Prince Albert (A Step-Brother Romance #4)

"Don't do what?"

"Don't ask questions that sound innocent, and then look at me like you're doing right now, like you want me," I say. "I'm not playing a fucking game here."

"What do you want?" she whispers.

Holding her wrists against the wall with one hand, I slide my other palm up her thigh, moving it higher and higher and bunching her pencil skirt up around her ass. "You know what I want," I whisper. "I want to slide my cock inside your wet pussy until you call my name like you did that night. I want to hear the little whimpering sound you make before you come."

She says nothing, but she makes that sound in the back of her throat, the one I just described. The whimper. My fingers aren't even between her fucking legs, and she's making that sound. Fuck, that sound is going to be my undoing.

I reach between her legs. Her panties are soaked already, and I think that fact alone might make me come. She looks at me, her expression colored with lust.

"Tell me what you want, darlin'," I whisper, my fingers moving across the surface of those panties. "Still want to be friends?"

"It's not – shit, Gaige, it's not a good idea." But her breath is already coming in gasps.

"I tell you what I want to do to you, and you can't do the same?" I ask. "You kick me out of your room the morning after, then ignore me for the past fourteen fucking days. And now you're in my room panting and you're still not going to say you want me? Just say it, darlin'. I want to hear the words come out of your mouth."

"I –" she starts. Then she looks at me. "I want you."

I drop to my knees in front of her and yank her skirt up to her waist while she runs her hands through my hair. "Not good enough," I say, my fingers trailing along the surface of her panties. "I want to hear exactly what you want."

"I want you," she says. Gripping the side of her thong, I tear the fabric in two. "What are you doing?"

"I want to rip these the hell off you," I say, doing the same with the other side. "What do you want me to do? For a girl who's so fucking mouthy all the time, you're awful quiet now."

"I want you to –" She clears her throat. "I want you to lick me."

I touch my tongue to her pussy, tasting the sweetness of her juices. She's practically dripping, and she moans the second I touch her. "Like this?"

"I want you to do what you did before," she says. "Make me come on your face." I slide my fingers inside her, cover her clit with my mouth, sucking it in as I listen to her breath become shorter.

"Keep talking," I say. "Tell me what else."

"Oh, fuck, Gaige," she says, her breath shorter. "I want you to fuck me. I want to feel your cock inside me when I come."

Hearing those words come out of oh-so-professional Delaney's mouth nearly does me in. My cock is throbbing against the fabric of my pants. But I stand, my fingers still inside her, and kiss her hard on the mouth. When I pull back, she gasps for breath and I withdraw my fingers, sliding them over her bottom lip, coating it with her wetness. "Tell me you're mine," I demand.

"I'm yours." She whispers it. She's so far gone now she'll say anything I want her to say.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. I'm leaving now," I tell her.

"What?" Her eyes fly open, and she looks at me in disbelief. "What do you mean, you're leaving?"

Leaning in close to her, I whisper. "It's your father's party," I say. "We need to get ready. And you need to learn a lesson in making me wait."

"So that's…it?"

"Darlin', I'm just getting started," I say. "What you wear tonight, you wear for me. No panties, no bra. And no touching yourself between now and the party. Do you understand?"

Delaney raises her eyebrows. "So, you're going to just issue orders and expect me to fall in line, then?"

I lean in close to her. "I'll know if you touch yourself," I say, reaching between her legs to stroke her clit one last time before I leave. She clutches my arms as I roll my finger in circles. "And not only am I going to issue orders and anticipate that you'll follow them, I'm going to expect you to be dripping when you do."





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE





DELANEY


"Kombanwa," I say, bowing as I speak my greeting, good evening, in Japanese. "Hajimemashite. Watashi no namae wa Delaney Marlowe desu." I introduce myself in Japanese, already rusty after not speaking it since I've been in Texas.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Marlowe." Akira Ito is young, probably late twenties, and looks like a Japanese film star. No one told me that. How do I say I thought you were an old man, in Japanese? He's covering my hand with his and looking me in the eye, apparently not content with just a Japanese greeting. "You speak Japanese with ease. Tell me you didn't just learn an introduction for us."