Kissing Princeton Charming (The Princeton Charming Series Book 1)

by Frankie Love

  And God, I’m glad I held out.

  Spencer takes control of my body, giving me what I need, and I don’t have to ask. He wraps my legs around him, his palm on my ass, he takes me soft, then hard, in a rhythm of his own making. A rhythm that unravels me until I am jelly in his hands. Until my pussy is begging for release. Until he gives me exactly what I want. An orgasm washes over me and my toes curl and his thick hard cock pulses deeper inside me taking me where I want to go.

  Over the edge, with him.

  Again and again.

  We make love and it isn't painful, it is pleasure personified - Spencer Beckett has a reputation for a reason. He knows how to fuck and make a woman come.

  He knows how to make me scream his name.

  “Oh Spence, yes,” I cry as we finish together, his cock thrumming inside me and he cradles me in his arms as he comes to the same edge I’m on.

  “Goddammit, Charlie,” he moans, kissing me hard. He rolls to the side of me, both of us working to catch our breath. “What the hell was that?”

  I roll over as he removes the condom. “What do you mean?”

  He shakes his head, pulling me to him. “That wasn’t just sex. That was a goddamn light show. Fucking fireworks.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks, and I bite my lower lip, a smile spreading across my face. “So cheesy, Spence.”

  He nods. “Yeah, but so true.” He kisses the tip of my nose and that right there gets me wet all over again. He isn’t what I expected. And if these moves of his are a part of his quintessential charm, I get the appeal. But when he looks at me, when he takes my hand and pulls me from his bed, wrapping me in a robe and leading me to the kitchen, I can’t help but feel like what we just shared was special for him too.

  He’s naked as he opens the wine and feeds me grapes, and the grin on my face only widens.

  These aren’t canned moves.

  Are they?

  I don’t want to believe they are. Because when he picks me up from the floor and sets me on his kitchen counter, kissing me again like it’s the first time our lips have ever collided, sending sparks over my skin, sending a flash of want over me all over again, I can’t imagine this is all an act.

  It feels like the beginning of a love story. My love story.

  “Why are you smiling so hard?” he asks.

  “I’m just...happy,” I admit.

  Spencer grins as he starts to slice the cheese and salami. He hands me a cracker with slices of both. “Eat,” he tells me with a wink. “Sustenance.”

  I do as he says, eager for more of his attention.

  Being with him is unexpectedly easy. Sure, the wine that I take a sip of cost more than I made in a night working as a waitress, but despite being from completely different worlds, we seem to...fit.

  Or maybe I just want to believe that. Holding onto the fairy tale for at least tonight.

  Spencer moves closer, undoes the tie on my robe, the terry cloth falling from my shoulder. He plants kisses on my collarbone as the robe is discarded, and plucks my nipple, sending excitement to my core.

  I love the feeling of his hard body pressed against me. I drag my fingers down his chest, over his abs, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth when I notice that he’s already hard again.

  “You are so naked,” I tell him. Every inch of him is chiseled, perfect. Tanned and toned and just looking at him makes my pussy tingle with excitement. His cock is so thick, so big - and I know that I’m always calling him cheesy and that calling his shaft big and thick is as cheesy as it gets - but it is.

  Princeton Charming has a sword and he certainly knows how to use it.

  He smirks. “You know it’s not polite to stare.”

  I close my eyes, blushing. Still, all I want to do with Spencer is flirt and fuck. Crass maybe, but it’s the honest truth.

  “I must have forgotten all my manners,” I tell him, then tease, “I’m so sorry. How ever can I make it up to you?”

  “You don’t need to apologize, Princess,” he says, stroking himself. “But if you want a better look, all you need to do is ask.”

  I twist my lips, loving his games. “I see. Then, can you please help me get closer?”

  He growls with desire, and lifts me from the counter, taking me to the carpeted floor of the living room. I love how in control he is. “Your wish is my command.”

  Naked, on my knees, I take his cock in my hand, wanting his warm cum to slide down my throat, wanting to pleasure him the way he has pleasured me. My pussy sings with anticipation as I open my mouth and take him.

  He rests his hands on my head, and I begin to suck him in the way I dreamt about doing all week. My mouth is full of him and my pussy begins to drip as I suck him the way I sense he needs. I take him in fully, and the head of his cock hits the back of my throat. I moan with delight as he groans above me. His shaft is hard and veiny, velvety smooth and rigid at the same time.

  I feel so beautiful as I look up at him, my mouth full of his cock, our eyes meeting, salty precum hits my tongue and it makes me suck harder, wanting more. More. More. Wanting to make him remember me forever, wanting to get him off until he can’t think straight, until his mind is only filled with thoughts of me.

  My want for him in this moment is overwhelming, all-encompassing and it makes me dizzy. My singular motivation: being his.

  He loves it, I can tell, because as he reaches his climax, he thrusts deep against my mouth, calling my name as he comes. “Fuck me, Charlie,” he begs, and I do. My mouth fills with his salty release and I swallow him, my belly already needing more.

  He pulls out, and I lick my lips, my body hot and pulsing. I press a finger to my pussy, needing the relief, the same way as him. He sees me touching myself and his cock twitches.

  I smile, my clit aching. “I thought you said it was rude to stare?”

  He laughs, moving to the floor. “Give me that pussy, Princess.”

  When I remove my finger, he takes my hand and sucks it, groaning with want as he does and a thrill rushes over me. He likes this just as much as I do.

  “Come here,” he tells me as we lie down on the floor. “No,” he says, rolling me on top of him. “Fuck me like this.” He moves me so I straddle him, and he grabs a condom from a side table, rolling it on.

  “Prepared, are we?”

  He laughs. “Always.”

  “Good,” I whisper as he lifts my hips, he guides me down. This is different, sitting down on him. I gasp, the pleasure so different, so intense. So damn good.

  “Oh God, Spencer,” I whimper as he smiles up at me.

  “Good right?”

  His thumb presses to my clit as I begin to swivel my hips ever so slowly. The sensation so all-encompassing I forget myself. My fingers run through my hair and I ride him, coming hard as I move.

  “You’re so fucking wet, girl,” he groans, smacking my ass as I come for him. He plays with my breasts, drawing me lower so he can suck them. The pleasure is so intense as he sucks my hard nipples, I grind against his massive cock.

  “You feel so good,” I cry as he rolls me to my back, pinning my hands over my head. His body is perfection and somehow we fit together. There are a million reasons him and I won’t work in the real world, but tonight, the real world is miles away. Tonight, it’s just Spencer and me. It’s what we both need, what we want. It’s about more than sex - it’s an escape.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he tells me as our bodies reach an entirely new rhythm. Faster. Harder. Deeper. More.

  I pant as I come, dripping for him like I didn’t know was possible, and when he thrusts inside me, the pleasure rolls over us both, the release so intense, so deep and real that we collapse after. Satiated, full, and so utterly happy.

  I’m falling for Spencer Beckett, and I have an inkling the feeling is mutual.

  17

  Spencer

  Charlie is fast asleep, cheek resting on my chest, her breathing low, and her lips twitch up slightly before she murmurs something incoher
ent. I run my thumb over her cheek and sigh. So damn beautiful.

  I want to join her in her dreams, but as hard as I try to sleep, I can’t. My mind is racing, and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed in my chest.

  Who the hell is this girl? And what has she done to me?

  I didn’t doubt the sex would be good. Knew the second I saw her at the gala that she was fire. More than that, she’s sunlight and goodness and everything that I didn’t know I needed, but now never want to live without.

  And then I’d kissed her.

  Hell, I knew in that second she would undo me.

  Because Princeton Charming doesn’t kiss.

  Or date.

  And I liked my life.

  Bullshit, Beckett, you’ve been walking around numb since Ethan died, a voice in my head says.

  But with Charlie, I feel again. And it’s some scary shit. Allowing another person control of your heart.

  My phone buzzes on the dresser, making Charlie stir.

  I frown and glance at the clock. It’s late. But I always try and answer my calls, just in case it’s Ava needing something.

  The number displayed on the screen isn’t one I recognize, but I do know the area code - France. Shit, that’s where my parents are, on some business meeting with the current minister of Culture. I’m sure my mother is eating that shit up.

  “Hi Mom,” I say, answering the call as I walk out of the bedroom and shutting the door behind me.

  She doesn’t waste any time chewing into me. “Why didn’t you call me when Ava was in the hospital?”

  “Because she was fine,” I sigh, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and uncapping it.

  “She had alcohol poisoning. How could you let that happen?”

  “Ava’s nineteen. It’s not like I can follow her around campus monitoring her every move.”

  “Do you have any idea how bad it’ll look on your father if the press found out?”

  That’s what she’s really worried about, not that her underage daughter drank to the point where she was puking her guts out.

  “And you,” my mom continues, sounding like she’s about to cry, which is something else she’s mastered over the years. The art of manipulation is another Beckett trait. “What are you thinking, hanging around that...that waitress?”

  I grind my back teeth. “I’m not sure what Ava told you—”

  “Ava didn’t tell me. Winslow called, said you were making a fool of yourself over this girl. Flaunting her in public.”

  I should have known Winslow would call her.

  “Mom, it’s late. Can we do this in the morning?”

  “You’re just like your father was. Needing to sow your wild oats—”

  “Mom.” I move into the living room and sit down on the couch. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

  “I understand the need. But you’re twenty-three, Spencer, it’s time you start thinking about settling down. Winslow—”

  “Winslow and I are over. We have been for years.”

  “She loves you.”

  No, she was really in love with Ethan. But I don’t tell my mom that. Or that I found the two of them together a few months before he died. She’d always wanted him. I knew it. Saw it. And honestly, other than a bruised ego, I hadn’t cared. That she’s suddenly taken a new interest in me sends up a dozen red flags.

  Sure, I’ll always care about her, as a friend, but that’s it.

  “Winslow loves the idea of me, Mom. She’d be just as happy on the arm of any other senator’s son’s arm.”

  My mother clucks her tongue. “One day you’ll be running for office, and you’ll need someone like Winslow beside you.”

  Except I don’t want to run for office. I fucking hate politics. But I’m pretty sure my parents will disown me if I ever admit it to them. And honestly, I have no clue what else to do with my life.

  “You’re a Beckett. You have a duty to make this world a better place. But you have to play by the rules. Haven’t I taught you that?”

  “Yeah, Mom. I know your rules.”

  She sighs. “You have so much potential, my sweet boy. I want you to be happy.”

  The words sound good, almost like she cares. But I know the truth. It’s not my happiness she wants, it’s my obedience. To join the long list of Beckett politicians who made a difference.

  And shit, I want to make a difference in this messed up world. Just not in the way my parents want me to. Fancy parties, rubbing elbows with assholes who only care about getting their bills passed for their own agenda. Putting on fake smiles, campaigning for issues I don’t believe in, in order to gain the popular vote. It’s all bullshit.

  Yeah, I know how to play the game, but I don’t want to anymore.

  But guilt, responsibility and the constant need of my parents’ approval have always superseded my own wants. Not to mention that they still control my bank account.

  “Your father and I will be home next week,” my mom is still going on, but I’ve drowned out most of what she’s said. “We’re having a small gathering on Saturday. I expect both you and Ava to be there.”

  An icy numbness has crept into my chest, the way it always does whenever I get one of my mother’s calls. But it’s better than the sense of complete and bitter disappointment from my father. Thank God, he only calls when my mother feels like I’m not living up to the Beckett name.

  So I pretend.

  Always fucking pretending.

  “Yeah, sure,” I mutter, wanting to end this call. Needing to get back to Charlie. Wrap my arms around the girl, and feel something more than the constant battering of expectations that surround me and my family.

  Because that’s one thing the Becketts are good at - secrets, lies, manipulation, and expectations.

  I used to think it was because of the political face my family has to present, but I’m starting to wonder if it isn’t something that’s ingrained into our DNA. The joke of it all is that we’re all playing the game, but no one’s rules are the same.

  Win at any cost. Even if it means being miserable.

  After I’ve hung up, I walk back to the bedroom and lean against the doorframe, watching Charlie sleep.

  Sweet.

  Innocent.

  Perfect.

  She was right when she said she didn’t belong in my world. She’s too damn good for it. Too damn good for me.

  But I’m a selfish bastard, always wanting what I shouldn’t have. Taking without thinking about the consequence.

  That’s how you survive in my world. Taking. Scheming. Conniving.

  Winslow’s call to my mom was a warning. I know it. Just the start of what she’ll do to get what she thinks she wants - me.

  Something stirs inside me. A primal need to protect Charlie. From Winslow, from my parents, even from me.

  I text Winslow.

  Me: I know you called my mom. Stay the fuck out of my business. Or you and I are done.

  Only a few seconds pass before the ellipses start bouncing, then a message pops up.

  Winnie: I’m trying to protect you. You can screw whoever you like, Spencer, but flaunting her in public...think about what people will say. You’re Spencer Beckett and she’s a nobody.

  Me: Last warning, Win.

  The ellipses bounce, then stop, and a few minutes go by before another text pops up.

  Winnie: It’s not just you you’re hurting. Think about how this looks on me.

  I don’t respond, even though my fingers are itching to text back. In a fucked up way, she’s right. It’s always been Winslow who I’ve called whenever I needed a date. Sure, we both usually ended up in someone else’s bed at the end of the night. But as far as society believes, we’re together, the perfect couple. Primed and polished for a life in politics.

  Another goddamn lie. One that I need to set straight. But I know the second I do, the bloodhounds will be all over Charlie. The girl is tough, but she has no idea how merciless my world truly is.

&nbs
p; I scrub a palm over my face then back through my hair. If I was a better man, I’d end things between us now.

  “Spencer?” Charlie stirs in bed, rubbing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, crawling back into bed beside her, and pulling her into my arms.

  She snuggles against me, her body fitting mine perfectly.

  I never let girls sleep here. But if I had my way, I’d never let Charlie leave my bed. Because when she’s with me, everything seems right. I just pray to God that my need for her isn’t the thing that’ll destroy her.

  18

  Charlie

  “Ouch.” I wake up to Spencer nipping my shoulder.

  “Time to wake up, sleepy head.” He smacks my ass playfully as he rolls out of bed and struts around the bedroom toward his walk-in closet.

  “You kicking me out already?” I tease, but a sliver of insecurity races through me.

  He comes out of the closet wearing a pair of low riding sweatpants. “You got a test tomorrow in Davidson’s class, right?”

  “Yeah.” I sit up. “Crap. I almost forgot about that. I should be studying—”

  “Not until we have breakfast.” He crawls across the bed, trapping me from being able to dart and find my clothes, which are still scattered around his room. “Then I can help you. I took that class two years ago.”

  “If I stay, I doubt there will be much studying done. And I can’t let my grades slip.”

  He kisses me and I can’t help the moan that rumbles from my throat. Spencer chuckles. “Ninety percent studying, ten percent sex. Scout’s honor.”

  “I have a hard time believing you were ever a scout.”

  He rolls on his back taking me with him so that I’m straddling his hips, and I can feel his erection against my pussy through the cotton of his pants.

  “And this is why me staying is a bad idea.”

  His hands roam over my body, cupping my breasts, and I’m already wet for him, needing him inside me. But I’m also sore from last night, and I was telling him the truth, I can’t let my grades slip. I’m already struggling in Davidson’s class. I need a good grade on this test.