Read Online Rise of the Lost Prince by London Saint James - Free Book Online Page A

line of her lips until she parted them on
an intake of breath. When their flesh met, she closed her eyes. Fireworks
exploded inside her head, the luminous sparks floating, then falling, falling,
and transitioning into a force crashing down over her—a title wave of longing.
She moaned, tasting the summer sky, morning dew, the sweetness of rainbows,
sultry nights, and rain storms.
    Mind whirling, her body shifting,
she was lying on her back, fingers tangled into the nape of Petúr’s satiny
hair, the other hand pressed against the steely strength of his shirt-covered
chest. Every part of her became aware of him on some sort of molecular level.
Yet nothing could have prepared her for what she experienced when he tucked
himself between her thighs and groaned. Heat slammed into her core. Her stomach
quivered. Her panties dampened. An inferno. Yes, surely it must be an inferno
which lapped at her skin while their tongues tangled into infinity.
    ****
      Petúr was lost in an ocean of sensation, wave
after wave, pulling him under. The connection to this woman beneath him was
undeniable. Everything about Wyndi filled him up until there was nothing but
her. Her taste. Her touch. Her scent. His chest expanded.
    Damn,
her scent .
She tasted better than the cotton candy fragrance that wafted from her skin. Skin. Oh, yes, skin . That’s what he
needed, to feel her soft skin against his.
    “Wyndi.” He breathed, saddened to
break the kiss, reaching over his shoulder, yanking the material of his shirt,
lifting up with the other hand, and pulling the garment from over his head. “I
must feel your flesh against mine.”
    Her tongue darted out, licking
her lips. Was she nervous? Well, he’d be the balm to soothe those nerves. He
focused on her mouth. Those delicious lips were kiss swollen and moist, making
his cock strain even more against the constraint of his pants.
    “Okay,” she said in a small,
breathy voice, the lids covering her blue eyes at half-mast.
    He reached for the hem of the too
big nightshirt covering the body he had to see, lifting until he revealed her
little white panties and lacy bra covered breasts. Blood raced through his
veins. He wanted to do everything with her. To her. Touch all over. Taste every
inch of her. Put his fingers and cock into the tight, warm sheath he knew was
awaiting him.
    Take
her. Hell yeah. Those two words became a chant within his mind. He wanted to take
his woman in every position he could imagine and then some. His woman? Yes. Yes she was his, or
would be. Slow your roll. You don’t want
to scare her. He had to maintain. He couldn’t go at her like some out of
control beast.
    Leaning down, he kissed between
the creamy mounds of her cleavage, skimmed his cheek across the apex of her
right breast, watching goose bumps scatter across her flesh in a wanton
invitation. Unable to stop himself from licking her, he lapped at her in one,
long, lingering stroke, from the top edge of the bra, up her collarbone, only
stopping because the material he’d lifted hindered his progress being bunched
around her neck.
    “Oh, hell,” he muttered. “You
taste so good.”  
    She shook, and he wanted her
shakes.
    “I do?”
    “Yes,” he answered, feeling her
warm palms slide down his biceps. Even that tantalized him. “I’m already
addicted.” He went to his elbows, slid his hands under her shoulder blades,
arching her up, dropped his head, grabbed the flimsy middle of her bra with his
teeth, bit, and tugged, ripping it free.
    “Oh!” she uttered.
    Moving the material aside with
his nose, he pulled back enough to see her, soaking every bit of her pink and
white flesh in with his eyes, before flicking a rosebud nipple with the tip of
his tongue.
    “Petúr.” He reveled in the sound
of his name falling from her lips, and sucked the nipple he’d been teasing into
his mouth. “Mm…We should stop.” He lightly bit. Swirled his tongue around the
aroused nub. “Oh…Never mind. Don’t stop,”