“I know,” he says, like I spoke the words out loud. “Me too.”
He finds a rhythm that’s slow and deep. Every time our ends meet, it sends sparks through my entire body.
“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Addy.”
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer, wanting more of him, needing all of him. He groans and picks up the pace, his hips bucking harder.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel incredible. So tight. So perfect.”
I can’t respond because I’m lost in sensation. Every nerve ending is alive. Every inch of my skin is hypersensitive where it touches him. I’ve never experienced something so consuming or this overwhelming with another person. Right now, he’s everywhere. In my chest, my throat, my heart, behind my eyes. He’s filling spaces that I didn’t know were empty until him.
He shifts his angle and hits a spot that makes my back arch off the mattress. My mouth falls open as he drives into me, pushing me closer with every thrust.
“That’s it,” he mutters. “Let go for me.”
“Yes.” The word comes out as a moan. “Yes, yes.”
His hand slides between us and finds my clit, rubbing in tight circles while he fucks me.
“Keep going.” My voice is wrecked, my muscles tensing.
He watches my face, memorizing every reaction. He changes his rhythm based on what makes me gasp or whimper. At any moment,I’m going to lose myself. My thighs shake around his hips, and he knows exactly what I need. But Louis is in control of me right now.
“You want to come for me?” He slows his pace on my clit. “You’re so damn close. You’re squeezing my cock so tight.”
The pressure is suspended low in my belly, and with every teasing stroke, every tiny circle of his thumb, I’m climbing toward something that feels bigger than anything I’ve ever known.
I’m suspended in time, waiting with bated breath to release what he’s worked up in me so quickly.
“Louis, I need to co—” I groan, and he clamps his hand over my mouth, laughing low against my ear.
“Shh. Don’t want the whole palace to know I’m fucking your brains out. Be patient.”
“Please …” I whimper against his palm and rock my hips, nearly begging for the relief he refuses to give me.
This makes him crack. His pace becomes intentional.
“Yes,” I say. “More. More.”
He works my clit in rhythm with his thrusts until I’m shaking beneath him.
Louis leans down, his lips brushing my ear. His voice drops, rough, as words spill from his mouth, beautiful and melodic. “Tu es à moi, ma reine.”
I feel the words in my chest and between my legs. The sound of his native tongue sounds like a confession.
“I failed French.” I gasp. “Tell me.”
He pulls back to look at me, his eyes dark and intense, never breaking his rhythm. “You’re mine”—he thrusts deep, and I whimper—“my queen.”
My queen.Not a princess. Not a duchess. Not one of the two hundred women at a ball fighting for his attention.
His queen.
The words make me shatter. As if he snapped his fingers, the orgasm crashes through me, taking me completely under. I’m nearly gasping for air, like I’m drowning. It starts at my core and radiates outward in waves, rolling through me until I’m shaking and crying out his name. My vision blurs, and I clench around him, pulsing.
He fucks me through it, drawing out my orgasm until I’m useless. When the last aftershock fades, I open my eyes and admire him.
He’s beautiful. His muscles are straining, and sweat beads at his temples.
