Everything started between us when she confessed her inability to orgasm. Since then, every ounce of pleasure I wrought from her delectable body, knowing I was the only man able to make her lose control, left me with a high I craved. Her submission filled me with a desperate eagerness for more.
I pressed my palm to the center of her back, bending her over the quartz top. “Shh-shh-shh, princess,” I soothed, returning to my knees.
Pushing her skirt back over her hips, I fisted the black lace, caressing her soft curves. With a sharp twist, I ripped her panties and shoved them in my pocket as I buried my face back between her thighs.
She cried out, and I lost myself to the sound. I lost myself in her. Unlike last time, I didn’t play. I became a hunter, giving everything I had into winning another orgasm from her.
She pressed her face against her arms, muffling her moans as she rocked back into me. My cock throbbed against my pants, begging to be let free to fuck her through her pleasure, but I couldn’t. Not when the feel and taste of her had me riding the edge of my own control.
Instead, I focused on her.
Within minutes, I was rewarded with more tight pulses from her cunt, more screams marking the sharpness of her orgasm, more cum sliding down my throat and chin.
Fuck, I wanted to spend the rest of the night feasting on her. I wanted to make her come again and again. While the idea flooded me with heat, it wasn’t what she needed. I set the selfish desire aside and focused on easing her down from her high, coaxing her to stay relaxed after her stressful day.
After a few last kisses to her damp thighs, I tugged her skirt back in place and stood, pulling her around into my arms. “You did so well. Such a good girl,” I praised against her ear, strokingup and down her back. “Thank you for your orgasms. Such a precious gift. And all mine.”
“Yes. All yours,” she breathed, leaning completely into me.
An animalistic pride surged through my veins, pulling up the corners of my mouth as I guided her to a barstool and lifted her onto the seat. “Sit while I make us dinner.”
I pressed a kiss to her temple and returned to the stove across from her, reigniting the flame under the pots.
She rested her chin in her palm and studied me through eyes softened by exhaustion, the earlier frenzy gone, leaving only quiet warmth behind. I let her look her fill, savoring the weight of her gaze as it followed my every movement, certain a thousand questions or comments were gathering in that beautiful mind of hers.
Knowing she’d spill her thoughts eventually, I savored the soft jazz still playing through the speakers and waited.
I didn’t have to wait long.
“My dad wants to announce our engagement at the gala this weekend.” Her sullen tone made her thoughts on the idea clear.
“Announce? How so?”
“Maybe not actually announce.” She sat up, her eyes wide. “God, I hope he doesn’t want to make a formal announcement in front of everyone. I’m thinking—hoping—that he means more like just letting people know in general that we’re engaged.”
I laughed at the horrified look on her face, though inside, warmth surged through me, urging me to stand taller with pride. I imagined holding her in my arms on a stage, her father announcing over the microphone that we were getting married, every gaze heavy with envy as they realized that she was mine, completely. “Either way, I’m sure it will be fine.”
A soft snort escaped her, and she eased her chin back onto her hand, eyes lingering on me with quiet amusement. “You should probably talk to my father. He was less than thrilledthat you asked me to marry you without ever saying anything to him.”
“How very modern of him,” I deadpanned.
“Trust me, I said the same thing. But I explained your lack of sharing due to my request that you wait until I talked to him.”
“Well, I’m sure I’ll see him at the gala.”
“Absolutely not,” she objected, brows pulling low. “There will already be so much going on, including hisannouncement plans.The last thing we need is an uncomfortable conversation in front of a crowd.”
“Who says it will be uncomfortable? Your father likes me.”
“I’m aware,” she grumbled. “But it would be uncomfortable for me. The event is stressful enough without any added important conversations.”
“Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll invite him to lunch before then.”
“Thank you.” She sighed and relaxed back against the counter, her eyes returning to me as I moved around the kitchen.
Her head tilted as I pulled out the tray of chicken nuggets, lips pursed when I spooned spaghetti sauce across the top of each. “What are you making?”
“Chicken Parmesan.”
