Chapter Text
Paris feels his perfectly thought out plan crumble when you step away and leave without looking back. He stays here frozen for some time, staring at the wet footprints you left on the ground, tracking them by ear while he still can. Suddenly, he lifts himself out of the pool.
In your room, you put back the towel you dried yourself with on the end of the bed, dress in hand to prepare for the rest of the day. To say your own little action didn’t leave you frustrated would be a lie, but playing with the prince is an entertainment that comes with a price.
Though the price is not what you were expecting. A wet warmth presses behind you, and you know exactly who it is. His scent invades your space in no time, his lips find the bridge between your shoulder and neck to gently bite at. The exhale you let out is long, obviously restrained. You can feel him in your lower back already; the price for you teasing.
“Paris…“ you warn.
“Please don’t put this dress back on.“
It’s almost a whine in your neck, like he could cry for you to stop torturing him. It breaks your heart in a way that shouldn’t send electricity run through you. Your grip on the garment loosens. He notices it. His hand slips around you to rest on your stomach, it pushes you into him just the tiniest bit and you have to bite your lips when he gets down your navel. The way your eyes flutter of their own instinct down your body to watch him snake down your inner thigh cannot be helped, nor the hitch of your breath when the side of his hand grazes your core.
In your neck, his lips never leave, though you know he watches what he does to you just as attentively. He gropes at the plush of your thigh, pinch the flesh to make you jump just the tiniest bit, and your hand flies to grip his arm when he slips a finger between your lips. You can feel the extent of his grin in your neck when a strangled sound leaves you. Your hand trails down his arm to grab his wrist and push him further where you want him, but he shakes his head and pries your grip away with his other hand.
“Shh, let me take care of you, just relax,“ he coos.
You’d be damned if you didn’t. His fingers trail up and down to gather whatever sticky fluid is already here for him, but they never sink, never bring you the relief you crave. You’re left to breathe out quivering sighs, to squirm in his hand for more friction while he drags the pace excruciatingly slow. The princeling knows his way around women, that is for sure. Yet, you cannot bring yourself to be jealous, because he is all to you now.
When he feels you’ve had enough of his teasing, his fingers depart from your core completely instead of burying deeper in it. You’re a second away from cursing him, but now his hand is held out right in front of your face and you feel yourself grow red by the second. Heat creeps up your cheek abnormally at the vision of his fingers coated in slick.
“All this from the pool or me?“ he whispers in your ear.
You swallow thickly. “You…“
It seems to satisfy him because he grabs your chin and turns your head to the side to him. “You’re so good.“
The praise makes you spiral, worse when he kisses you through it. It’s messy and slippery, it swallows your moan when finally his fingers dip into you. Your legs wobble at the feeling of a stranger body into yours, yet you clench and it’s like you mean to sallow him. His other hand cups one of your breasts, knead the flesh, thumb flickering over peaking buds. How he works you through your first orgasm you do not know. It happens so fast yet too slow for your liking. You’re but a babbling mess against him, spilling his name from your mouth like a prayer, cries what sound like a melody to him endlessly. You pull at his hair behind you, arch your back like it can relieve the tension coiling furthermore in your belly.
When you’re finally down from your high, Paris gently turns you around, and for the first time you see his face properly. He is nearly as flushed as you are, nearly as out of breath. Against your belly, you feel the intent want he said nothing about since the beginning, selflessly leaving it for later. Your heart smashes against your ribs, in your temples, yet you have just the tiniest thread of sense left.
“Are you alright?“ he asks.
“Never better.“
Your eyes dip between your bodies, the smile that blooms is nothing but voracious. Paris be damned, he knows exactly what that means. He doesn’t have time for a single thought that already your hand is wrapped around him and the whine that leaves him is strangled. His abs flex at the feeling, you can see your tongue flattening on them. You keep the idea in mind for another time, right now, you grab him by the shoulders and motion him sat on the edge of the bed. Beneath you, Paris looks at you like you’re a goddess divine, something unreal from another world. Yet you straddle him and the warmth of your dripping core dragging against him when you roll your hips is everything but fake.
His hands land on your ass, his mouth on your breast. You’re like a wave over him, threatening to swallow him whole every time your hips lift too much. But when you do, when you sink down on him to the hilt, it makes his stomach burst with a bonfire. It’s not a second before he whispers incoherent nothing against your flesh: how you’re perfect, how you take him so well. He looks up at you with eyes darker than before, like his pupil swallowed the iris, and above all he looks lost. Lost and at the verge of begging, slight jerks of his own hips beneath you to coax you into setting a pace and not just sit here cockwarming him.
You do. You ease yourself up and down, slow at first, then quickly as fast as you have to claw at his back and dig your nails into his flesh. You both curse through it, trip over your own words when he takes the matter into his own hands and has you see stars far too easily. It’s almost embarrassing how fast he unravels you, how you’re left to beg in the crook of his neck when white pulsing oblivion hits you. And by the gods he can see his own release come soon too. You clench around him, your walls pulse and grip his length like they try to suck the orgasm out of him. Your hips refuse to stop rolling even if you shake, even if his arms are wrapped around you to help ease the feeling.
All of a sudden, you feel him twitch inside you, and as soon as he does Paris tries to escape from your core, to sneak away. It’s like the thought of him leaving is unbearable, like it might be the death of you if he withdraws too soon. You panic, hold at his shoulders to push yourself further into him to prevent it. He knows what you’re trying to do, he knows very well. His gaze meets yours, he cups your cheeks, frowns like you’re too far gone to know what you’re asking.
You’re not, you know exactly the risk you take yet it’s all irrelevant. When he opens his mouth to speak, you silence him with your own rushed out words.
“Inside. Please, Paris, I want you to come inside.“
That does it for him. It’s more than he can manage. Just like that, he feels himself drown in whatever you give him, bask in utter oblivion too as you take it so, so willingly. It feels like an eternity where he stays here, curled around you, stiff as you slow the pace little by little until you stop rocking back and forth in his laps. When he does come back to his senses, he finds your blissed-out eyes right away, and the persistent blush on your cheeks makes him chase for your lips again.
You still taste of fig, and of eternity now. The kiss is slow, languid, almost lazy as you ease yourself from him because you feel him soften inside. You feel soft too, everywhere, and tingling with light shocks of electricity. Tired as you had never been before, you crawl onto the bed and soon he joins you.
Paris opens an arm for you to nuzzle in, which you do immediately. You lie here on his chest, in the silence and the evidence of sex all about the room, basked in bliss. Your fingers trace the shape of his muscles, sticky with sweat, as he plays with your hair absentmindedly.
“If that is marriage, I am not fighting it anymore,“ you joke.
Paris smiles and shakes his head. “It’s not marriage, it’s love.“
And he is right. What fills your heart to the brim right now is not only the ecstasy of having sex, or the remnant of your high, it’s knowing in your guts you’ll never get tired of it, of the life that lies before you, because in it there lies love.