Her Christmas Prince. Catherine MannЧитать онлайн книгу.
he taunted softly, “tell me.”
She knew what he was doing. He was challenging her to stick to her declaration that she wouldn’t sleep with him during her visit. That she wouldn’t allow herself to be seduced.
But, God help her, she couldn’t. She wanted him too much to deny it any longer.
To deny him.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed her mouth to his. The same smoldering heat washed over her again and, with a sigh, she whispered, “Don’t stop. Don’t go. I do want this.”
She expected him to smile—a cocky, self-important response to show her he’d known all along he would win their little cat-and-mouse game.
But he didn’t smile. Instead, his eyes flashed with fire, a second before narrowing dangerously.
Bending slightly, he scooped her up, ball gown, high heels and all. His determined strides carried them to her bedroom, where he kicked the door closed and crossed to the wide, four-poster bed.
The room was dark, with only a hint of moonlight shining through the diaphanous curtains on the French doors. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but as Nicolas deposited her on the mattress, then stood back to unbutton his jacket, she decided it didn’t matter. She could see him just well enough, and in a few minutes she would be touching him everywhere. Feeling him everywhere.
He stripped off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, then loosened the first few buttons of his shirt, keeping his gaze locked on her the entire time.
Not wanting to be a mere bystander, Alandra rose to her knees and pulled off her strappy heels, tossing them aside. She reached behind her for the zipper of her dress.
“No.”
Nicolas’s low, stern voice stopped her. He took two steps forward to the edge of the bed and ran his hands seductively down her bare arms.
“Let me.”
Her stomach muscles clenched as his fingers ran over her abdomen and around her sides, to her lower back. Slowly, he slid his palms up the line of her spine.
His touch burned through the velvet of her gown as his hands trailed upward, and then drew the zipper down. The quiet rasp of the tiny metal teeth parting accompanied their harsh breathing.
When the zipper was lowered, her dress fell open, helped along by Nicolas’s large, strong hands. She shrugged and shifted slightly; he pulled it away and dropped it unceremoniously at his feet.
Alandra knelt at the edge of the king-size mattress in her cherry-red bra and panties, and a pair of sheer, thigh-high stockings. Her heart was racing out of control, her nerves skittering like a million angry ants. Licking her dry lips, she remained perfectly still, watching Nicolas and waiting.
He stood equally still, his blue eyes riveted on her face. And then he reached for his shirt, undoing the buttons and pulling the tail from his slacks.
His movements weren’t hurried, but they weren’t patient, either. He made short work of removing the garment, letting it flutter to the floor while he reached for the front of his pants. There was no belt to slow him down, and with a flick of his wrist, he released both the catch and zipper.
Half-naked, he was impressive enough. But fully naked, he was the stuff of dreams and naughty female fantasies. His arms and chest were beautifully sculpted. A tight, flat abdomen flowed to narrow hips and long legs corded with muscle.
Alandra’s pulse skittered and her mouth went dry as she focused her gaze to the area between his thighs. He was impressive there, too.
She didn’t know what to say or how to act, so merely sat where she was and waited for him to make the first move.
It didn’t take long. With a single stride, he was with her, cradling her in his arms, while his mouth devoured hers.
Their lips meshed. Their tongues tangled. And everywhere their skin touched, she sizzled.
Alandra curled her fingers into his shoulders, her nails gently scraping. Behind her, she felt him fiddling with the clasp of her bra, and then it came free. She released him long enough to allow him to remove the garment.
Rather than wrapping his arms around her again, Nicolas reached for her breasts, cupping them in his palms, toying with the tight, beaded nipples. All without breaking their kiss.
She moaned into his mouth, pressing even closer. Her own hands roamed over every inch of hot, hard flesh she could reach—his arms, his back, his pectorals and the slim, sensitive sides of his waist.
It was his turn to make a ragged sound of longing when she ran her fingertips over the taut twin globes of his rear, then raked her nails back up to the base of his spine.
She almost smiled. She could feel the desperation rippling through him as he tightened his grasp on her breasts, deepening their kiss, pressing himself against her belly.
Without warning, he tugged her legs out from under her, so that she fell flat on her back on the bed. He followed her down, covering her completely as he trailed his lips across her cheeks, over her eyelids, along her jaw and behind her ear.
At the same time, his hands worked to remove her stockings, rolling them slowly down her thighs and calves, and over her feet. Next went her panties, and she lifted her hips to help him, until she was blessedly naked, rubbing against him in all the best places.
His mouth was at her throat now, licking and sucking and humming, sending little trills of sensation straight to her core. He cupped her buttocks, bringing her flush with his arousal and turning her insides liquid with longing.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, still kissing everywhere he could reach. “Lovelier than I imagined. And much better than anything I’ve dreamed of these past weeks.”
She smiled, running her fingers through his hair and enjoying his husky declaration, even if he’d said it to a million other women before. This wasn’t about commitment or honesty. It was about lust and desire and untold pleasures, fleeting though they might be.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied, remembering the multitude of erotic dreams that had revolved around him since she’d moved into the palace.
Grinning, he raised his head to gaze down at her. He leaned in to kiss her, hard and fast, then pulled back, his expression serious. “Tell me you want me,” he demanded.
She studied him for a long moment, her eyes locked with his. He was more handsome than any man deserved to be, and when he focused his attentions on her, she felt like the only woman in the world. The only woman he was interested in, at any rate.
And right now, that was all that mattered.
“I want you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms and legs around him and holding him tight. “Make love to me, Prince Stephan Nicolas Braedon.”
No one had called him by his first name in years, not since he decided to go by Nicolas, after years of his sister referring to him as Nico. He held her gaze for another split second, then pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was hot enough to suck all the air from her lungs and from the room, and she kissed him back with equal enthusiasm.
His hands raked her sides. Then he was caressing her thighs, both outside and in.
His knuckles brushed the triangle of curls between her legs as he began to explore. He stroked and teased, groaning when he found her already damp.
She writhed beneath him as he used two fingers to plumb her depths. She was panting now, and her breathing grew more shallow as he traced his fingertips over the tiny nub of pleasure hidden within her folds.
He touched her there, and she exploded. The orgasm washed over her like a wave of heat.
His smug, satisfied smile greeted her when she opened her eyes. Her cheeks heated at his close scrutiny, and she felt suddenly self-conscious about her wanton response to his touch.
“You