Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
After that, I’d marched down to Mrs. Kenning in the palace mailroom and begged them to just bring the flowers directly to my room. It was a prank, I’d told them. I don’t know how much Mrs. Kenning actually believed me, but after that, the roses came to my personal quarters, where my parents never came.
The little notes he sent with them just got more and more insane though. I knew he was just being a prick. They weren’t actual love notes, he was just trying to get a rise out of me. And I hated that it was working. Things like “to my wife, on our five day anniversary. Time just flies with you, dear,” or “roses are red, violets are blue, tequila tastes sweet and so do you,” which were so over-the-top cheesy that I knew he was doing it on purpose.
But then, there were the other notes — the ones that made my face flush and my body shiver when I read them in the privacy of my room.
…Dirty, filthy notes. Ones that read “Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ll use my teeth to pull your panties right off of you.” Or the just plain crude ones like “sit on my face. <3, Cole.”
It was one of those notes I was reading that night, the smell of roses hanging in the dark of my bedroom as I pulled the covers up to my waist:
I’m going to taste you until you come all over my tongue.
I felt the heat bloom through me as I read the note a second and then third and fourth time. It felt so damn dirty to have had someone send it to me, but at the same time, it teased something wild in me. No one had ever talked to me the way he did. No one had ever made me want to explode so wonderfully from the inside out like he did.
I had very little experience. He knew that, of course, just like everyone did thanks to that asshole tabloid reporter who’d decided that my being nineteen and having never dated was newsworthy enough to print. It wasn’t entirely true. I mean, I’d gone on a couple dates, and I’d kissed a couple of boys. There was even one somewhat nice Prince who I’d allowed to put his hand up my skirt for a second.
But that was it. And none of those brief experiences had lit the fire inside of me that Cole had. Not even close.
My mind wandered to that first kiss in the fountain. I remembered feeling so wild with my soaking wet dress clinging to me as he pulled me so close. I remembered the feel of his hard chest against my aching nipples, and I could certainly remember the feel of something very very hard throbbing against my belly through his pants.
The room felt hotter, and I shifted under the thin sheets. My thighs squeezed together, and I moaned quietly as I felt the wet, slick heat between my legs.
…It’d been like this for days. It’d been like this every single day actually, since I’d run out of that hotel room. My body ached for what we hadn’t done that night. My mind wandered to all the dirty, lurid things I’d do with him if I could go back and do that night all over again. I’d been strong for the last few days, resisting it with everything I had and determined not to give in.
But slowly I was losing that fight.
My nipples hardened under my thin tank top, and I could feel my arousal leaking into my panties, soaking them under the sheets. I closed my eyes, gasping quietly as I let my hands wander over my breasts, teasing my nipples through the cotton. I pinched one between two fingers, making myself moan. My other hand slid down over my tummy, and my hips arched as I pushed my fingers under the edge of my panties.
When my fingers found my sticky, slick lips, the moan caught in my throat. I whimpered, my fingers rolling over my aching clit as I cupped my breast. My hips arched off the bed, and when I slid my hand lower and eased a finger inside, I felt the pleasure roll through me. I moaned again, grinding my clit into my palm as I started to curl a finger in and out of my slippery pussy.
And all I could think of was him. I imagined him kissing me, and stripping my clothes away. I moaned, my finger stroking in and out of me as I pictured that scene from that morning again — him lying there in bed with that huge bulge tenting the sheet. Only this time, in my head, I wasn’t running away. This time, I had the guts to stay, and to peel back those sheets and see what I’d missed out on.