right behind her. I hold her there, hands gripping her arse, holding her against me. My face presses against her tit, her hands still gripping my shoulders. When my own breathing eases and I’m sure I can move, I shift her in my arms and start across the room. I barely make it to the bed before I collapse, falling on top of her. I roll onto my side, my hand tugging the flimsy sheet away from her body that she’s already pulling over her. She blushes, her hands moving to cover herself.
"Don't." My voice is dominant and commanding, and her hands fall away immediately. I reach for her, placing my palm against her cheek, and stroke her face until her head turns toward me. Her face is still flushed, her breaths heavy, and her eyes still coax me to her. I feel a stirring deep within just from being next to her tight naked body.
I drop my hand to her shoulder, my fingertips swirling circles against her skin as my hand moves. Her sighs are barely audible as she closes her eyes, her body arching beneath my touch.
I trace a slow path down her body; my thumb sweeping over the swell of her breast, my forefinger pressing against the curve of her hip. My fingers drum a light rhythm as they stretch across her lower abdomen. Pressing my palm against her, she whimpers slightly, her hips thrusting against my touch.
"Adelaide," I urge, my hand inching up her opposite side, mimicking my previous movements. She responds with another low audible sigh, her hands fisting the sheet below her body, her lashes fluttering as she tries to look at me.
"I, I don't think I can. . . Not yet." She continues to pant as I lower my hand to her knee, tugging her so that she’s lying on her side. "James. . . please—"
This time I cut her off, placing my lips over hers, suckling gently at her lower lip. "Did anyone ever tell you—you talk too much?" I tease, my tongue making its way into her mouth.
Her hand reaches for my waist, pulling me against her, and she gasps into my mouth when she feels me harden against her thigh.
"James," she murmurs, still breathless, her head falling back so she can look at me. "I’m just. . . Oh God. . . "
And I’m the one who laughs quietly, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead. "There's no rush," I tell her, cupping her cheek in my hand and staring into those dark eyes. "Because the way I see it, we're just getting started, Miss Queen."
9
Queen
Three weeks later. . .
MY ANSWER TO the proposition is instant.
"No. And how do you know I need it?"
Rent is due tomorrow. The same sentence has been beating in my head all day, and I know exactly how much money I don’t have. All the winnings from Wonderland went toward my debts, unfortunately . I can’t ask my brother again, not after the incident a few months back involving public intoxication, nudity, and a hefty fine . Asking my parents is out, since it’s my financial straits that caused me to boomerang out of their house for the second time, move in with my brother and his girlfriend, and crash in the spare bedroom.
"Because it's the second of the month and I was the only buyer at your last showing,” Preston says.
I groan into the phone.
He’s right.
I hate it when he’s right.
Victory still hangs in its same spot at the gallery, earning exactly zero pounds for all the accolades it’s garnered, and I’m trying to scrape together enough money to keep my landlord and roommates happy by commissioning a charcoal portrait of some guy's ugly pug dog with human eyes. One week before the commission is due, and I’m still farting around on the eye.
The eye .
“By the way, that thing still gives me nightmares,” he continues. “I stuck it in the guest bathroom so I can unnerve my in-laws with it while they sit on the loo." I wouldn’t expect anything less from Preston.
I continue to towel off my hair, wet from the shower. "I was going through a surrealist period. That piece is refreshingly shocking."
"It's refreshingly shitty. The only thing
"Don't." My voice is dominant and commanding, and her hands fall away immediately. I reach for her, placing my palm against her cheek, and stroke her face until her head turns toward me. Her face is still flushed, her breaths heavy, and her eyes still coax me to her. I feel a stirring deep within just from being next to her tight naked body.
I drop my hand to her shoulder, my fingertips swirling circles against her skin as my hand moves. Her sighs are barely audible as she closes her eyes, her body arching beneath my touch.
I trace a slow path down her body; my thumb sweeping over the swell of her breast, my forefinger pressing against the curve of her hip. My fingers drum a light rhythm as they stretch across her lower abdomen. Pressing my palm against her, she whimpers slightly, her hips thrusting against my touch.
"Adelaide," I urge, my hand inching up her opposite side, mimicking my previous movements. She responds with another low audible sigh, her hands fisting the sheet below her body, her lashes fluttering as she tries to look at me.
"I, I don't think I can. . . Not yet." She continues to pant as I lower my hand to her knee, tugging her so that she’s lying on her side. "James. . . please—"
This time I cut her off, placing my lips over hers, suckling gently at her lower lip. "Did anyone ever tell you—you talk too much?" I tease, my tongue making its way into her mouth.
Her hand reaches for my waist, pulling me against her, and she gasps into my mouth when she feels me harden against her thigh.
"James," she murmurs, still breathless, her head falling back so she can look at me. "I’m just. . . Oh God. . . "
And I’m the one who laughs quietly, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead. "There's no rush," I tell her, cupping her cheek in my hand and staring into those dark eyes. "Because the way I see it, we're just getting started, Miss Queen."
9
Queen
Three weeks later. . .
MY ANSWER TO the proposition is instant.
"No. And how do you know I need it?"
Rent is due tomorrow. The same sentence has been beating in my head all day, and I know exactly how much money I don’t have. All the winnings from Wonderland went toward my debts, unfortunately . I can’t ask my brother again, not after the incident a few months back involving public intoxication, nudity, and a hefty fine . Asking my parents is out, since it’s my financial straits that caused me to boomerang out of their house for the second time, move in with my brother and his girlfriend, and crash in the spare bedroom.
"Because it's the second of the month and I was the only buyer at your last showing,” Preston says.
I groan into the phone.
He’s right.
I hate it when he’s right.
Victory still hangs in its same spot at the gallery, earning exactly zero pounds for all the accolades it’s garnered, and I’m trying to scrape together enough money to keep my landlord and roommates happy by commissioning a charcoal portrait of some guy's ugly pug dog with human eyes. One week before the commission is due, and I’m still farting around on the eye.
The eye .
“By the way, that thing still gives me nightmares,” he continues. “I stuck it in the guest bathroom so I can unnerve my in-laws with it while they sit on the loo." I wouldn’t expect anything less from Preston.
I continue to towel off my hair, wet from the shower. "I was going through a surrealist period. That piece is refreshingly shocking."
"It's refreshingly shitty. The only thing
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