Page 21 of Tech Prince Troubles (Runaway Prince Hotel #6)
Chapter Twenty-One
ADRI
fairytales aren't just for children
“ S tunning,” I whispered against his skin and nuzzled the sparse hair on Sam’s chest. “You’re absolutely stunning.”
He trembled as he held himself still, arms tight against his body. Too still. I’d known he was trans, but perhaps we should have talked first. So I could have reassured him I’d be happy no matter what.
But then he leaned down and brushed his lips across mine. “Thank you.”
I kissed him in reply until we were both breathless.
“Can I?” he asked when we parted, glancing at my cock.
I nodded, leaning back on my elbows as he sank to his knees and spread my legs wider. When he reached for the condoms, I wrapped my fingers around his wrist to stop him. “We only emit at climax.”
He rested his hands on my thighs and grinned. Flashes shot through my system as he licked my cock from bottom to top and took me into his mouth. He drove me wild, teasing, nipping, and licking until I moaned for him to stop .
He sat back with a wicked grin and shiny, puffy lips, rubbing himself lazily. “I prefer ass, but I’m not opposed to you fucking my front hole.”
I sucked in a breath, releasing it in increments. Did he want me to come before I could fuck him? “Ass.”
“Scoot back a bit.”
He sat on my lap when I did, chest to chest, his knees resting on the bed, and reached around me.
“Sorry. Lube’s behind you.”
“Ah.” He straightened. “Got it.” He slathered both my and his hand liberally, then pushed the tube beneath my thigh with a wink. “So we don’t lose it.”
With his non-slathered hand, he guided mine to his ass. “I like it slow, but I don’t break easily.”
I swallowed. His playful, no-nonsense attitude seriously turned me on.
I tilted his head toward me and kissed him as I breached him, reveling in the shaky breaths and full-body shudder.
I did go slow—too slow, judging from his muttered curses—and I enjoyed the way we worked in tandem to get him ready.
Learning to read his body and the sounds he made was hot, fun, and messy. But mostly hot.
“Enough,” Sam whispered in between pants. “Fuck me. Please.”
“Like this?”
He shook his head and rose, pushing a condom into my hand. “Too slippery. All fours do for you?”
I let out a long, slow breath and coded a failsafe for future tampering with grounding systems in my head.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He spread his towel across the duvet and lowered himself to hands and knees, wriggling his ass at me. I kneeled behind him and leaned over him to kiss that spot between his shoulder blades as I fumbled with the condom. “Ready. ”
“Any time. Remember. I don’t break easily.”
And he liked it slow… but not too slow. I positioned myself and sank into him until his breath hitched. I waited for him to adjust, to give me a sign he was okay for me to continue.
“Please.”
I pulled back, shivering at the friction, took a breath, and pressed in, out, in… We fell into a rhythm of unspoken signs, filling the room with echoes of our lust.
His moans told me when to speed up or slow down. The tension between his shoulder blades tightened when I went too slow and loosened when I hit him just right. The way he clenched his hands, itching to rub himself but waiting for the right moment.
As I lost myself to the rhythm, I leaned forward, panting, moaning against his hot, clammy skin. The moment I lost control, he pushed back, took over, and I forgot who was fucking who. My system whited out as I came; he came—perhaps not in that order…
We sagged sideways, still connected, his ass’s rhythmic clenching sending sparks through my system.
Sam put a hand on my hip to stop me from sliding out. “Not yet,” he said, his voice hoarse, shaky. “Please.”
Wrapping my hand around the base of my cock, I kept the condom in place, letting him enjoy the moment until my cock softened and I couldn’t wait any longer. “I…”
He squeezed my hip and moved off me, giving me space to knot the condom—shimmering softly with leftover energy—and wipe my hands on the towel. I hesitated afterward, unsure if he wanted me to touch him, but not ready for him to leave.
“Cuddling after sex. Yes or no?” Sam asked, glancing at me through half-lidded eyes.
“Yes.” Please .
His smile widened. “Maybe we should shed the towel. I’m not lying in a wet spot.”
I tugged it out from under me and pushed it aside. Relief flooded my system when he shuffled back into my arms—his back against my chest—and turned his head to capture my mouth in a lopsided kiss. “That…” he muttered against my lips, “…was incredible.”
“ You were incredible.”
Resting his head on my arm, he threw me a breathtaking smile. The warmth of his body—damp and sticky against mine—soothed me. I held him tight and kissed the nape of his neck, his wet hair tickling my nose. He smelled of sweat, sex, espresso, and a hint of citrus.
My brain quieted as we lay together, our breathing the only sounds… until Sam’s stomach growled.
“Sorry. I grabbed some leftover snacks after my shift, but it’s been a while.”
I loosened my grip, but he put his hands over my arms and shook his head. “No. Don’t. I don’t want this to end yet.”
Neither did I. It felt good to hold him like this, even if my arm was starting to tingle. I didn’t care. I wanted this contented quietness in my head to last, wanted to savor the smell of him, of us together.
But it couldn’t last. Human bodies and their needs were stubborn, insistent, and there came a point where Sam could no longer ignore his.
He grumbled as he pushed himself up on his knees and shuffled off the bed, but not without kissing me first. I stared at the ceiling as he disappeared into the bathroom, nerves already crawling through my system about the talk we promised we’d have.
“So…” Sam leaned against the wall, still naked—sending a th rill through my system—clothes draped over his arms. “Are you comfortable with me calling room service?”
I frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Unless… “You don’t want Layla to know about… us? This?”
Sam snorted. “That woman is way too perceptive not to have caught on.” He pushed away from the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll rephrase. Are you comfortable with me eating in front of you?”
Oh. That’s what he meant. It was sweet of him to ask. I smiled. “Of course. Though, I’m not up for an espresso right now.”
“Unless they allow me to make it myself, I’m never drinking espresso in this hotel.”
The insulted expression on his face made me laugh. “Order whatever you want.”
“You’ll regret that,” Sam said with a wink, but his order of Steak Frites didn’t seem excessive. “Bethany would lecture me on the lack of veggies, but I can always raid the fridge for a salad later.”
He rose and grabbed his clothes. “I’d better get dressed before my food arrives.”
That sounded sensible, and I knew I should do the same.
Even though he didn’t make a show of dressing, he wasn’t in a hurry.
And he didn’t seem to mind me watching him.
Part of me feared the atmosphere between us would change once dressed, as if it would erase the intimacy we shared.
But I felt none of that as Sam zipped my skirt—commenting on my lack of underwear—smoothed my tunic, and pressed his lips to mine.
He only let go when a knock on the door announced the arrival of his meal.
It felt rude not to join him, so I arranged both chairs around the table and sat while he carried over the tray. It smelled wonderful .
“If there’s anything you want to try, feel free.” He held out an extra set of cutlery.
“Perhaps a small slice of steak,” I said as I took the cutlery. Fries had never appealed to me.
“Their espresso might be disappointing, but they know how to make good food.”
He worked his way through his meal as if he hadn’t eaten in days while I savored a small piece of steak, trying to forget our impending talk. It was tender, with charred edges, and a hint of thyme.
When he finally put his cutlery down, he smiled. “So, I’ll start. I’m sorry I laughed. It was rude and insensitive, and I apologize.”
“It was… unexpected.” And puzzling.
“Yeah. Sorry.” He threw me an apologetic smile. “Remember I told you about the fountain?”
“Prince Bartholomew?” Of course, I remembered. “You called it a fairytale.” Because he married a barista. “And fairytales aren’t just for children.”
“No. They’re not.” His lips twitched into a smile. He reached across the table and grabbed my hand in his. “I didn’t mean to insult you when I laughed. I promise. But I couldn’t stop thinking that I’d kissed a prince. It felt so surreal.”
“My sibling is marrying a poet. Quinn talked about her when we met.” Environmental poetry started Kaia’s career as an influencer. Frank had been a fan of her books long before they’d met.
“Kaia Blue. Yeah. They’re a fan. They showed me reels from the engagement party.” Sam patted his pockets with his free hand and showed me his phone. “I watched them again, earlier, just to see if you were in them.”
I expected Frank and Kaia’s horrible music to screech from the speaker, but the phone stayed silent as a reel of them dancing played. It was strange to see myself standing in the back—clearly broadcasting I didn’t want to be there. But Frank and Kaia were beautiful.
Could Sam be my Kaia?