Page 37 of Prince

The only thing he couldn’t handle was Dree Clark sitting in the admin’s chair, which was a smaller, straighter chair and somewhat behind the two seats directly in front of his desk.

He couldn’t handle the way her skirt hem rode up farther on her thighs every time she stretched her bare legs.

He couldn’t handle the way she bit her lower lip in consternation that he might notice her fidgeting.

Maxence’s desk phone said, “Your Highness, sir, your next appointment is here to see you.”

“Five minutes.” He snapped off the intercom. “Sault, leave us. We have a matter to discuss.”

The gray-haired, gray-suited whisper of a man slipped through the door and closed it behind him.

“Dree,” Max said.

“What, yes?” She looked up. One of her fists was wrapped around the hem of her skirt, and the other was precariously balancing the tablet on her hip.

He said, “Set the tablet on my desk.” His voice felt lower and harder as he said it, as the blood moved from his brain and pooled lower.

She placed the tablet on the edge of his desk. “I’m sorry. I was trying not to drop it.”

“Scoot forward and sit on the edge of your chair.

“I—okay? Am I supposed to sit farther forward?” She balanced just her butt cheeks on the edge of the chair. “Is it ergonomic?”

“Take off your panties.”

A sneaky little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “But this skirt is so short.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are.”

“The panties.Now.”

She thumbed the straps over her hips through the dress, deliciously pushing them down to the tops of her thighs. Scarlet lace appeared at the edge of her dress.

Max’s heart flip-flopped, but he didn’t even blink.

That scrap of red lace—just the smallest, tiniestscrap—slid down her legs. She lifted one high-heeled shoe, then the other, and picked her panties up off the centuries-old Oriental carpet. “What should I do with them?”

Maxence held out his hand.

Dree leaned forward to drop them into his outstretched fingers and almost fell off the edge of her chair. She laughed and started to scoot back.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

He removed the pressed blue silk pocket square from the outer breast pocket of his suit jacket, folded her panties into a neat triangle, and tucked the scrap of scarlet lace into his pocket as a trophy. “Don’t lean back. Lick your finger and touch yourself.”

“I don’t need to lick my finger, Max, but okay.” Dree lifted one slim, scarlet-tipped finger to her mouth and sucked on the tip.

With that visual, he could almost feel her lips on the head of his dick. It swelled, growing heavy in his trousers.

This girl was going to kill him, but what a way to go.

He said, “The outside first.”

She did, massaging her flesh.