Free The Prince of Pleasure by YoBro

hotter.
    She moved against him. All that warmth. That soft suppleness. She fisted her hands in his hair and he groaned again, a man in the most exquisite kind of pain.
    He was not just hard.
    He was like granite.
    He'd always enjoyed women and sex and he'd had his fair share of both…
    Why be modest? He'd had more beautiful women and fantastic sex than many men, perhaps more than most.
    And yet, he could not recall wanting a woman as he wanted this one… but no. Not this way. Not tonight. Not fast and rough the way it had been that first time…
    But she was tugging at his jacket.
    "Laurel," he said, catching her wrists, bringing her hands to his lips, kissing her fingers, her palms. " Wait."
    She tugged her hands free of his. The top buttons of his shirt were undone; she slid one hand inside the narrow opening. His breath caught in his throat at the feel of her fingers on his skin.
    "Laurel," he said again, his voice harsh with warning.
    "Khan." Her eyes, wild and blurry, met his. "I want to touch you." 
    The plea, the honesty of her desire, turned him blind to everything but need.
    He shrugged off his jacket; let it fall to the floor. Fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, cursed when his fingers seemed too clumsy to undo them, and tore the shirt open.
    Laurel caught her breath. She had fantasized how he would look without clothes but the reality of him was better than any fantasy.
    He was everything she had ever dreamed of.
    Wide, muscled shoulders. Powerful biceps. Dark, silky curls over his chest.
    She placed her palms against that chest.
    He cried out, a sound of tightly-controlled pleasure.
    It sent a shiver of anticipation through her.
    His skin was hot, his muscles hard. She loved the feel of him under her hands, the knowledge that all this carefully-controlled masculine power belonged to her.
    She leaned forward, her hair falling around her face, and pressed her open mouth to his sternum.
    He hissed like a cat.
    Like the leopard whose name was part of his title.
    Those elegant titles that suddenly had all the meaning they were meant to have for a man who was strong and beautiful and in his prime.
    She lifted her head. Kissed his throat, tasted the salt tang in the deep, pulsing hollow of it. Rose on her toes, again, put her mouth to his.
    Khan growled.
    Clasped her shoulders.
    Pushed her robe back, the sleeves trapping her arms, the front opening wide…
    Ah, dear God!
    She was naked. 
    And beautiful. Incredibly beautiful.
    Her breasts were lovely. Rounded. Rose-tipped. She moaned when he stroked a finger lightly over one of them, circling its fullness, drawing closer and closer to its budded crest.
    "Please," she whispered.
    "Not yet," he said, his voice thick and rough and hot with promise.
    The tip of his finger barely grazed her nipple. She moaned, arched toward him, her lashes making dark shadows against her cheeks. 
    "Please," she said again.
    His emerald gaze locked on her face. He could feel the tension coiling inside him.
    "Look at me," he demanded.
    Laurel's lashes rose. Her eyes were as blue and deep as the Sapphire Sea; her mouth trembled.
    Lightly, he stroked her nipples with his thumbs. She jerked against his hands, trembled at his touch.
    "Do you like me to do this?"
    He knew the answer but he wanted to hear it. Wanted to watch her as he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. Her response was everything a man could hope for; she was everything a man could hope for.
    He wanted the moment to last forever, to be etched in her memory and his so that this night would be something carried forward in time.
    "Khan."
    She said his name in a voice ragged with hunger. She reached for him, but her arms were still caught in the sleeves of her robe. She made an impatient sound, started trying to free herself…
    He reached behind her, caught her hands, held her captive to his desire.
    There was nothing she could do to stop him from bending his head and closing his lips around one tightly-furled