Delayed by Nathan Kingsly (the false prince TXT) 📗

I swallow. “I’m a sharpshooter.”

One second she’s as lost as I am, then the giggle erupts from her, and I find I’m laughing along with her.

“Oh my God, please tell me that was a joke,” she says as she covers her smiling mouth with her free hand.

“Only part..., ” I gasp, and my chin hits my chest as I watch through lowered lids as her hand moves to the tip. Her thumb glides across the slit already beading with precum.

“You were saying?”

I swallow as the breath from her question brushes against the reddening head. She’s so close; if she stuck her tongue out it would reach me. Her plush mouth smiles as my hips move forward.

She looks up and repeats her question.

“I’m a marksman.”

“So you could be a killer, or perhaps an assassin?” She tilts her head and smirks.

“I’d be one for you.” I’m not sure I’m kidding, and she doesn’t seem to notice either way. Her gaze is on her hand as it slides against my length to the base. My mind goes blank as I watch myself disappear into her mouth.

So warm, wet, and when she glides her tongue like that as her cheeks hollow, I will let the devil take me to hell if it means I can have another second in this heaven. My hands go in her hair on either side of her head, and when I jerk my hips forward, I’m not sure I haven’t.

She shifts forward, the water sloshing against the edges of the tub. It shivers where the dimples in her back rest at the base of her spine, making it appear like a translucent skirt. Her fingernails dig into my thighs, and it’s the amount of bite to keep me rooted to here and now.

It’s her eyes, however, a bright spark in the shadows that steal the rest of my resolve.

“Fuck, Emma, I’m going to cum.” I try and pull away, but her hands move and grip my ass, pulling me forward, and I slide deeper in than before. The humming in the back of her throat shivers my last restraint away, almost helplessly out of my control. I let out a huge breath I didn’t realize I’m holding as I cum, each extension of my release better than the last.

The flickering light around us makes her look like an angel.  Beautiful, so damn beautiful. Her hair is wild, knotted because of my hands. Eyes, usually bright, are now dark with her desire. Mouth swollen and pink. Gripping her jaw, I kiss her. Her lips hot against mine and her moan is sweet like honey.

"Better?" She asks as I straighten.

Though I'm still riding what's left of my high, it's not why I nod. She took control when I was out of it as if she knew it's what I needed before I did.

Getting in the bath, I thank her by massaging and washing her until she lays limp against me.

When we get out of the bath, the water is cold. We bring one candle with us, blowing out the rest as we head back into the bedroom. It’s not long after we lay in bed that she rubs her eyes and yawns.

Nights are when my memories are vivid. In my sleep, they hook their claws in, knowing resistance won’t meet them. Peace isn't something I know much about. Yet as I lay here, watching her fall asleep, there's something other than resigned acceptance of my fate. There's something comforting about watching the rise and fall of someone's chest. Soothes a place deep, that in my case, is long forgotten. To be innocent. To be peaceful, vulnerable while laying companionably with the warmth of the person lying next to you. It feels closer to peace than I’ve allowed myself to feel in a long time.

As I allow it to wash over me, I close my eyes. I sleep without fear.

I give a damn what comes out of this girl’s mouth. Maybe it's the way she forms her letters, the sound of her voice, or how she talks with her hands when telling a story. Putting my finger on it may take some time, but I only have a few more hours left, a day if I'm lucky.

I never thought I would feel disappointment knowing that soon I’d be alone again. We’ve been awake since the generator kicked on at four this morning, the lights from the nightstand flickering bright against our closed lids, and I am thankful. News of the storm clearing dinged on her phone an hour ago at six am. I want to appreciate her while I still can.

We've avoided talking about our destinations or where our homes reside. It will make this too real, rather than the momentary distraction it’s meant to be. Instead, we share memories, and I am starting to see the downfall in that as well. It should be impossible, but I am getting attached. I want to mean more than an in-between flight fling.

Her hands are at it again, directing the story at the ceiling while her head lays on my stomach. She is sharing the time that her brother, Mark, found her smoking in the parking lot, and while he lectured, wound up following her inside the girls’ bathroom. She’s already starting to laugh as she replays the memory in her mind.

“Maybe, we shouldn’t get to know one another. It might make things harder when we leave.”

She twists to look up into my face. “What if we don't say goodbye yet?”

She doesn’t give me the second I need to tell her no, before she’s sitting up, folding her legs Indian style, and talking on.

“When my ex left me to take this trip alone, it also left me without a date. It wouldn’t matter, but my ex had another role in the wedding. One of my brother's friends won’t be able to make it, and his soon-to-be wife is over-obsessed with having the wedding party be