Grace Goodwin - His Virgin Princess

I took him deep and lifted my free hand from his thigh to his balls, rubbing and playing with them. Claiming them as well. They were mine. His seed was mine. I would carry his child. I would be his everything.

My name burst from his lips, his hands buried in my hair held me to him as he came, his seed spicy, different. Mine. I swallowed it down, every single drop.

Spent, he slipped back into the water and pulled me into his arms. He held me like that for a long time, neither one of us speaking as his breathing slowed, his heartbeat calmed. We didn’t need to talk.

When I was a wrinkled, pruned thing, he lifted me from the tub and dried me off first before tending to himself. The pattern continued as we readied for bed. He made sure I brushed my teeth. Watched as I combed and braided my hair. When I asked for pajamas, he frowned and refused, saying we would always sleep skin to skin.

That was just fine by me.

And when he wrapped himself around me, every hard line of his body pressed against mine, and we drifted to sleep, for once, I didn’t feel the need to dream.

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