Page 30 of Prince Material (The Prince Pact #2)

Floris took a moment to look at me, his gaze traveling over my chest, my shoulders, down to the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of my jeans. “You’re beautiful,” Floris said, with such sincerity that I almost believed him.

I wanted to argue with him, but it seemed senseless anyway.

He was as stubborn as I was, so what was the use?

Instead, I pulled him down for another kiss, deeper this time, hungrier.

Floris made a pleased sound against my mouth, his hands roaming over my chest, thumbs brushing over my nipples in a way that made me arch against him.

Floris broke the kiss again, but only to move lower, his lips tracing a path down my neck, my chest, my stomach. When he reached the waistband of my jeans, he paused, looking up through his lashes. I nodded my consent.

With deft fingers, Floris unbuttoned my jeans, sliding them down my legs along with my boxers. The cool air of the dorm room hit my heated skin, making me shiver—or maybe that was the way Floris was looking at me, like I was something precious, something worth savoring.

Floris maintained eye contact as he lowered his head, his breath warm against my most sensitive skin.

And then his mouth was there, hot and wet and perfect as it wrapped around my cock, and for a moment, my mind went completely, blissfully blank.

All the worry and stress melted away as he alternated between gentle, teasing licks that danced across my skin and taking me deeper with a practiced rhythm.

Wait.

I didn’t want to do this again, with Floris giving me oral and not being able to return the favor.

He couldn’t always be the one to give and not get back in equal measure.

No, I needed to learn this. I wanted to learn this.

I wanted to make Floris feel what I had felt, wanted to see him come undone the way he’d sent me sky high back in New Orleans.

I gently pulled him off my cock.

Floris looked worried. “Everything okay? Did I do?—”

“Show me how to do that. I want to try.”

A flash of surprise crossed Floris’s face, quickly replaced by desire. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to learn. Will you teach me? ”

Floris swallowed hard. “Okay, but you can stop any time you want. If you don’t like it, or if your jaw gets tired, or?—”

I silenced him with a kiss. “I want this. I want you.”

We shifted positions, Floris lying back against the pillows, me kneeling between his legs. Floris helped me remove his sweatpants, lifting his hips to allow me to slide them down. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

For a moment, I looked, taking in the sight of Floris: his broad shoulders, the colorful tattoos on his upper arms, the dusting of freckles across his chest, the trail of blond hair leading down to where he was hard and ready.

“You’re staring,” Floris said, a rare note of self-consciousness in his voice.

“You told me I was beautiful. I’m returning the favor.”

Floris’s cheeks flushed, the color spreading down his neck to his chest. “Don’t you want to touch?”

I did want. I reached out, wrapping my fingers around Floris, feeling the weight of him in my hand. Floris’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Encouraged, I continued, watching Floris’s face for reactions, cataloging what made his breath catch, what made his hips rise to meet my hand. When I felt confident, I lowered my head, mimicking what Floris had done to me.

It was different than I’d expected: the taste, the feel. But not bad different. Just… new. Unfamiliar. I licked around his cock head, then suckled gently. This, I could do. I could make him feel what he’d made me feel.

“That’s perfect,” Floris murmured, his hand coming to rest lightly on my head, not pushing. “Your tongue on my slit feels really good.”

The praise sent a thrill through me, making me more eager, more bold. I teased his slit a little more with the tip of my tongue, his salty precum flooding my mouth. I didn’t mind it. It wasn’t yummy, but it wasn’t gross either.

His cock was steel velvet in my hand, and I lapped up long strokes along his length, holding him at the base.

I’d read once that pubic hair had the biological function of trapping scent, and I could understand that now.

Even though he had just showered, I could smell him there, a heady, musky odor that was strangely arousing.

“If you use your hand and your mouth together,” Floris suggested, his voice strained, “it’s easier to control the depth.”

I followed the advice, finding that Floris was right.

It was easier this way, more comfortable.

I was careful at first, cautious, afraid I’d do something wrong.

But Floris’s reactions—every breathless gasp, every low moan—spurred me on, gave me the confidence to keep going and find a rhythm.

I wanted more of that. Wanted to see him completely unravel.

A trembling breath escaped Floris, and I glanced up, catching sight of his face.

His eyes were closed, his head thrown back, mouth slightly open.

He looked wild and undone and so beautiful, it made my heart lurch.

I released him from my mouth, licked long and slow up his shaft, then took him in again.

I redoubled my efforts, alternating between taking him deeper—though nowhere near as deep as he’d taken me—and teasing him with soft, shallow sucks at the tip.

Floris’s fingers tightened in my hair, still not pushing, just holding on as if he needed something to anchor himself.

The thought made me shiver, made me more eager to continue, to bring him to the edge and push him over.

“Orson,” Floris warned, his voice tight. “I’m close. You can… You don’t have to…”

But I didn’t stop. I wanted this, wanted to give this to Floris, wanted to see him come apart the way Floris had seen me. I increased my pace slightly, my hand working in tandem with my mouth.

Floris gave a broken cry, his body tensing, and then he was coming, his hand tightening in my hair. I swallowed, surprised by the taste but not unpleasantly so.

When it was over, I moved up to lie beside Floris, oddly proud of myself. Floris looked at me with heavy-lidded eyes, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“You’re a quick learner.” He reached out, brushing a curl back from my forehead. “That was incredible.”

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “I had a good teacher.”

Floris laughed, pulling me closer. “We should get up,” he said, though he didn’t move. “You have a paper to write.”

The paper. I had almost forgotten. I glanced at the digital clock on my nightstand. We’d been at this for nearly an hour, not the twenty minutes I’d promised myself. I should get up, should get back to work.

But Floris was warm against me, his heartbeat steady under my palm. And I was suddenly, overwhelmingly tired, the kind of bone-deep fatigue that comes after intense physical and emotional exertion. “Five minutes,” I murmured against Floris’s chest. “Gonna rest my eyes for five minutes.”

Floris’s arms tightened around me, a protective circle. “Five minutes.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that five minutes would turn into the whole night. That I’d wake up in the morning with Floris still beside me, and my paper still unwritten. That I’d have to scramble to catch up, to meet my self-imposed deadlines .

But as sleep claimed me, held safe in the circle of Floris’s arms, I couldn’t bring myself to care.