To Protect a Princess by Jess Michaels
Chapter 19
Ilaria and Jonah were quiet together for a while. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, not something she felt like she had to fill. Which was odd because that was her entire existence: filling silences, working to keep things from being awkward with dignitaries and subjects alike.
But with Jonah she could just…be. He held her hand, not pressuring her, not expecting anything from her.
She had no idea how much time had passed before he said, “I know what it’s like to long for the father you don’t have. To mourn what you wish had been, as much as what was. And I’m sorry that you didn’t get what you deserved from him, which was love and support.”
There was the hint at the edges again about his past, linked to her own story. “Thank you,” she whispered. “He has been gone for a year and I still have such complicated emotions about him. Some days I miss him. He was not a warm father, but he was a very certain king. I didn’t worry about the future—I assumed he would know what to do.”
“You don’t feel that way with Grantham?” Jonah asked.
She bent her head. “My brother is just finding his way. I can see the weight of it on his shoulders. It isn’t that I don’t think he’ll determine his own path, it’s that I fear he will be broken by it in the end. That crown is very heavy on his head.”
“I don’t disagree,” Jonah said.
“You knew about the uprising before last night, didn’t you?” she asked softly.
As she waited for the answer, she realized she wasn’t angry about it either way. She didn’t like that he’d hidden his true motives for following her, but she didn’t believe what he’d concealed had been done out of malice or cruelty.
He sighed. “He told me before, yes.”
She drew her hands from his and worried them before her. “I am glad he has a friend in you. I’m glad I have a friend in you.”
That seemed to move him in some way because a muscle in his jaw twitched. “You shall always have a friend in me, Ilaria.”
“But not the rest,” she said. “I won’t always have the rest. So I don’t want to waste this time we have together.” She stood up and moved around the table to him. He pushed his chair back as she reached him and didn’t resist when she settled herself into his lap. She wiggled her bare backside against his cock and felt half-hard go to full attention, even through the heavy layers of his trousers.
She pushed aside everything but this. The sensations, the closeness, the love she felt for him. That was all that mattered in this moment. That was the gift.
She lowered her lips to his and he opened to her, letting her in with a soft grumble from deep within his chest. His arms came around her, his fingers pressing into her back as he pulled her even closer. The kiss deepened, his tongue tracing patterns against hers. She found herself lifting into him, as if she could somehow get even closer, even deeper.
She shifted in his lap, straddling him so they were face to face. He cupped her backside, sliding his fingers beneath the edge of his shirt so that the heat of his hands held against her bare skin. She hissed out a sound of pleasure as her head dipped back. He gripped harder when she rotated her hips against his.
Already pleasure spiked, even though they were separated by the fabric of his trousers. It didn’t matter. She could grind here to release if she tried. She knew that. It wouldn’t be enough. But then again, nothing would be enough. Not with this man.
She wanted it all. Selfishly and recklessly and blindly, she wanted it all.
But instead of saying that, she found the buttons of his shirt and fumbled to open them. When he laughed at her bumbling, she pulled away, loving how close their faces were in this position.
“See?” she whispered as she stroked her nose along the side of his. “Useless.”
“Never, never, never,” he murmured. “Just overly eager.”
He covered her hand with his, and together they unbuttoned him as he stared up into her eyes, never parting his gaze from hers. In that moment she felt more molded to him, more one, than she had any time they made love. This was something else, something special and rare and beautiful.
She sought his lips again as he worked his shirt free of his trousers, quite the feat with her perched on his lap, and then tugged it away so he was naked from the waist up. She pressed her hands to his chest, raking her nails against his skin gently and memorizing every line of his body with her fingertips.
He muttered something, low and lost against her lips, and then he shocked her by grasping the fluttering edges of the shirt she wore and tugging. Buttons flew across the kitchen floor and the fabric rended as she drew back with a laugh.
“You ruined my shirt!” she gasped.
He shook his head as he pulled the torn fabric away and left her utterly naked in his arms. “My shirt,” he clarified. “And since I intend to keep you in nothing at all for the next few days, that is a sacrifice I’m happy to make.”
“Anything for the cause,” she murmured, arching against his chest so her breasts rubbed against the line of curly red hair there.
He grunted with pleasure as he cupped the back of her head and pulled her down to find her lips with his. Everything felt more urgent now, a shift that had happened instantly. She needed what he would give, he needed to give it.
So when he cupped her backside with both hands and then stood, lifting her along with him, she wasn’t even surprised by the move. It made sense that they should shift as one, never even break the kiss as he pushed the plates on the table aside and set her on the edge.
She wrapped her legs around him out of instinct and it aligned their bodies. He dug his fingers into her hair, tilted her head for better access as his kiss grew more wild and unfettered and deep. She clung to him, her island on this ocean of desire as her body pulsed with a heartbeat of need only he could fulfill.
“Please,” she whispered against his lips. “Please, please.”
He drew away from her mouth and rested his forehead against hers instead. “Do you know what you do to me?” he muttered, she thought almost to himself more than to her.
So she didn’t answer in words, but wedged her hand into the tight space between them and let it slide down over his chest, his stomach, until she found the fall front of his trousers. She opened the fastenings and angled herself back just far enough to pull the fabric away.
He cupped her hips, drawing her to the very edge of the table as he took her in one, easy stroke. She gasped against the quick invasion and locked her legs harder around his hips. They circled together, slow and steady, grinding for her pleasure. She gripped him hard with every stroke, their mouths tearing at each other, seeking more and more until there would be nothing left.
Except pleasure. This wicked pleasure that mounted inside of her, pulsing between her legs. He seemed to sense her building toward it, seeking the release from the pressure. He kissed her one last time and then lowered her on the tabletop, flat on her back. She gripped the edge, watching him as he pressed his fingers against her clitoris.
He slowed his thrusts and smoothed her own wetness against the sensitive nub, peeling the head back to reveal the pulsing pearl beneath. She gasped, turning her head, squeezing her eyes shut as he tortured and soothed her all at once. She lifted against his hand, losing control of her body as he took her to the edge and then pushed her over.
She was flying, soaring through the rippling waves of pleasure he built higher and higher in her body with just his touch. She gripped his cock harder, unable to control the squeezing of her body anymore. He grunted as his thrusts increased, grew harder, and just as her crisis ended, he withdrew with a curse.
He came in thick spurts that splashed across her stomach and breasts. She gazed into his face in this moment of pure vulnerability, lost in the expression of pleasure that softened his hard edges. When he opened his eyes and saw the mess he had made, he shook his head and reached for the ripped shirt he had discarded.
“My apologies,” he began.
She ignored him and instead rubbed the wet evidence of his release against her skin. He stared as she did so, his pupils dilating all over again.
“I want it,” she whispered. “I want you, all of you, for as long as I can have you.”
He grabbed her hand to pull her to a seated position on the table. He kissed her, not gently, but firmly and with promise, then said, “Then come back up to my bed, Ilaria. Because I have a thousand ways I want to debauch you and we don’t have that much time.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” she said.
He handed over the torn shirt. Instead of putting it on, she slung it over her shoulder and padded out of the kitchen. He was hard on her heels, his arms coming around her from behind as they staggered up the stairs, toward his bed, toward the slender opportunity they had and neither wished to squander.