No Perfect Princess (30 page)

“Oh, my God,” she finally spurted on a little giggle. “You!”

“Yes?” I angled my gaze, communicating it wasn’t rhetorical.

“You’re a fucking scoundrel!”

“Mmmmm.” I ran my thumbs along the inner flesh of her legs. “That sounds about right.”
So very right
. Holy shit, what this woman did to me…the things she brought out in me…all the dirty, wicked things she made me long to explore…

Sure, I’d been “naughty” with women before. Yeah, even ventured to the nastier nuances of the meaning—but had always stopped myself short of letting the real animal all the way out of the carefully-guarded cage within.

Margaux Asher saw every inch of my cage.

Right before reaching with those tigress eyes of hers, and melting all the bars away.

Margaux Asher didn’t just see my animal. She understood him. Knew him. And best of all, could more than handle him.

And he was crazy about her for it.

He prowled up from deep inside, newly unleashed, teething her from shoulder to shoulder with his possession, savoring every sweet snarl, rasp, and bite she gave him in return. Her head thrown back, both hands now tangled in my hair, she blurted, “Holy shit. The scoundrels are out and Mama’s not home. Maybe I should fire up the bat signal.”

I slid my head down, taking her other nipple into my mouth. “I think I have a good power source right here.”

Her husky laugh steamed up the air even more. “I’m not sure about that. I mean, you’re an awfully…big…threat, Mr. Scoundrel. All of Gotham is likely in peril from you.”

I sucked her in a little deeper. “Unless a hot dame sacrifices herself for the cause and distracts the bad guys long enough…”

“There
is
that plan.” She hissed and arched as I nipped at her peak again. Her nipple was distended and red, the flesh surrounding it abraded from the burn of my stubble. Gazing at my marks on her skin…it was goddamn amazing. My cock jerked with such brutal need, the veins stood out like a topographical map. More blood pounded up my length, a tribe of Mongol warriors set free—with spears ready to thrust.

I suckled her deeper. God
damn
, she tasted good—a taunting made no easier when an image flashed to mind, spiked by wondering what her ambrosia would taste like if I added her pussy to the blend. As I imagined my tongue winding its way through her soaked heat, my teeth tightened on her breast, making her scream again. She finished the cry with a desperate, demanding little buck of her hips.

“Shameless temptress,” I growled. “You
sure
Gotham PD didn’t send you as a distraction?”

She blinked up at me, droplets collecting like drops of gold on the tips of her amber lashes. “
You’re
the one who kidnapped
me
, honey.”

I cocked my head and grinned. “Oh, yeah. Shit. I really am a scoundrel.”

Her eyes grew heavy. “The worst kind.” Then the edges of her lips curled up. “In short, my dream man.”

“Funny you mention that.”

“What?”

“Dreaming.” I swept upward, capturing her mouth again, kissing her so hard our teeth rammed. With our gazes still locked after, I grated, “Because I’m still unsure that I’m not.”

Her fingers tightened in my hair. Her eyes were incredible green fires, flowing in, filling my chest, then burning me alive from the inside out. Hilarious, that she’d just mocked me for taking her prisoner. Couldn’t she see
I
was
her
captive? Shackled by her beauty. Bound by her passion. And slowly—maybe not-so-slowly—jumping from my cage into hers. And throwing away the damn key.

She swallowed hard. Then rasped, “Then let me help convince you otherwise.”

It only took another tug of her hand to bring my lips down on hers again. We fused, open-mouthed and devouring, passionate and greedy, shoving all the volume levels to max, sliding against each other like a pair of soaked, horny beasts. She moaned. I snarled. She whimpered. I growled. Between it all, our panting breaths threaded through the shower’s rain, forming a fog of thicker lust on the glass walls.

Her hands dropped from my scalp to my shoulders. I pushed harder into her mouth as her nails scored my skin. Dragging me into the cage…

Fuck, yes.

I repeated it aloud when tearing away from her lips to bite at her jaw, her ear, her neck, needing to imprint her body just as she had embedded herself into me…and not just those hot little scratches on my skin. Margaux Asher was my newest tattoo, inked permanently into the worse space I could have asked for: my psyche. She was going to change me. She already had. But in how many ways?

And did I even want to know the answer to that right now?

The woman in my arms helped fill in that mystery.
Christ almighty
…She’d offered reality but that was
not
happening—not when her hooded gaze, parted lips, and wet nudity spun me yet higher into am-I-really-dreaming-ville. Not that I cared anymore. Fantasy or reality, I was going to make this shit good for her—in the most raw, primitive way fate had designed for us.

I stepped back from her again, but only to reach out of the shower to the counter. Raincoats had never made my favorite things list, but just the thought of getting inside Margaux, even with a condom, was number one with a bullet on the countdown now.

She made the roll-on even better with her fixated stare, puckered areolas—and constricting pussy. Fuck.
Fuck.
The gates of heaven, bracketed by the thighs of an angel. Yeah, I’d really gone there, and refused to feel sorry about pulling out the corn feed again. She must have wire-tapped into my thoughts, because she gave back as good as they’d just given. “Don’t laugh, smooth criminal…but you’re making me so damn wet.”

She
so
expected me to laugh.

I didn’t laugh.

Not when she accompanied it by sliding a couple of fingers between her legs, stroking into the glistening depths. I caved to a surge of Tarzan, lunging once more against her, jerking her hand out of the way just in time. “That’s mine to play with right now, sugar. And mine to please.”

I swept her other arm up, too. Captured them both beneath one hand while spreading her wider with the other. She was open as far as she could go, legs flattened at right angles against the stall’s walls.

“Scoundrel.”

“Temptress.”

Her lips curled higher. “You going to fuck me, bad guy, or give the wind the satisfaction?”

Finally
I laughed. “You’re asking for it…you know that, right?”

“Whatever.”

I was tempted to grind out another long, hard growl, but that would only fuel her fire—and dammit, the vixen already scalded every inch of me with a lust I’d never experienced before.
Corn alert, once again.
If a man really could have a fever for a woman, then I’d come down with goddamn Ebola for her. But, thank whatever natural laws there were to this, my fever was also my cure.

It was time for some serious healing.

With a grunt, I reached for the shower’s other shelf, snatching a bottle of scented baby oil. Thank God for Mom and her weakness for shit like this. I didn’t like using baby oil as a general rule, but in this pinch, I’d take it. There were several choices but I lucked out, getting a container that smelled like oranges, lemons, and vanilla—an ideal match to the natural tang of her arousal, thickening the air by the minute.

As I trailed a path of oil from her navel to her pussy, a high, feline cry spilled from her. “Michael!” She gasped, wriggling hard, battling to work the oil over the most sensitive inches of her pouting, wet petals. “Oh
damn
…that’s so…ahhhh!”

I trickled a little more. Then teased back her hood, uncovering the beautiful strip of nerves beneath, and poured in a little more.

“Shit! Scoundrel! If you don’t fuck me n—”

Making her interrupt herself with a scream was even better when accomplished by smacking her mound. I did it lightly at first, using the tip of the baby oil bottle, but her outcry was so perfect, I threw the oil down and used my palm for a second spank, making her shriek even louder, writhe even harder—

And tempt me even more to come right there.

Wouldn’t the little minx love the hell out of
that
?

Time for some control. The kind both of us would get something out of.

“Orders, temptress? Does someone need another reminder of who’s in charge when we’re naked?”

“Are you kidding m—” She jerked, swinging her head, trying to glare. “Wait. Are—are you
laughing
?”

I answered that by unraveling a gloating chuckle in her ear. And sliding my thumb along both her wrist pulse points. And pressing my other thumb against her erect, wet clit.

“
Michael
!”

I replaced my thumb with my cock. Holy
Christ
, she felt good. Her tissues quivered beneath my head, now taking a dip in my own pre-come. I clenched my jaw
and
my ass, holding back the arousal from swelling my dick any further. I had no damn idea how I injected a new smile into my voice but managed to pull it off, taunting, “Who’s in charge, beautiful?”

She spewed a sound between a sneer and a growl. “Bastard!”

“Not exactly the delivery I was looking for.”

“Fine.
Mister
Bastard.”

“Keep it up, beautiful. I know
I
can.

She busted out a full snort. “I highly, highly doubt—ahhhh!”
Smack
. Her mouth became an
O
as perfect as her pussy: red, swollen, and full of filthy possibilities.

“Your cunt is so ready, Margaux. Give me the words, and I’ll fill it with my cock. I’m burning up, sugar. I want to make you come so many times I’ll have to carry you out of here. Just give me the—”

“Okay!” she shouted. “Okay! All right!” Her chest heaved in and out, threatening to entrance me again, though not succeeding. That honor went to her eyes, bright with savage desire. “Y-you’re the man. Y-you’re in charge.” A shiver ripped through her. “Oh, God…it’s never been this good. Please, Michael…
I’ll
be good, too. Just—just—ohhhh!”

Her surrender was my undoing. I’d harnessed the lightning. Tamed the tigress. I was fucking Hercules. And now, I was going to screw her like it.

I widened my stance. Seated myself tighter between her legs. Strutted her face with my free hand, forcing her to the perfect angle for the plunge of my lips.

As I lunged up into her wet, waiting body.

Her scream detonated into my mouth and down my own throat. Damn good thing, since my answering bellow consumed everything from my balls to my brain.

Heat. Softness. Tightness.

Stabbing her. Stretching her. Claiming her.

Losing

myself

completely…

“Damn!” she cried. “Yessss!”

“There’s my princess.” It growled out of me, sliding into the drops along her neck as I thrust even deeper. As my mind faded to nothingness, letting my body reign over my consciousness, I wondered if the cube had gotten so hot, we’d simply taken off and were rocketing toward the stratosphere. Maybe that explained the thunder taking over my heart, the swirling vortex replacing my mind.

And maybe I was missing the fucking point. That this had nothing to do with G forces, rocket boosts, and the speed of sound. This was
her
. Margaux Stiletto-In-Your-Balls Asher, surrendering to me with complete trust, with absolute passion—and not just in arcing generalities. It was the details, beautiful and unforgettable,
all
of them. The curl of her fingers around my hand. The clamp of her walls around my cock. Her panting breaths against my shoulder. Her heels sliding against my back.

Her whole body, taking everything I could give. Then demanding—

“More.” It began as the huskiest, sexiest rasp I’d ever heard from her, before crumbling into a mewl that grabbed hard at my balls. “More…please, Michael…harder! More!”

Well, that fucking did it. My new status: unhinged. She tore off the door of my control, making me fling it to some distant mental corner as I clutched her waist and yanked her in, angling her for the most ruthless penetration I could give. Before I finished my next thrust, her head knifed back, another shriek ripped from her lips, and her jaw stiffened in something between agony and ecstasy. I let a bellow tear free too, even while struggling between the victory of invading her and the fear of hurting her. But God help me, if she begged me to stop…
freight train, meet act of God
. I was consumed, blinded to everything but the fire of her beauty, the blaze of her pussy, the frenzy of my lust.

“Yes,” she got out between gasps. “So good. So good!”

I bent my head to study the tension on her face. “Hurting—you?”

“Yes.” Her eyes flew open, as if she knew I needed to see them dilated nearly black with arousal. “Yes. Need. More.” She pushed her face forward, snatching my lip between her own. “Don’t. Stop. Don’t you dare fucking stop. Hurt me, Michael. Fuck me!”

Pressure built, intense and unyielding.

My balls pounded, battlefields of my composure against my come.

My thighs clenched, powering my thrusts harder into her.

My senses raced…wondering what the fuck she was doing to them. How the hell she was consuming them, incinerating them—only to stir them into something wholly new. I could only moan from its overwhelming force.

Until I realized…

The force was us.

Passion given flight. Connection given purpose. Force given form.

Tension granted release.

She screamed in the throes of her climax seconds before the flood of liquid fire rushed up my cock and burst, dizzying in its delirium. I let the flow carry me,
both
heads consumed with ecstasy, until I forced my eyes open—to the best damn moment of this morning so far. Beholding her, still lost to the depths of her passion…
damn
. She was exquisite. With her head still arched back and her breasts pushed forward, she induced comparisons to a sacrificial maiden, offered up to a lascivious pagan god.