He slides two fingers inside me, sinking deep while his mouth is latched to my pussy, his tongue flicking my clit.
The dress shifts with every movement, layers of tulle brushing against my thighs and rustling between us. One stubborn layer keeps slipping forward, threatening to fall over his face, and he makes a frustrated noise against me. His hand leaves my thigh for a moment so he can shove the tulle up higher, bunching it around my waist until the pile is so big it nearly topples sideways.
He glances up at me through the mess, hair mussed, his princely costume slightly askew, mouth wet. The contrast hits me so hard my stomach flips: a prince kneeling at my feet with his face buried under my dress like I’m the only person he answers to.
“There,” he mutters, his voice low and satisfied as he tucks the last rebellious layer behind my hip. “I need to see you.”
Then he’s back on me, hungrier than before, his fingers moving with a steady rhythm while his mouth devours me.
I gasp again, louder. The tulle scratches lightly against the backs of my thighs as he works deeper, the fabric rustling every time he makes me jerk or try to grind against his face.
“Scotty… please…”
He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through me. His fingers curl inside me, hitting that perfect spot. The pile of tulle tries to slump forward again, so I grab fistfuls of it, lifting it to keep him exposed. The view steals whatever breath I had left…my prince is on his knees, his hair messy, his jacket straining across his shoulders, and his mouth open against me, worshiping me.
“Good girl,” he whispers, then seals his mouth back over my clit. His tongue works in tight, focused strokes that make my legs tremble around his shoulders. It’s too much, his fingers filling me while his mouth pulls me apart piece by piece.
“Scotty… please…” The plea slips out before I can stopit.
He answers with a low sound that vibrates straight through my core. His fingers curl inside me, brushing that perfect spot so lightly it makes my vision blur. I grip the edge of the bench with my free hand, my knuckles white, my hips tipping forward helplessly into his mouth.
“Come for me, Princess. Let me taste you.”
His fingers pump deeper, his tongue matching the rhythm, flicking and circling with precise, devastating intent. My breath breaks into uneven gasps, each one tighter than the last. Heat coils low in my belly, sharp and hot, building faster than I can brace for.
My orgasm crashes through me hard, my hand clutching the tulle so tightly it crinkles loudly as my whole body shakes. My hips buckle, my thighs tremble around his head, and I bite my wrist to smother the cry that rips out of me.
He doesn’t stop until the last shiver fades, coaxing me through every pulse with slow, tender strokes. When I finally sag back against the bench, boneless, the tulle collapses around my hips like a fallen cloud.
He lifts his head slowly. His lips are swollen, chin slick, his princely jacket rumpled, silver trim glinting in the soft light. He presses a kiss to my inner thigh before meeting my eyes.
“Beautiful,” he whispers. “Absolutely beautiful.”
He gives me a second before he lifts my thighs up and comes out from under my legs. He pulls my panties and shorts up before he reaches into his pocket and wipes his mouth, then presses a soft kiss to my lips.
“Better?” he asks.
“So much better,” I breathe, still trying to catch my breath.
He helps me straighten my dress, his hands gentle. “You're going to be incredible out there.”
“We're going to be incredible,” I correct, cupping his face. “Thank you.”
“Always, Princess.” He grins. “Though if the royal council ever hears about what I just did under that skirt, I’m getting exiled.”
I laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. “Then I’ll just have to hide you in my tower.”
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Guys? You in there?”
The chair holding the door shut shakes.
“What’s going on? Why can’t I get in there?”
My eyes widen. “Is that—”
