When the maître d comes to lead us to the dining room, Mal shakes her head. “I’m off again, I have business to attend to.”
“You can’t stay for dinner?” The King asks. “Now I’m the one who’s offended.”
I cough to hide my laugh.
My aunt shakes her head. She kisses all of us on both cheeks as she takes her leave. I wrinkle my nose. She still smells like onions.
When she gets to Dahlia, she keeps her hands on Dahlia’s shoulders and stares into her eyes. “It was good to see you again, Miss Raventhal.”
“You too, Lady Farcliff.”
Mal grins, and another shiver passes down my spine. When she’s gone, I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t know why, but I’m glad she isn’t staying for dinner. The way she looks at Dahlia makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It makes all the alpha male instincts inside of me scream to step between them, to rip my own aunt’s head off for giving Dahlia a look like that.
It makes me feel like I’m losing control, and I don’t like it.
But Aunt Mal leaves, and I relax.
As the meal progresses, and the wine flows, my desire for Dahlia grows. I forget about Aunt Mal’s appearance. I forget about the looks she gave me and Dahlia. I forget about the Archives, and the past, and the fact that the only reason for this dinner is Charlie’s budding relationship.
All I can think of is the girl beside me. I wish I could carry her back to my bedroom and act on the feral, caveman urges that are becoming hard to contain. I don’t taste any of the food, because all I could think about is tasting her.
The kiss we shared woke something inside me—something I haven’t felt in a long time. I’ve been so focused on my studies, so focused on being the son that my mother would have wanted…
…and it feels good to feel like this. To feel something other than duty.
Don’t get me wrong—I’ve partied. I go out with Charlie and Gabe, but my face isn’t splashed across the tabloids like theirs are. I’m the studious one. The quiet one. The responsible one.
The monk who gave up his royal privileges to pursue his dream of being a doctor.
I’m the good guy.
I don’t feel like being the good guy right now. I want to do every bad, dirty, filthy thing that has ever crossed my mind, and I want to do it with Dahlia.
I don’t want to be quiet. I don’t feel like shrinking into the shadows. Maybe it was even Mal’s appearance that made me feel more protective of Dahlia. It made me feel like I need to claim her, to make her mine and make sure everyone in Farcliff knows it.
I slide my arm across the back of her chair. My father’s eyebrow arches, as does Charlie’s. Dahlia doesn’t seem to notice. She leans into me almost instinctively again, and my heart skips a beat.
Dahlia acts like a proper lady. She knows how to speak and what fork to use for each of our twelve courses—but when she looks at me, there’s a spark. That spark says I’m like no one you’ve ever met.
Maybe I’m imagining things—maybe I just want that spark to be there. But I know something special happened between us in that basement archives. That kiss was… electric.
This a new feeling—a pit-of-my-stomach urge to take her. An uncontrollable wave of desire.
A need for Dahlia Raventhal.
I glance her way every few seconds. I can’t help myself.
At least it has my father convinced that she and I are together. Now, if only I could convince Dahlia to give me a chance, too.
After dinner, I walk her to the front gate.
“Thanks for coming tonight.”
“I actually enjoyed it.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am,” Dahlia laughs.
We stand in front of each other saying nothing. Dahlia’s tongue swipes across her lower lip. A driver is waiting next to a black sedan to take her back to her house, but I’m not ready to let her go.
“You want to go for a walk?”
Dahlia tilts her head. “I’m not exactly wearing appropriate footwear.” She kicks out a heel to show me.
“A walk through the castle, then.”
Dahlia chews her lip, hesitating. Her eyes drift over to the wide double doors behind me, and then up to the spires above us. I know she doesn’t trust me, or my family. She’s nervous.
But all I can do is stand here and hope that whatever I’m feeling, she feels it too.
Dahlia inhales and finally swings her eyes back to me. “Screw it. I’ve never been to a castle before—might as well make the most of it.”
“You’re telling me the daughter of Tabitha Raventhal has never been to a castle?”
“I grew up in the woods with three eccentric aunts, remember?”
I grin and hold out my arm. I wave at the driver to tell him he can relax for a few hours, and I lead Dahlia back toward the palace. She inhales sharply as we step over the threshold, squeezing my arm with hers.
“Come on, I’ll show you the Great Hall.” I smile and Dahlia blinks up at me. A smile slides across her lips and an irresistible flush creeps over her cheeks. She nods, and I lead her deeper into the castle.
9
Dahlia
Whatever resolve I had to keep my distance evaporates in an instant. Prince Damon has a hold on me that I can’t explain. Whenever I’m with him, I can’t think logically. Every fiber of my being wants to be near him, to hear him, touch him, smell him.
To kiss him. To make love to him.
He leads me down a wide, ornate hallway. Every ten feet or so, heavy chandeliers hang from the ceiling, dripping thousands of crystals that give the whole palace an ethereal glow. The walls have carved paneling and intricate paintings dotted along the way.
When we get to the Great Hall, my breath catches in my throat. The ceiling is so high I can barely make it out. My heels clack loudly on the polished tile floors, and Prince Damon leads me out to the center of the room. He spins me in a slow circle, letting me take in the sheer size of the room. When we stand still again, my eyes come to rest on something at the far side of the room.
The throne.
Red velvet covers the broad seat and high back. It looks like it’s made of solid gold.
“I’ve only ever seen pictures of this place,” I breathe. “I had no idea it was this… rich.”
“You get used to it,” Damon says, shrugging. “It’s the Crown’s money, not mine. Not to sound ungrateful, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t part of all this at all. Simple things—like who my brothers and I date—become really, really complicated.”
“Money can always and everywhere be spent, and, moreover, forbidden fruit is sweetest of all.” I glance at the Prince as a smile tugs at his lips.
I grin. “Dostoyevsky.”
“I figured,” he says. “Does that make you the forbidden fruit?” Prince Damon’s hands slide over my hips and he pulls me close to him. We sway from side to side in the center of the huge room as his hands drift to the small of my back.
I love how broad he is, and how strong he feels against me. How did I ever think he was a goodie-two-shoes? How did I think he was strait-laced?
Prince Damon is as bad as they come. I could taste it on his lips when we kissed. There’s more to this man than I could have guessed.
My fingers trace the outline of his pecs through his white shirt, sliding up to hook around the back of the Prince’s neck. He pulls me closer, so that my chest presses against his.
My whole body starts to thrum. My breath catches, and my heart thumps. Prince Damon’s hands drift down to the top of my ass and I roll my hips toward him almost involuntarily.
I know I shouldn’t be here. I know there’s history between our two families, and I know that Prince Damon and I aren’t even dating for real—it’s just to help out Elle and Prince Charlie.
But right now, in the silence of the throne room, with the Prince’s arms wrapped around me and my pulse thundering through my veins, it feels real. Very, very real.
“Your Highness…”
“Will you call me Damon, please? You were calling me Prince Damon and Your Highness at dinner. It’s not exactly something my girlfriend would do.”
“Am I your girlfriend?” I grin. “I thought we were just pretending.”
“Well, we might as well pretend all the way, shouldn’t we?” His voice is a low growl. His eyes darken. The Prince’s hands pull me closer until my body is fused against his.
And… I like it.
This is exactly where I want to be. Even if I’m not supposed to, even if his family is supposedly dangerous. Even if my mother would have a fit if she knew where I was.
Even if I’m cursed.
Right now, none of that matters.
Prince Damon leans down and presses his lips to mine. He’s gentle, soft, and slow. He teases my lips open, swiping his tongue across mine as if he’s asking permission.
He doesn’t need to ask. My grip on his neck tightens, and I pull him closer. I kiss him back more fiercely as my heart starts to race, thumping against my ribcage as if it’s trying to escape.
The Prince’s hands press harder into me, one of them sliding down to the cleft of my ass and the other sliding up my spine, sending tingles of pleasure exploding through my body. I melt into him, moaning against him as he claims my lips.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.
But I’m here—and I’m horny.
I want Prince Damon more than I’ve wanted any other man. I haven’t even looked at anyone else since he walked through my front door. Elle hasn’t been kept awake by my squeaking bedsprings, and I haven’t had to kick anyone out of my bed in the early hours of the morning.
No, I’ve been too busy dreaming about the Prince. Too busy hoping to taste his lips again. Too busy imagining what he looks like without any clothes on.
Too busy wondering what it would feel like to have his cock buried deep inside me.
My fingers tangle into his hair, and his hands start to claw at the bottom of my dress. He pulls it up over my hips and grabs my bare ass with both hands.
“Fuck,” he growls. “You are so perfect.”
“No one is perfect,” I say, nipping his bottom lip.
“Well, your ass is perfect.” He gives it a squeeze and a light smack that echoes through the Great Hall.
I laugh, and Prince Damon crushes his lips to mine. He kisses me possessively as his hands stay welded to my ass. He spreads my cheeks and pulls me closer as his lips devour mine.
Electricity crackles between us. My body is on fire. I moan into his mouth and his hand flies to the nape of my neck, tilting my head back as he kisses my jaw, my neck, my collarbone.
In one smooth motion, Prince Damon picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. I yelp in surprise and he gives my ass a smack, growling. It’s like we can’t even manage words anymore—just wild, animalistic noises.
The Prince starts stalking toward the far end of the room, and my heart starts to hammer. There’s only one thing in the direction he’s going—the throne.
“Your High—”
“Damon,” he interrupts as he smacks my ass again. I inhale sharply. Pain turns to pleasure as it crackles across my skin.
“Damon,” I say, looking up as he carries me. “Where are you…?”
The Prince hauls me off his shoulder and drops me down right onto the rich, red velvet of the King’s throne. I gasp, trying to jump up.
“I can’t—”
“Sit,” the Prince commands. His lips crush mine again, forcing me back down onto the one chair in the Kingdom I have no right to sit on.
“Damon, if anyone walks in…”
“They won’t.” His voice is low. He leans over me to a small console near the right side of the throne. Tapping a few keys, I hear a beep and then a soft click.
“We’re locked in,” he says. “No one will interrupt us.”
His eyes are hooded and dark, and heat gathers in the pit of my stomach. “Why…” I frown, gulping down another breath. “Why do the doors lock from the inside like that?”
“The main ballroom doubles as a safety bunker in case the palace is ever under attack,” Damon says with a grin. “So, we’re alone. You can relax.”
His hands move to my thighs, and he kneels in front of the throne. Slowly, torturously, he slides his palms up under my dress toward my hips. My breath catches. The Prince drags his eyes up to mine as his tongue slides out to lick his lips.
“You’re incredible, Dahlia,” he breathes. “From the moment I saw you, I needed to have you.”
Damon’s hands reach my thin, lacy underwear. He teases the outside of the gusset with both his thumbs as his palms stay on my thighs. I whimper, spreading my legs as he touches me. My hands grip the arms of the throne and I bite my lip.
There are so many things wrong with this. Sitting on the throne could have me arrested, for one.
But Damon says we’re alone, and he’s looking at me like he wants to eat me alive. My breath hitches, and his thumbs drag down across the fabric of my panties again.
“Your Highness…” I sigh, spreading my legs wider. My body is acting of its own accord. His hands grip my thighs and pull me toward the edge of the throne. He grips my legs and pulls them apart, and then flips my dress up to my waist. A low growl rumbles through his chest and I gulp down another breath.
Prince Damon dips his head down and lays a soft kiss on top of my panties. His tongue darts out and licks the crease of my hip. I arch my back. My breath is ragged, my panties are almost soaked through. All I can think of is how much I want him.
Need him.
With one hand, he teases the gusset of my underwear again. I tremble, whimpering at the touch. My fingers dig into the throne, its soft velvet crushing under my grip. My nipples pucker under my dress, rubbing against the fabric of my bra. Every sensation is heightened. Every stitch of fabric scratches at my skin, and Damon’s hands burn where they touch me.
Prince Damon grins. His fingers slide beneath my panties and when he feels my wetness, he lets out a soft sigh.
“Dahlia, you’re so wet,” he says gently, dragging his eyes back up to mine. His fingers slide up and down my slit, sending pleasure pulsing through my veins.
My legs are trembling. My fingers grip the throne with all my might as he slides a finger inside me. I gasp, arching my back toward him as his thumb starts circling my clit.
“You didn’t tell me you were this wet.” His voice is almost chastising, and it’s embarrassing how much I like it. He circles my clit with his thumb, dragging another finger in and out of my opening.
I whimper. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if I’m ruining the velvet seat of the throne.
But it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. All that matters is Prince Damon’s heady gaze as he watches himself pleasure me, and the feeling of his thick, strong hands fucking me as I sit atop the throne. My underwear is bunched to one side, the fabric adding another layer to the sensation that’s becoming almost too much.
I gasp as his thumb presses harder on my bud, but it doesn’t last long. In an instant, his lips are on my clit and he’s dragging his tongue through my sopping wet slit.
He groans in pleasure, and the fact that he’s enjoying this almost sends me over the edge. I’ve been with so many guys who wouldn’t even go near me with their mouth—but not Damon.
Prince Damon hooks his fingers into my panties and rips them down my legs. His hands grip my calves and he lifts my legs up, spreading them wide and staring at me. Splayed out for him, I don’t feel embarrassed. I don’t feel shy.
All I feel is desire.
“I told you—you’re perfect,” he sighs. His eyes drag up to mine and I suck a breath in through my teeth. I don’t know what to say. My body is pulsing with need and all I can think of is how much I want his lips on me again.
As if he reads my thoughts, Prince Damon hooks my legs over his shoulders and drops his head down. I
tangle my fingers into his hair, arching my back and grinding my hips into his face.
He moans, kissing and sucking and licking me until I can’t even see straight. His fingers pump inside me again and again as his mouth claims my bud, urging me closer and closer to the edge. I buck and arch and writhe against him, my pastel locks clinging to the velvet back of the throne as my fingers twist into the Prince’s hair.
He growls, sending delicious vibrations through my center as his fingers find my most sensitive spot.
“Come for me, Dahlia,” the Prince says. “Come on my tongue. I want to taste you.” He licks me again, dragging his eyes up to mine. “Come on top of that throne like the dirty girl I know you are.”
I whimper, my eyes widening. He licks me again as his fingers thrust in and out of me.
“Come for me, Princess,” Damon commands.
“I’m not a pri—” His head drops back down between my legs and he rips the words right out of my mouth. An orgasm crashes through my body as the Prince of Farcliff devours me. I sit half-naked on the throne, my dress bunched around my hips and my underwear lost somewhere below us.
My back arches as heat blazes through me. My legs stiffen and a silent scream spreads my lips. I grip the Prince’s hair with both hands and grind his face against my slit as pleasure rocks through my body like never before. I’m a gushing, sopping-wet, trembling mess.
Finally, my voice starts to work again, and I let out a moan. The Prince doesn’t stop what he’s doing. He works his mouth and his hand until he’s covered in my honey, moaning in pleasure until I have to push him away.
Everything is too sensitive to touch now.
If I ever thought Damon Farcliff was a play-by-the-rules kind of guy, I was royally-fucking-wrong. He is bad in the best possible way. He’s rough, and filthy, and the opposite of clean-cut. He’s a savage, and all I know right now is that I want every bit of him.
Damon’s lips are swollen and glistening, and his eyes promise more. He leans over my limp, broken body and kisses me. I taste myself on his lips, melting into the throne as he wraps his arms around me once again.
Royally Unexpected: An Accidental Pregnancy Collection Page 25