Page 33 of Princessa
Chapter 20
Four.
That’s the sad and pathetically low number of guys I’d kissed in my lifetime.
Well, I suppose the measly peck on the cheek Pablo Torre gave me when I was fifteen doesn’t truly count. He was my firstkindaboyfriend, the seventeen-year-old hunky quarterback of my high school football team. We’d come back from my very first-ever date—chaperoned by Camille, of course. Raised a Southern gentleman, Pablo walked me to the door before saying goodnight. We stood there, holding hands, gazes dancing.
He leaned in.
I freaked out.
Not because I didn’t want him to smack me on the lips. He was one hot little treasure trove. But somehow the thought of my bodyguard witnessing a Rite of Passage, shattered dreams of a sparks flying, rainbows abound, unicorns singing, first kiss. So, I turned my head, and Pablo Torre’s soft lips landed on my cheek.
Fast forward three years to my lip-locking adventure with the blue-eyed, blond-haired stallion I fancied at my Debutante Ball. His name was Efron Zac, which was funny because he looked a lot like Zac Efron, the gorgeous actor. We danced the night away, eventually sneaking off into one of the back rooms when we thought Camille—or my parents—weren’t watching. The door closed behind us and Efron’s mouth met mine in a messy soiree of lips, tongue, and spearmint gum—his gum, that jetted into my mouth, down my throat.
I choked. Likereallychoked.
Lucky for me, Camille barged in the room, found me coughing up a lung, whacked me on the back, and rid me of Efron’s wad of gum.
Then, during the first years of college, I didn’t see much point in dating. I mean, what for? Amid the sheltered life that Mama and Papa created for me, it was damn close to impossible for thePrincess of Savannahto be left alone with anyone, apart from Lauren. Instead, I concentrated on fashion and began building the branded so-called Instagram-lifestyle every one of my followers adored.
As it was, my next trip down suck-face lane didn’t occur until I was so graciouslyallowedto date Parker Jones. The smooches we shared were nice. Only they lacked the chemistry, the passion, the explosive heat, stars, and singing unicorns I saw whenever the tantalizing lips of a fervid prince met mine.
Ms. Right is someone a lot like you.
Those words, and the spine-tingling kiss that followed, were enough to keep me afloat until the day I died.
“You still need to show me your belly-button piercing.” Grayson’s hands squeezed my waist as I sat straddled across his lap on the sofa. His lips were full from too much kissing, eyes hooded with lust. “You promised.”
With shaky hands, I began to unbutton my blouse, nervous as all get out while all thewhat-ifsbellowed in my head louder than an elephant’s trumpet.
What if he doesn’t like what he sees?
What if my body’s not good enough for him—a man who’s probably had all sorts of women?
By the time I reached the last button, Grayson eased my blouse open, a one-sided smile tilting his lips. “Don’t be shy, Bella.” At the sight of my lacy bra, hunger sparkled in his eyes, and when his gaze fell to my navel, he bit down on his lower lip. “I’m taking you to bed.”
Holy. Wow.
Falling onto his bed, our kisses, touches, and moans grew intense, filled with something more tangible than lust and desire. My skirt was raised, blouse still on, but since this obviously wasn’t Grayson’s first rodeo, he skillfully popped my bra open from its front clasp. His warm tongue circled my nipples into pebbled peaks, a fury of hot and cold rendering me breathless. His pants acted like a barrier, yet I could feel the arresting length of his cock, hard and eager, as he rocked against me.
My whole body shivered from the thrill of knowing what was next.
I wanted him. Needed him. Longed to know if the chemistry we had from kissing alone would be just as combustible when making love.
Grayson sucked on the sensitive part of my neck, causing me to arch into him. “Grayson, I…”
His hands went on a discovery mission, fingers leaving a trail of sensual goose bumps as they trekked past my belly button then lower until they met the fabric of my lace panties.
Hips bucking forward at his touch, legs trembling, all I could do was gasp for air.
“Fuck, Bella.”
My face felt flush. I knew I was wet down there. And a small part of me wanted to tell him to stop, too embarrassed about how positively turned on I’d become.
Grayson’s own breathing intensified as his mouth moved past my neck on a southbound trip that would lead to ecstasy.
My hands went to his head, lightly tugging as I tried to gain control of my senses. But it was all too much for me to handle, his lips, his tongue too great a battle to win.
