Royally Matched

She takes her time thinking about it. “If it is, then we’re both certifiable, because that about sums up my thoughts too.”

Sarah snuggles in closer, drawing pictures on my chest with her fingertip, and I like how she feels right up against me. “I think this is how it is when you’re in love. And nothing seems too big or too scary, because you know whatever happens, you won’t be facing it alone.”

A few moments later, I leave the bed and run a cloth under the warm water at the bathroom sink. Then I come back and gently wipe the pink-tinged fluid from between Sarah’s legs. A muted blush rises on her cheeks as I tend to her, but she doesn’t object. After doing the same to myself, I slip back under the covers and wrap my arm around her.

I kiss the top of her head and comb my fingers through her hair as she drifts off, her breath coming in steady, tickling brushes against my neck. But I don’t fall asleep. I stay up, watching her—because she’s so beautiful, and good. My darling girl.

I’ve never had someone who was just mine, body and soul—mine to protect and hold and love. And that’s what Sarah is . . . she belongs to me now. We belong to each other.

I dress early the next morning so I can speak to Vanessa, and tell her that I’m out. It takes me a bit of time to actually go, because Sarah’s lips are terribly distracting. I can’t seem to stop kissing them.

But, eventually, I force my feet to walk out the door.

And less than five minutes later I march back through it—unbuttoning my trousers and taking my clothes off as I go. It’s important to be efficient.

“What’s happening?” Sarah asks.

“Get naked, right now. It’s food poisoning.”

“What?”

“They all have it—something from the food service table last night. Everyone who ate there has it.”

And everyone ate there—the producers, the crew, Penny, Laura, and Cordelia . . . everyone except Sarah and I.

I slip out of my shoes, and my trousers and pants hit the floor. My cock juts out, firm and ready and swaying a bit as I move, like it’s saying hello.

“Why do you still have clothes on?” I move up to her. “Here, I’ll help you.” Then I’m undressing and kissing her. “We have hours, probably days.” I lean over her and kiss her longer, deeper, thrusting into her pretty mouth the way I’m going to be thrusting into her very soon.

“We can do this for days, Sarah.”

I unbutton my shirt quickly, but when I try to tug my arms out of the sleeves, my hands get stuck in the cuffs. So I yank harder, sending the buttons flying. Sarah laughs at me, at my eagerness. But I’m more than eager—I’m borderline desperate, with this insatiable craving to touch her, to fuck her, to hold her, to be near her. It’s out of control in the best way, like she’s the fabled good drug—a positive addiction—and I’ll do anything for a fix.

Shirtless and smiling, I lift her up and set her on the dresser gently, feeling like I want to be anything but. She’s probably tender from yesterday and God, I’m like an animal, wanting to rub and rut with her, even if we both starve to death.

“Tell me to slow down.” I step between her legs and hold her face in my hands. I lean down and kiss her in quick, needy brushes—sipping at her lips. “Tell me to stop, Sarah.”

Her brows come together and her head shakes, like the words make no sense. “No, please.” She reaches around my waist and locks her legs about my hips, drawing me close and hot against her. “Don’t ever stop, Henry.”

SARAH HAS A TINY RUSSET freckle an inch below her navel. She has two on the inside of her elbow, and a small dotted constellation across her left shoulder blade. A thin, colorless scar traces her right shin bone, as long as my index finger, and another marks the outside of her left thigh, beneath her hip. I note every mark, each perfect imperfection, while we hide away in our room and I explore every inch of her skin. Hours later, there’s not a place I haven’t kissed or licked or nuzzled and caressed.

She lays on her back now, lashes low, watching me with dark, seductive eyes that make my cock throb. Again.

But . . . not yet . . . my mouth is having too much fun. I press my teeth against the tender flesh of her thigh and Sarah’s legs open wider, all on their own. I press a kiss to her soft, full outer lips and a rosy flush springs up on her chest, spreading beneath her skin, all the way down to the tips of her toes.

I was right . . . she does blush everywhere.

I drag my finger up her hot slit and then through her damp brown curls to her clit, rubbing slippery, firm circles. “You’re so wet.” I marvel.

And she hides behind her hands, murmuring, “I know.”

I tug at her wrists and her eyes flutter to me. “Don’t ever, ever be embarrassed about that. It’s beautiful.” I slide the tip of my tongue up and down through her wetness. “Doesn’t it feel beautiful? I love it. It means I get to keep fucking you, sweetheart, for hours and hours . . . for as long as I want.”

Her sweet pussy gets even more slick and I chuckle deep in my chest.

“You definitely like those words, don’t you?”

I take her in the shower. Her hair is longer, darker when it’s wet and the steam from the water dusts Sarah’s flesh with a dewy, glowing sheen. I lift her in my arms, press her back against the cold tile and pump into her in steady, measured strokes. I swivel my hips, rubbing back and forth over her stiffening, needy little clit.