Authors: London Saint James

Rise of the Lost Prince (16 page)

He wanted to laugh. To cry.
Scream thank you to any deity who’d listen. But he kept his hand in place,
refusing to break the connection in the slightest.

When the wind stopped, followed
by the disappearance of light, then the heat and the pain in his chest leaving
also, Petúr took her fully into his arms, clutching her body to him, burrowing
his nose into her hair and taking in her scent—cotton candy, mixed with spring
time rain.

While their hearts beat in time
with one another, Petúr whispered, “I love you too, Wyndi Darlingheart.”

Epilogue

Petúr took his woman down in a
slow tumble, spreading her gloriously nude body out before him on the silken
sheets of his bed. It took two days of aftermath to clean up. Vibe had to
change Cromwell’s memories around for the second time, and everyone helped the
techno twins put more electronic safeguards around Neverland. Of course, he
still had a reckoning yet to come with Grapple, and a portal to find, but….

He placed a kiss to the arch of
Wyndi’s foot, listening to her little squeak of pleasure. Petúr wasn’t going to
waste another minute of time. Kissing, licking, he worked his way up between
her thighs, coming to heaven, pink and glistening, waiting for him. Closing his
eyes momentarily, he breathed in the delightful scent of arousal, feeling her
elegant fingers twine within the strands of his hair.

When he licked, she moaned,
spreading wider for him. “God,” he muttered. “You’re so sweet.”

Twirling her clit around his
tongue, she shook.

“Oh, yes,” she uttered in a breathy
entreaty.

He wouldn’t have thought it
impossible, but his dick grew even harder.

Lick. Swirl. Nibble. Suck.

“Petúr, don’t stop.”

“Never,” he said, going into that
Neanderthal mode of speak. “Won’t stop.” He lapped at her feminine juices,
going back to her little clit, nipping, sucking.

“I’m going to….”

“Come, baby,” he managed around
one twirl of her flesh with the tip of his tongue.

She shook, then exploded, body
whiplashing. He tasted her pleasure, drinking it in, keeping up the pace with
his mouth, teeth, lips, and tongue, working her to a quick second climax. Pride
and possessiveness whirled through him. Pride—for giving her the pleasure.
Possessive, because she was his.

After she came for him a third
time, he slid up her body, mouth working her flesh, first sampling her right,
then her left nipple, dining on the ripe little berries. And when she scraped
her nails up his back, arching her wet core into him and wrapping her legs
around him, he couldn’t wait any longer.

His hands cupped her face. “I love
you.”

“I love you too, Petúr,” she
said.

Their mouths melded together, teeth clashing,
tongues gliding around each others, his cock pressing toward his goal.

When he felt the tightness of her
body, he shook. He’d never experienced anything as exquisite. Not wishing to
hurt her, he thrust again with restrained force. The swollen head of his dick
made entry. Heaven help him, she was the sweetest of fires. He absorbed her
moans and shakes, taking them as his, forging forward with his hips, feeling
the tight clench of her feminine walls ripple around him—heartbeat beating in
time with his.

“Just a little bit more,” he
said.

She wrapped her arms around his
neck, pulling him closer, until they were chest-to-chest.

“Don’t hold back,” she said.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

The wall holding in his control
crumbled. He surged forward. Her body shuddered and took him until he was
breaking past her virgin barrier, pressing all the way to the hilt and rocking
against her.

“Oh, God,” she uttered, breaths coming
hard in time with his groan.

In and out. Slide and rock. Hips
pumping. Bodies working. Her luscious breasts pressed into his chest. Her
delicate hands mapping the hollow of his spine. When her warm, wet little pussy
fluttered and clenched, everything slowed down and became this woman. His
woman. Her smell. Her taste. The feel of her. The heat. Bliss. Love. Lust.
Connection. They were connected, body and soul.

She rose to the top, he going
with her, breaths harsh and ragged.

“Petúr!”

“Wyndi!” he shouted out, falling
over the edge of pleasure, releasing himself inside her warmth. With her
delectable body quaking in his arms, he gripped onto her tighter. “You’re
mine.”

“Always!”

The matching symbols on their
chests sparked, light flying out and around them—pleasures fireflies.

Transcended.

They were transcended into a
place of joy, and peace, and love. Everything changed. The room and the bed
they were in fell away. Petúr’s ears twitched, hearing the sounds of nature. He
could feel the wind whipping over their entwined bodies. The warmth of the
mid-day sun shone down upon them. Beneath them, green grass and wild flowers in
colors of the rainbow bloomed. Dew sparkled on tender leaves….

He wanted to ask if she saw and
felt what he was experiencing, yet he was so lost in the pleasure and the
absolute love, and so entranced in the moment, he failed to speak.

When their heartbeats slowed, and
their breath returned, paradise vanished. He blinked. They were in his bed—in
his room at the castle. Sweat glistened upon the angelic face of his satisfied
woman.

“Petúr,” she said, her voice the
sweetest of sounds to his ear.

He brushed his lips over the
pulse in her throat then rolled her atop him. “Hmm?”

She lifted her head. The silken
strands of her hair created a curtain of autumn and gold around his face as his
hands slid down her back and over her ass.

Wyndi locked gazes with him. “I
know where the portal is.”

The
End

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