His Undercover Princess (Tempt Me) by Avery Flynn Page B

in time with each stomp of her skinny heels as she crossed the rug and stopped in front of him.
    “Do you like these?” He slipped his finger beneath the edge of her panties, curling a finger around the middle and pulling it so the material bunched and nestled between her slick folds. Leaving it in place, he withdrew his finger without touching her any more, despite her mewling protest. He held up his finger, admiring how it glistened in the light. God, she was wet—he sucked the moisture from his finger—and sweet.
    “I’d like them better off me.”
    “Really?” He leaned forward and swiped his tongue over her swollen bare lips. “I think they look pretty right where they are.”
    Her fingers dug into his scalp, tugging his face closer to heaven’s door.
    Normally, he would have pulled back at that, refused to cede control, but with Elle nothing seemed to go as expected. She not only surprised him, she made him surprise himself. Without hesitation, he buried his face between her shaking thighs, cupping her ass to tilt her hips and give him a better angle. Licking and lapping against her folds and the silk between them, he explored her—claimed her—with his tongue. Their wetness mingled, soaking the slip of material covering her entrance and adding an extra layer of friction that would take her higher, faster, which was exactly what he wanted, a quick explosion followed by a torturous, blissfully slow burn that would melt them both. He sneaked a finger under her damp panties, then another, and slid them home inside her warmth. Stroking and stretching her entrance, he plunged inside again and again, being sure to rub against her swollen and sensitive G-spot. The sounds she made, moans of ecstasy punctuated by unintelligible words in their native tongue, spurred him on until she encompassed the entirety of his world.
    Pushing her center to him, she undulated against his mouth, using him with the desperate need of those on the edge of coming apart. “Dom,” she screamed and rewarded him with the flood of her orgasm against his tongue.
    Not giving her time to slide into satisfied oblivion, he swept her up and turned toward the hidden door to her room. She was so light in his arms, the perfect fit as she laid her head on his shoulder, her long, silky hair mussed and ticking his neck.
    “Where are you taking me? I wasn’t done with you yet.” She sighed, and her eyelids drooped.
    “Believe me, I’m far from through with you.” Not by a long shot. He had one night, and he wasn’t going to waste a moment. “We’re going to the bedroom so I can spread you out on that giant bed and really take my time.”
    Her eyes snapped open. “No.”
    “Why?” He paused, his hand halfway to the copy of Huck Finn that would send the bookcase swinging open.
    “That’s my space.” She pushed out of his arms, landing on her feet, and then backed up a few paces. “It makes all of this personal.”
    “It is personal.” How could it not be, with her taste still on his tongue?
    “No.” She shook her head. “It’s not. Sex never is.”
    Her words were like lightning hitting dry brush, setting off a wildfire of unexplainable anger through him. Happily ever afters weren’t in the cards for people like him, whose lives were devoted to a cause greater than themselves, and especially not with a princess who was soon to be his queen. One-night stands were part of his repertoire, but they’d never been impersonal or anonymous. His stomach tightened. “Then you have no fucking clue about great sex.”
    “I never would have taken Mr. I Give the Orders as a romantic.” Rolling her eyes, she snorted. “Look, we get each other off, we scratch an itch. None of it matters. It’s just sex with better orgasms than if I was left to my own devices.”
    It shouldn’t have mattered. He was a man with a hard dick and a willing, beautiful woman. The situation was one a million men would give their left nut to be in, but it pissed him