His Undercover Princess (Tempt Me)

by Avery Flynn

  “We can’t do this,” he said, his words brushing against her sensitized skin, but even though he easily could have, he didn’t break her hold on him. “You’re my queen.”

  She stilled, millimeters from his full lips. “Not tonight.”

  “And tomorrow?” he asked, but his hands had already settled on her hips, yanking her closer so there was no missing exactly how hard he was for her.

  “Stop talking.” She nipped at his bottom lip as she tugged at his shirt, sending the buttons flying. “And fuck me.”

  Chapter Six

  Dom took her mouth, answering her desperate plea disguised as a demand. It wasn’t a dim lighting, romantic music, or flower petals kind of kiss. Neither of them wanted—needed—that right now. It was possession.

  She was right. Tonight, she wasn’t his queen. She was Elle Olsen, the woman he’d wanted to taste, touch, and fuck since he laid eyes on her in that sexy secretary outfit that hugged her hips and accentuated her bountiful tits. He’d flirted. She’d teased. He’d kidnapped her. She’d shot at him and tried to knee him in the balls. It wasn’t exactly relationship starter material, but that wasn’t a possibility for them anyway. No matter what it took, tomorrow he’d make sure she’d agree to be Elskov’s sovereign, and he’d be her loyal subject, but tonight he was going to hear Elle scream out his name as she came.

  Step one was to show her who was in control. He threaded his fingers through her long, silky hair and fisted it, pulling it tight and tilting her head back so he could deepen the kiss. He delved into her mouth, letting his tongue tease and tempt her until she moaned. That sound nearly sent him over the edge. His cock, so warm and thick against his thigh, throbbed. What he’d meant to do was drive her to the brink, and instead here he was ready to dive over into the abyss.

  In an effort to take things back down to a slow, controlled burn, he traced a path across her jawline and down her neck with his lips, tasting the forbidden sweetness of her skin. But Elle wasn’t having it. She popped open the few buttons left on his shirt and pushed a hand inside. His entire world shrank down to two points—her soft hand against his hard chest and her pulse beating like mad against his insatiable mouth. It would be so easy to get lost in her, and that couldn’t happen.

  He dragged himself away from her neck, giving the creamy column one last lick and nibble before circling around her. Her confusion was palpable as she pivoted, following his progress. Perfect. He wanted her off balance. He had the feeling it didn’t happen often. Stopping at the side table, still within touching distance because he couldn’t seem to make himself go any farther, he noticed a small button had landed next to the decanter. His tailor on Savile Row was going to be in a snit over the state of Dom’s shirt. He picked up the button.

  “Hold out your hand,” he said, not sure who was more surprised when she immediately did. He put the small, pale, circular disk in the center of her palm and folded her hand closed. “I should make you pick up every one of those buttons before I let you come.”

  The corners of her mouth curved into a sensual smile, and she jutted out a hip. “Let me?”

  “That’s right.” He traced a finger across the curve of her cashmere sweater, loving how she shivered under his touch, her stiff nipples tenting the soft material. “You want to fuck me—and we both know you do—then we do it my way.”

  Watching him through the screen of her thick lashes, she tugged her bottom lip through her teeth. “You need to work on this whole control thing.”

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Control wasn’t the most important thing; it was everything. “You’ll like my way. You’re already wet thinking about it, aren’t you?”

  Her quick intake of breath was all he needed for confirmation. Resisting the urge to beat his chest like some sort of caveman, he poured himself a finger of honey-colored liquid and sat down in the leather club chair, folding his leg so his ankle rested on top of his knee. Each movement was precise, executed with deliberate slowness to draw out the moment, increase the tension between them until it was nearly unbearable. Elle rushed, and it was time she learned the pleasure of a leisurely pace. Taking a sip of akvavit, he wished he hadn’t stopped smoking. A good cigar right now would give him something to do with his free hand that didn’t involve touching her. It wasn’t easy. Good thing he never liked anything simple; the harder the better the victory at the end.

  “And what does your way entail?” she asked, looking down at him with a mix of curiosity and hunger.

  Her husky voice was as good as a hand wrapped around his dick. The woman was fucking lethal to his self-control. Downing his drink and walking away was the smart move, the right move. He should get up right now, but there was no fucking way that was going to happen. As long as he stayed smart about things, he wouldn’t lose control. He sat back in his chair as if he wasn’t about to spontaneously combust. “I want to see what you’ve learned.”

  Her brown eyes widened in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “I know all about the time in Vegas. I forget, was the window that you were pressed naked against on the sixteenth floor?” His cock twitched beneath his pants. The brief mention in the surveillance report had him hard for days, no matter how many times he’d jacked off. “And then there was the time you came while sitting in that corner booth at the restaurant with your lover’s fingers buried in your sweet pussy. My favorite, though, was the supply closet in the dance club.” He sipped his drink, burning too hot to feel the liquid fire as it made its way down to his stomach. “You shut the door so I couldn’t watch, but I stood guard outside and listened. I didn’t know a person could make such a desperately blissful noise.”

  The sweetest pink flush made her bad girl curves rosy. “You were there?”

  “That time?” The sound she’d made had embedded itself into his fantasies, but when he had stroked his cock, she wasn’t moaning wordlessly—she was calling his name. “Yes.”

  Her hand on her hip and the downturn to her sensual lips all screamed displeasure, but the lusty gleam in her eyes was anything but censorious. “We’re going to talk about this after.”

  “About how we watched you or about your lovers?”

  She narrowed her eyes, and this time it wasn’t just desire smoldering in her gaze. “Are you trying to shame me?”

  “Fuck, no, especially not when I’m about to hear that sexy moan of yours while you’re naked in front of me.”

  “Is that what you want?” she asked. “Me naked?”

  “It’s a start.” He had a list, a long one that started with naked and ended with too tired to ever come again.

  “So where should I begin?” She stepped between his splayed legs as she toyed with the hem of her sweater. “With this or…” She brought one stiletto-shod foot up so it rested on the seat in front of his groin, the toe of her shoe brushing ever so lightly against his balls. She bent forward and ran her hands up her legs, pushing up her skirt and revealing the lacy tops of a pair of thigh highs held up by black satin garters. She glided her fingertips over the snap holding them in place. “Or here?”

  His mouth went dry, and his lungs pinched closed. “Leave them on.”

  “Careful.” She put her leg down and smoothed her skirt. “I was afraid you were going to pass out on me. You gotta remember to breathe.”

  Cheeky girl. She’d learn, and soon. “Sweater.”

  Elle didn’t ask what he meant, didn’t turn shy. She stripped the fuzzy white material off her, exposing a sheer nude bra that did nothing to disguise how hard her nipples were or how full and heavy her tits were. The sweater slipped to the floor, unneeded and unwanted.

  “Skirt.”

  Gliding the backs of her fingers over her curves, she slid her hands lower and around the indent of her waist to the back of her skirt. Blood rushed south, leaving him light-headed but unable to look away as the material gaped and then skimmed over her round hips, down her long legs, and landed in a pool of green around her ankles.

  If he did
n’t run five miles a day and spend at least an hour in the gym several times a week, he would have worried about keeling over as his brain short-circuited while viewing the goddess in front of him. She was Freya come to life—love, lust, beauty, sorcery, fertility, gold, war, and death were wrapped up into one breathtaking woman.

  “Walk for me.” The words sounded torn from his throat, raw and desperate.

  She arched an eyebrow but turned and strutted away from him. Since he’d spent the day staring at her butt and never saw a panty line, he’d expected a thong. Instead, she wore a pair of sheer panties that stopped halfway across her ass, accentuating the high, round curve of her flesh. A black satin garter belt lay flat against her creamy skin, long lines of slim ebony ribbon making lines down the backs of her thighs to the thigh highs.

  “That’s far enough,” he said when she’d made it to the edge of the rug and spun around to face him. “Does my watching you make you wet?”

  “I don’t know that I can get any wetter.” Her pink tongue darted out and flicked against her lips, leaving them slick and shiny.

  Yep, that smart mouth of hers and sinful body were going to kill him before the night was out. “Does your pussy ache for me?”

  She nodded, her brown eyes heavy lidded and full of promise.

  Not good enough. He wouldn’t let her run tonight, not from herself, not from him, and definitely not from the attraction burning them both from the inside out. “Say it.”

  She lifted her chin in a stubborn tilt and didn’t make a sound.

  “If you say it, I can make that ache all better. If you don’t, I won’t.” A total lie. There was no way he wasn’t tasting all of her tonight.

  No doubt she knew exactly how big of a liar he was, but she played along by batting her eyelashes. “How are you going to make it better?” she asked, her voice as soft as her curves.

  “I’m going to kiss it and make it better.” He set down the tumbler. The akvavit had lost all flavor, because the only thing he wanted to taste was her. “Isn’t that what you want, my lips on you? My tongue? My fingers stretching you until you aren’t sure if you’re feeling pain or pleasure, you just don’t want it to stop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “My pussy aches for you to fill me up so I can ride you until I climax so hard my walls milk you dry.”

  He nearly came in his pants just from hearing the words rolling off her delicious, very un-princess-like tongue. “Get over here.”

  For a second she didn’t move, not even a smart-ass twitch to her shiny pink lips. Blood pounded in his ears in its rush to his painfully hard cock. If she didn’t get her sexy ass over here soon, he was going to implode. He dug his fingers into the chair’s leather arms, an anchor in a blizzard of lust that had him blind to everything but her. Finally she moved just as he was on the precipice of breaking his own cardinal rule—relinquishing total control and giving in by being the first to move. Relief and anticipation whipped through him as he watched the show of a lifetime. Elle strutted toward him, her full hips swaying with every step, as she watched him with unblinking intensity, everything about her screaming a challenge at the same time as she gave in to his demands. His heart beat 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 off. “I’ve got no interest in being a breathing dildo for you to get off on.”

  “Too bad, because I don’t do emotional connections.” She jerked Huck Finn from the shelf, releasing the door. “Good night.”

  She hit the corresponding mechanism on the other side of the wall and closed the hidden door, shutting him out without even the briefest look back.

  The princess was a bitch, and he was, no doubt, a total asshole. The whole situation was fucked, and he still had to persuade her to fight for her crown.

  …

  Elle held it together until the bookshelf swung closed before sinking to her knees, her whole body shaking and blackness threatening her vision. Forcing in a slow, deep breath, she closed her eyes and pictured a green field under a perfect blue sky. She exhaled, draining all of the air from her lungs and then inhaling through her nose until her chest expanded as far as it would go, the whole time hearing the sound of the salt-scented Elskovian
breeze rushing up from the fjords and out over the long grass. That field north of the capital was her happy place, not the castle where she’d grown up, with its thick gray stone walls and ornate wrought-iron decorations. She’d played in it as a girl, the golden tufts atop the grass tickling her calves as she chased the fluffy white sheep that roamed there. Opening her eyes, she came back to the here and now. Another ragged in and out, and the black dots dancing on the edges of her vision faded away, her heart stopped trying to tear out of her chest, and the all-too-familiar panic sheathed its claws.

  That had been a close one. Another minute with Dom and she would have let him into her bed, the first man to have ever been there. All of the others had been fast fucks in borrowed spaces followed by a quick good-bye. It was the best way to make sure they only saw the her she wanted them to see, not the woman she really was. Keeping it impersonal kept her safe, kept her alive, and kept her sane.

  But Dom already knew who she was, so there was no danger of a stray word spoken in her sleep or a nightmare that curled around her throat, squeezing it tight, until she jackknifed awake, ready for battle with the dreamland ghosts she couldn’t touch. For some reason that scared her more. She hadn’t openly been herself for a decade and didn’t know if she could. She’d been born a princess, but that didn’t mean she knew how to be a queen.

  She shivered, chilly in her underwear and silk thigh highs without Dom’s face-of-the-sun heat nearby. Hoping for a T-shirt or sweats left behind from a previous guest, she opened the heavy, wood dresser drawer. She gasped. It was filled with her underwear. She pulled open another drawer…her shirts…another…her workout clothes. Leaving the dresser with its drawers open like they’d been ransacked, she sprinted across the plush carpet to the mirrored closet doors and flung them wide, only to find the walk-in closet filled with her own dresses hung according to color and shoes displayed by heel height, just like she did at home.

  The bastards. They weren’t going to let her leave until she said yes. Her feet sank into the plush cream carpet as she paced in a wide arc from the French doors leading out to a private balcony, around the sturdy walnut four-poster bed and across to the eggshell-white chaise lounge decorated with small silver faux fur pillows. That’s where, earlier in the evening, she’d slept off the mixture of akvavit and whatever Dom had used to drug her prior to hauling her here.