Prince's Son Of Scandal. Dani Collins

pleasure through her pelvis. Her eyelids grew heavy again and she found herself lifting, spellbound by the lightning bolts of sensation that grew in strength as they kissed and he caressed her.

      How could anything feel this good?

      She wanted to touch him as intimately, but she could hardly think of anything but how he was making her feel. Just as she tried to shape him through his pants, his touch changed, exploring beneath silk with knowledge and intention.

      She bucked in reaction. “I can’t—My heart is going to explode.”

      She moved a reflexive hand to cover his, not quite stopping him, because the slide of his fingers against her was so mesmerizing, but so sensitizing she almost couldn’t bear it. Her entire focus narrowed to that delicate circle and stroke.

      “I want to be inside you, but I don’t want to stop touching you. Like that?” He pushed a long finger into her.

      She couldn’t speak, could only hear a keening noise that came from her as he penetrated and circled where she was so sensitive and molten that she ached. She tightened, trying to savor, trying to hold back the build, but wanton mindlessness took over. Her hips danced against his hand, the pleasure growing too acute to bear, tension growing and growing until she couldn’t stand it—

      “Oh!” Her world exploded in a sudden release that had her shaking and shuddering, flesh pulsing and eyes tearing at the absolute beauty of it.

      She pressed his hand still, trying to ease the sensation, trying to catch her breath.

      He kissed her, tongue questing for hers, and continued to gently caress her, soothing and teasing so her level of arousal didn’t fade, only edged into deeper desire.

      With a groan, she rolled into him, strangely ravenous. She wanted the barriers between them gone. Wanted all of him. What was he doing to her?

      He made a feral noise and they tugged at each other’s clothing, stripping in seconds, then rolled back together, naked, gloriously naked. Now he was hers, all hers. She swept her hands over him, enamored with his broad shoulders but equally fascinated by his rock-hard biceps and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in a swallow.

      When she cradled the fiercest part of him in her palm, she wasn’t frightened at all. She felt powerful, especially when he looked agonized and closed his eyes and breathed, “Bella.”

      With a smile, she pressed her mouth to his throat and tried to roll him onto his back. He rolled her beneath him instead, pressing over her as he kissed her, letting her caress him as he used his tongue to mimic what he wanted to do until she couldn’t take it and tore her mouth from his. “I need—”

      She didn’t know what she needed. She was restless and urgent, loins feeling achy and neglected. Empty.

      He reached over to the night table then rose over her, knees sliding between hers and parting her legs with effortless strength.

      She felt so many things in that moment. Vulnerable, yes, but strangely trusting. It didn’t matter if she didn’t particularly enjoy this part. She wanted to know she could take a man—

      “Oh.”

      He paused, tip pressing for entry, the invasion startling enough that she tensed.

      His head came up. His whole body was taut, his cheeks flushed, his eyes glittering, but there was a shred of man still governing the animal. “I might literally die if you’ve changed your mind.”

      Maybe that’s what made her smile. Maybe it was the fact her body was so eager for his. Maybe it was simply the joy of this crazy, magical night.

      With a little arch, she invited him to complete his thrust and he did with a shudder, sinking deep, gaze never leaving hers, but glowing hot as the center of a flame as their flesh melded.

      To say she became a woman under his possession was silly, but she felt like a woman in that moment. Mature and whole and sacred. She was responding exactly as nature intended under the advances of a mate. Her mate. With this act, he gave her back her sexuality, her desire. Her self.

      She closed her eyes against something too big to contemplate, but it only made the sensations intensify as he took a testing withdraw and return. She shivered as though velvet passed over her skin.

      “Yes?”

      “Yes,” she moaned, savoring the deliciousness that lingered with anticipation for another stroke. “More.”

      Lucidity faded as he did it again. And again.

      He began to thrust with more purpose. She found her hips rising to meet his, longing for the return of his. Needing it. The dance delivered such acute pleasure, she released a strangled groan of enjoyment.

      He picked up the tempo and magnificent sensations ran through her. She wanted to tell him but couldn’t speak, as she was too enraptured. Tension gripped her. A kind of tortured ecstasy—her body searching for an answering call in his.

      She needed him to be as driven beyond himself as she was. To come with her to this place where nothing existed but this new being they had become with their joining. Scraping her nails down his back, she grasped at his buttocks and pulled him into her. Into the eye of the storm.

      They struck the pinnacle together, the climax so intense, she opened her mouth in a soundless scream. Pleasure like she had never known flooded in, drowning her as he held himself magnificently deep inside her, throbbing in her jubilant grip as he released a ragged cry of exhilaration and shuddered with completion.

      * * *

      Xavier swore.

      “What’s wrong?” Trella murmured, hands moving with endless appetite over his damp shoulders.

      He withdrew and rolled away. “The condom broke.”

      She was glad it was dark now. After the first time, they had turned out the lights and slid under the covers to fondle and caress for ages, barely speaking, just kissing and enjoying. Bonding, she might have been tempted to think, yet something in his silence, and the condoms in the night table, told her he had done this a lot.

      She had suffered a hollow ache as she’d forced herself to accept that, despite his sweet words, she was merely the woman du jour for him. A lady of the night, really.

      Whether he had sensed her withdrawal, or she was just that easy, he had grown more passionate. The second time had been even better than the first. Her inhibitions were gone and he held out, giving her two shattering orgasms before taking her on a third ride that nearly killed her, their shared climax being so powerful.

      She was too sweaty and lethargic to be triumphant, but she was pretty darned smug at having taken a lover. She had distantly been hoping she had rocked his world as thoroughly as he had rocked hers, but reality struck like a brick through a window at his words.

      “It’s okay. I won’t get pregnant.” She swallowed, trying to clear the thickness that gathered in her throat.

      “You’re on the pill or something?”

      Or something. “Yes.”

      “I have physicals all the time.”

      “I’m fine, too.” Did people really have these conversations? It scraped the romance off a wonderful evening, leaving her thinking about the rest of reality. Guilt crawled in. She had kept secrets from him and—far worse—from her family. They’d be worried sick if they knew where she was.

      As if on cue, her phone plinked with the harp notes of her sister’s ringtone. Like some kind of empath, Angelique was picking up on her sudden discord.

      “I have to get that,” Trella murmured, then she groaned. Her muscles ached as though she’d run a marathon. She forced herself to rise and move naked across the shadowed room, finding her clutch where she’d dropped it in the lounge, then came back to the bedroom door.

      She stayed there, slyly hoping he was looking at her, silhouetted by the lamplight. In a quick exchange