

“Need—arms—” I pant, and in one fluid motion, he’s pulled my shirt the rest of the way off.

I grasp him by the hair and pull him up until I can claim his mouth, wrapping my legs around his hips and holy fucking god of thunder, I think his erection grew three sizes today.

And he’s still wearing all his clothes.

“You—naked—now,” I order. I’m pawing at his shirt, at the buttons, because I need to feel his skin on mine.

I need to be close to him. Closer.

As close as we can be.

I need to know he’s as desperate to be inside me as I am to have him inside me.

I don’t know why I’m craving him so badly, I just know I want more. It’s not enough yet. I need—

I need everything.

He goes up on his knees and sheds both his dress shirt and his undershirt. His abs ripple, his pecs and shoulders bunch and flex, and my mouth goes dry.

No wonder half the maids blush when he walks by.

He’s so fucking hot.

He’s also mine.

I attack his belt like it’s a snake trying to steal the goods before I can get to them. He grabs my hands. I look up, and he’s watching me with the most peculiar expression.

And I realize I’ve been mumbling to myself.

Mine.

Oh, fuck.

That’s not what—

“I’m fully aware you wish to wear the pants in this family, but these are far too long for you. I should be happy to get you—oomph.”

I tackle him and take him back down to the rug, an unapologetic smile spreading wide over his lips and erasing so much stress that my heart aches for the strain he’s under every day. “You are such a smart-ass,” I say before I tackle his mouth too.

I reach between us and finish unbuckling his belt while he holds my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks as he slows my frantic kisses, his stubble rough against my mouth, his erection bulging beneath my quick fingers while I pull his pants the rest of the way down and free his insistent woody. He’s slick on his head, and I grip his shaft and wipe at another drop of precum while he hums against my tongue in his mouth.

I position him at my entrance and slowly slide down his cock, my walls stretching around his thick length, and we both moan. He’s so right here, buried deep in my pussy, filling me, joining me, completing me. I lift my hips and slide down him again, and he suddenly freezes.

“Protection.”

“I’m on birth control.”

“Thank the gods,” he murmurs, and he thrusts up deep into me. “You feel so bloody perfect.”

Hot prickles stab the back of my eyelids, because no one ever mistakes me for perfect.

Especially Viktor.

I squeeze my eyes shut until the moment passes and let myself enjoy riding his solid cock, the way his grunts and moans of appreciation make my pussy tighten around him, my already swollen and sated flesh on the verge of hypersensitivity as that familiar pleasure winds and builds again.

I’ve never been motivated by sex.

Not when I’m plenty competent at getting myself off.

But I can’t imagine giving up this intimacy with Viktor.

His fingers caress the back of my neck, and I blink at him. He holds my gaze with those fathomless dark eyes, searching and seeking and reassuring while he thrusts up into me, reaching so deep I think he’s touching parts of me that have been missing for decades.

That have been hiding for decades.

Wounded. Left for dead.

And with every stroke, he’s drawing me back out.

My belief in innocence. In a level playing field. In me.

And driving harder and higher and deeper, spiraling me out of control, holding me captive with his gaze, with his steadiness, with his everything.

I could love this man.

I could.

But I don’t know if I know how.

My climax breaks over me, taking me by surprise and sending me straining taller, pressing my clit to his pelvis while my orgasm rocks through me. His neck strains back, and he barks my name as his cock pulses inside me, the two of us crashing together, my pussy squeezing and clenching around him, holding him tight, welcoming him.

Wanting him.

Even when I collapse fully exhausted on his chest, his strong arms wrapped loosely about me, I still want more.

More of everything.

Because nothing this good ever lasts.

Ever.

So I need to enjoy the hell out of it as long as I can.