Molly O’Keefe has a new heartbreaking & hot book, My Wicked Prince, out today, 3/28. I’ve already read it and it’s wonderful. Here’s the blurb:
He was my prince charming.
My fairy tale gone totally wrong.
My mother marrying the king was supposed to give my mom and me our happily ever after. But my life isn’t a bedtime story and no prince with a fancy shoe is turning me into a Cinderella.
I had big plans outside of my small but powerful country. But Gunnar, the wicked prince in a gorgeous package, was temptation too strong for me to resist. His sweet lies and sweeter kisses pulled me back into his arms over and over again until his cold cruel heart finally broke mine for good.
Now he’s going to be King and he wants me back in his country, his palace…and his bed.
And we all must bow to the King.
And now for the sexcerpt!
“Look at you.” With one hand he pushed me back until I was reclined in front of him. Probably not a good angle, but I didn’t care. I was so far beyond caring. He ran the flat of his palm over me, from my collarbone down across my breasts to my waist, until finally his hand slipped over the silk between my legs.
He ran his thumb over the wet spot he found there. Over and over again, as it grew. Touching, just barely, my clit and then down again.
“More,” I said.
“This?” He slipped that thumb under the edge of the silk, groaning when he pushed into me. “Brenna. My god.”
I rocked against him. Mindless. Wanting. Desperate. “Gunnar.”
“I should have known you’d be like this,” he said. “All or nothing. Demanding your due.”
“I haven’t even started demanding,” I said with a laugh.
He grinned and rewarded my audacity with a finger. His thumb brushing through the damp curls to find my clit. I bowed off the bench seat. Strung up on electric currents originating from his tricky fingers. I braced my bare foot against his thigh, twitching and jerking as his thumb worked me and his fingers filled me.
His other hand was on my breast again, finding that pain that turned so quickly to pleasure.
“Oh, Gunnar. Don’t. Don’t fucking stop.”
He didn’t. He got up on his knees, bending over me so he could watch me as I came. Whispering, as I did, filthy, impossible things.
“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he breathed. “I’m going to keep you coming. I’m going to keep you just like this. Wet and hot and fucking begging for me.”
The orgasm was a flash fire. All-consuming and then gone. Or banked perhaps. Waiting for another chance to roar and rage. I sat up a little, kissing him as I did it. Pushing away the hand he still had buried inside of me. Working a clit that was numb for the moment.
I reached for him, the flat of my hand against his belt and then the hard length of him behind his pants. Oh, god, he was…perfect. I felt the fire begin again. The coiling in my belly.
Kissing him I worked the belt and then the zipper. I had him in my hand when he stopped me, breaking the kiss. He put his hand over mine, forcing me to stop touching him.
“What?” I asked.
“What?” I kissed him. And kissed him. Willing him to stop whatever silly game he was playing. But he tore his mouth away.
I flinched at his sharp words. His commanding tone. And then I just sat there, blank. Wondering what was going on and what had changed.
He did up his zipper. The sound of that metal closing did something to my spine. “Is something wrong?” I asked, and he didn’t answer. He only crouched there, breathing deep. Not looking at me. Something was happening, something I didn’t understand, and I tried to pull myself together.
“Did…” I swallowed. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” he said. “No, not at all. You…” Finally he looked at me, and whatever he saw made him look away. His jaw clenched.
I waited an embarrassingly long time for him to finish that sentence and then I realized that he wasn’t going to. I shook my head, not wanting to believe what I was thinking.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“We’re done. Stopping.”
“Is this… a game?” I asked. I closed my legs so I was no long spread before him. I felt myself, swollen and hot and wet. How fucking embarrassing. How perfectly fucking me. Giving so much more of myself than anyone really ever wanted. “A trick?” I asked. I found, by some miracle, my shirt and shrugged into it. My hands touched my breasts, sore and abused, and I flinched. Eased my bra back into place. I would feel all of this tomorrow.
Every humiliating moment.
He was silent and still looking away from me, so I filled up all the silence myself.
“Let’s find out how desperate Brenna is? Let’s find out if you can make her beg?” My voice cracked over the word beg and I struggled to get to my feet. I had to get away. Away from him. Away from the smell of sex. Away from the echo of all my words and his.
I’m going to keep you like this. Hot and wet and begging for me.
He said that. He actually said that.
“Congratulations,” I said, choking and miserable and scrambling for my pride.
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