Page 97 of Prince

“Oh, wow.”

Dree thought it was kind of weird to compare what guys were like in the sack, butthere was a difference.Her ex, Francis, had always had the same game, moving through the perfunctory stations of foreplay. Francis had always made little comments like wishing her waist was smaller or her tummy was flatter, like she didn’t measure up to his idea of what a woman should look like. Having sex with Francis felt like stuffing a protein bar in her mouth because she was hungry.

Maxence was decadent. He was the whole meal and dessert and fine, fine wine.

The way Max trailed his fingers over the skin of her ass and teased her, barely grazing the tip of her and then smacking her ass again—

“Ow!”

—suggested they could do this forhours, untildawnif they wanted to, because they could sleep in the next morning and didn’t have a job to get to, ever. Sex was play to him. It was a seven-course meal starting with anamuse-boucheand ending with kisses and glances that were light and sweet.

He was massaging down the backs of her thighs, and Dree rested her forehead on the comforter. Her eyes were barely open because his strong hands kneaded soreness out of her hamstrings that she hadn’t realized was there.

With her hanging over his lap like that, the world looked upside down. Dark wood furniture hung from the ceiling, and the tall bedpost beside her face blocked the bedroom door. The silver chandelier sprung from the ground like a crystalline flower.

He pressed the heel of his hand slowly up her spine, and his fingers pulsed around the back of her neck.

Dree’s shoulders lowered and relaxed, and her breathing deepened.

His fingers pressed inside her, a delicious friction of need.

He chuckled. “So wet, my naughty, naughtychérie.”

He rolled her hard nub under the pad of his thumb.

Languorous pleasure stole through her body. Dree closed her eyes, lost in his touch.

His other hand smoothed up and down her spine, his fingers reaching into her hair and fisting a handful at the top, promising something rougher later, and then trailing lower over her tailbone with each stroke. His hand petting her lifted away, but Dree was too tranquilized from his methodical seduction to investigate why.

Two fingers of his other hand still rubbed deep inside her, subtly stroking in and out. His thumb glided over her nub with every stroke.

After a second, his other hand slid over her ass. One of his fingers, wet now, drew light circles on her asshole.

Dree’s breath caught in her chest.

Maxence asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

Dree rolled her forehead on the mattress, shaking her head no, she didn’t have anything to say.

Dree’s toe on the floor slipped, and she jabbed her foot down so she wouldn’t fall off Max’s thighs. She grabbed the comforter in front of her face, squeezing the silk in her fists.

His finger on her asshole became heavier, pressing.

He said, “Don’t clench inside. Push back against my finger.”

Dree tried, acutely aware she was a total beginner at this.

He was careful, and slow, and his other hand maintained its rhythm inside her.

Slow, sensual pulses consumed her body, flowing over her muscles. It wasn’t a driving rush toward orgasm, but a constant assault on her consciousness.

With persistence, his finger invaded her asshole, impaling her there, too.

“Goodchérie,”he told her.

His thumb roughened on her, and her back arched.

His finger in her ass pushed deeper, filling her there, too. Its presence pushed down his fingers inside her channel, pressing them against her front wall. The sensation was so intense that it felt like he was holding her entire clit—the part that ran all the way inside of her—in his hand and gently squeezing it with pulses.