My Royal Temptation(7)

By: Riley Pine


I expect a savage response, but instead I feel him adjust his hands, and then I gasp as his thumb hits the crease of my panties.

That’s all it takes. I leap off the cliff with a whimper of need and straight into pure pleasure.

He growls.

“You’re fucking soaked.” He drops to his knees, still holding me like I’m precious cargo, and lays me gently on the grass. “And I want to drink every last sweet drop.”

Without another word, he hikes my skirt up and slides my panties down my thighs, over my knees and then off. I feel them snag on the heel of my remaining shoe but don’t care. He shoves them in the pocket of his pants, and I know I’m not getting them back. The thought makes me giddy, and I writhe under his gaze.

“Now, Nikolai,” I say, and he levels me with his grin.

The next thing I know, my hands are tangled in that jet-black hair as he licks the length of my folds from bottom to top until his tongue swirls around my swollen clit.

I moan and buck against him as he sucks me between his lips. I relish the feel of his stubble against my thighs, the slight pain only heightening my pleasure.

“Use fingers,” I command, and he obeys immediately.

One finger plunges deep while he continues to take his fill with his mouth. Then a second joins the first, and my vision clouds with stars. My body bucks with shivers of reaction.

“God, I wish you could fuck me,” I say, daring to voice what I long for—what I’ve gone without for what seems like an eternity. I try and fail not to whimper as he reaches a spot inside me that almost makes me black out.

Two years. It’s been two freaking years since a man has touched me. The thought—coupled with his hands on me, in me—threatens to unleash something more than just the adrenaline rush, but I swallow the impending wave of emotion. Because that’s not what this is about. These feelings aren’t for the prince.

He peeks from between my legs and slides his fingers from my aching pussy. He takes care in licking each one clean.

“You said it was sooner, sweetheart, and I’m always prepared for sooner.” From the pocket that does not hold my ruined panties, he pulls a foil packet and holds it up for me to see. “Your wish is my command.”





CHAPTER THREE

Nikolai

HER TASTE IS ADDICTIVE—honey, salt and rainwater. I hate the idea of matchmaking. But matchmakers? I take my time drinking in the woman panting on the grass, her conservative blouse opened a button too far, exposing delicate white lace, creamy skin and lush, womanly curves.

Yes. I believe I could learn to like matchmakers.

“Sire. Hurry.” She stares through a fringe of dark, thick lashes. Her red lipstick is smudging off her plump lower lip. I’m responsible for that, and the fact draws my balls tight against my engorged cock, clearly outlined through the panel of my tux pants. My muscles ripple with suppressed need.

I fold my arms, making an elaborate show of regarding the condom foil, and set my face into my trademark arrogant sneer. It’s my mask. The one the public expects a prince to wear, especially a prince with the world at his feet. It comes easy as instinct, which is good because I am not used to being unsettled. And this woman is—unsettling.

“Interesting business you run.” I lower my voice to a sensual drawl.

“No, not mine. I mean… I am not… It’s not mine…um… It’s my sister’s…her business,” she babbles, skimming one hand over the ragged tear in her prim skirt, the one currently offering me an eyeful of the thighs I’d feasted on. Her eyes darken, pupils dilating at my blatant appraisal.

“And do you provide these services—” I clear my throat and raise an insinuating eyebrow “—to every client?”

A dusky rose color flushes the skin of her throat as she catches my insinuation. She’s pissed. Angry and turned on, my favorite combination in a woman. Hate fucking has all of the fun and none of the responsibility.

“Of course not,” she snaps.

I dip a finger between my lips and give it a long lazy suck. The muscles in my neck cord. It still tastes like her. My mouth waters. “Mmm-hmm. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“Damn it.” A tear spills from the corner of one gorgeous eye, trickles along her high cheekbone. “I don’t know what came over me.”