by Tessa Bailey
“But,” he continued, “you’ll know it’s lies. Anything I say or do when other people are around, don’t believe it. That’s not me. It’s a character I’ve invented to help me win the game. The person I am with you is different than the one outside.”
Whoa. I sipped in air through my parted lips. He’d already shown me this a little, hadn’t he? That day of the dreadful luncheon, he’d been a completely different person in my family’s sitting room when it had been just been the two of us. His night-and-day personality was by design.
“You have to adapt constantly if you want to survive. You never know with my father, because he can change his mind in an instant, and everything he’s promised? It’s gone. He says he’s a man of his word, but it’s always going to be your word against his, and who do you think wins there?”
“He does.”
Royce threaded a hand through his hair, which fell back into its perfectly messy style. “You’re smart, Marist. I probably don’t need to tell you, but you should do the same. Be the girl he wants when people are watching. When it’s just you and me? You can be the girl I found in my library with green hair, buried in a book when there was a party going on downstairs.” He gave me the full intensity of his stare, the one that saw all the way into the depths of me. “You can just be you.”
“Okay,” I whispered. There was no other answer. I was vaguely aware I was sliding under his spell, but I was powerless to stop it.
I hadn’t noticed the tension he was holding in his shoulders until he released it on a heavy breath. “Good.”
There was a series of windows on the far wall, and since the sun was setting, the garden lights outside flickered on, catching my attention. A century ago, the sprawling acres of the Hale estate might have been cornfields, but now they were landscaped gardens and a meticulously maintained hedge maze.
When I was little, I’d hunted for eggs in the maze every Easter Sunday with my sister and the other HBHC executives’ kids. The golden egg had five grand in it, but I’d never been lucky or fast enough to find it.
As a girl, I’d been insanely jealous of Royce and Vance. If I’d had a hedge maze in my back yard, I’d have played in it all day. I’d have lived my Labyrinth fantasies with Jareth the Goblin King and never come out when my parents called. Neither of the Hale boys seemed to care about the maze at all. Maybe they’d seen The Shining too many times.
I hadn’t seen the gardens or the hedge maze from this vantagepoint before. It was much bigger than I would have thought. The exterior was square, but the maze had curves and lines and dead-ends decorated with statues or stone urns. The thick, evergreen hedges were well over six feet tall, separated by narrow pebble paths, and in the center, a three-tiered water fountain glowed.
The carefully executed maze was a daunting work of art.
Even now, a part of me still longed to go searching for David Bowie, where he’d seduce me into being his queen and take me to the masquerade ball.
Royce leaned back and cast an arm over the back of the couch, relaxing. It looked like an invitation, and I wasn’t opposed to it. The deal had been made. There was no harm in enjoying the benefits.
“This won’t be easy,” he said. “If you ever need anything, just say the word. I’ll do my best to help.”
“Okay.” I lifted my chin and smoothed my hands down my skirt. “You can actually help right now.”
He gave me a questioning look.
“I waited a year, Royce. Touch me.”
His blue eyes widened with surprise, then heated. A seductive smile spread slowly on his lips. He tipped his head down toward his lap, then back to me in a gesture that said, what are you waiting for?
I shook my head. There was a cat currently where I wanted to be, plus this was a power move. I’d given up so much already in this deal. He could give up something.
“Oh, you want me to come to you?” His tone was silk.
He was the only person besides myself who’d made me come, and my sex-starved body demanded his attention. I wasn’t a prude. I was very interested in learning about sex and had no one to explore it with, and that was mostly his fault. My frustration had reached critical mass.
“You owe me.”
“I do,” he agreed.
He undid the button of one of his cuffs and worked back the sleeve. One careful fold, then another, moving at a painstaking, deliberate pace to roll up his sleeve. And when that one was done, he did the other, watching me the entire time.
Seeing him prepare to touch me was the most delicious kind of foreplay I could imagine. Lust coiled inside me, winding tight as a spring. He rose from the couch and moved toward me, a stalking predator, and I was his prey too enamored to run. When I uncrossed my legs, he licked his lips, and the pull in my center was so acute, it verged on pain.
God, how I wanted him.
When I absolutely shouldn’t.
He’d literally told me he’d never put me first, and here I was, throwing myself at him anyway. Begging for his hands on my body.
He leaned over and gripped each armrest of my chair, trapping me beneath him. He looked down his long nose at me, his eyes gleaming like the Big Bad Wolf. “Do you still taste as good as I remember, Marist?”
“Find out,” I ordered.
There was just a flash of his smile, all sharp teeth, before his lips crashed to mine. It ignited a fire between us that instantly burned so hot I worried I’d vaporize. His hands were in my hair and his tongue filled my mouth, and every cell in me cried out with relief.
“Fuck,” he groaned, catching his breath before going back for more. His knees thudded to the carpet before me, and inside I was dying. Kissing me had literally brought Royce Hale to his knees. It was ridiculous and wonderful.
No one would believe it.
I could barely, and I was witnessing it firsthand.
His mouth moved against my lips, persuasive and commanding. His tongue slicked over mine, and when I moaned, he jerked me closer to the edge of the chair. My legs parted around his hips, and the champagne-colored lace skirt I wore rode high across my thighs.
It’d been a year since we’d kissed, but our bodies remembered. He curled a hand under my knee and pulled me closer still, until there was no space left and we were connected, his chest to my heaving chest.
His palm remained against the bare skin of my leg as he waged war with his mouth. He tasted like sex. Like uncontrolled, dangerous desire. And as his hand inched up my thigh, he ratcheted up the intensity of his brutal kiss.
Everything was moving too fast and not fast enough. My heart raced like a jet engine, but his fingers moved at an irritatingly slow crawl. I ripped my mouth away from his and sucked in a ragged breath, only for him to steal it when his hand curved inward, going exactly where I wanted it to.
“Better?” he asked on a low, husky voice. He wasn’t breathing as hard as I was, but he did struggle. He brushed a thumb over my panties, massaging me through the thin fabric.
“Yes,” I hissed.
Thanks to Alice and her salon of torture, I’d had my first ever Brazilian wax this afternoon. I was still a little warm and tender, but I’d grin and bear it. I was too desperate not to.
“Such patience, waiting for me.” He nipped at my earlobe.
I growled it out. “You better make it worth it.”
A sound of amusement drifted from him, but he made a silent promise with each fiery kiss he dropped in a line down the side of my neck. Lust was thick, choking the air swirling around us.
“Sit back,” he commanded.
I swallowed thickly, and as soon as I was slumped against the chair back, he followed my command. I’d ordered him to touch me, and he delivered. He slid a hand beneath the hem of the silk top I was wearing and coursed his palm over my trembling stomach. As his hand moved up, so did my top, bunching over his forearm and revealing more of my skin.
Royce had one hand on my bra and the other on my underwear, massaging and teasing, but it was his dark, foc
used gaze that possessed me. I’d sold myself to him, and this was the first moment I felt truly owned.
I didn’t mind the feeling. I liked it, maybe a little.
His lips were turned up in a shadow of a smile. He spent so much of his life under his father’s command—did he revel in having control over someone else? Getting to give the orders rather than having to follow?
I arched into his hands, stretching and writhing and needing his touch to survive. The cup of my bra was pulled down and my pebbled nipple exposed to him. First to his gaze, then his fingers to pinch, and lastly his hot mouth.
“Oh,” I sighed.
It felt good, and even better when he hummed his satisfaction. I’d had fantasies about this on nights when I was tired and weak, and just wanted to get myself off quickly. That was the only time I’d allowed myself to think about Royce over the last year. But those fantasies weren’t nearly as good as this.
I stared in fascination as his tongue explored my flesh. It flicked my nipple, and I felt the snap of pleasure everywhere. His fingers pressed to me, deep in the cleft between my legs, and the steady slide back and forth caused goosebumps to lift on my thighs. Heat built and swelled from his touch.
“Jesus, you’re sexy,” he murmured when I swiveled my hips, wanting more friction, and his statement went straight to my head. He’d said his words would be lies when other people were around, so did that mean I’d always get the truth when we were alone together?
He jerked the crotch of my panties to the side and plunged a finger deep inside me in one swift move. The shocking invasion made me ball his shirt into my fists, pulling so hard I was lucky I didn’t rip the buttons. The stretch of his thick finger was uncomfortable but followed immediately by warmth and satisfaction. “Oh, oh, oh!”
His lips curled in a victorious smile as he sat back on his heels, focusing on his task. He used one hand to hold my panties out of his way and thumb my clit, while he turned the other palm up to the ceiling and eased his middle finger in and out of me.
“So smooth,” he commented.
Because he was looking at the most intimate part of me, all bare and exposed. He sounded appreciative, and that made sense, didn’t it? Wasn’t my forced makeover today partially for him?
He worked his finger in and out of me, moving faster with each thrust, until my whimpers and gasps weren’t the only sound in the room. Wet skin slid through wet skin, and the slick noise heated my cheeks. I was so turned on. Was that normal? I threaded my hands into my newly-dark hair and closed my eyes, unable to watch for a moment. I needed a break from the sight that was so erotic, I was going to tip over.
And I wasn’t ready to lose control.
I wanted this to last. To be able to commit it to memory, because every moment with Royce was full of peril. If Macalister found me lacking in any way, all this would be over. He’d take Royce from me and give him someone else to play with.
That thought made my eyes pop open. I didn’t want that. I shook on the deal and had promised myself to Royce, but that meant he belonged to me too. I reeled until I found his gaze, which was locked on to me. He was enjoying watching the pleasure wring through my body and twist on my face.
As if it weren’t enough, he bent and brushed his lips on the inside of my thigh, close to my knee. It was a chaste, sweet kiss, and the juxtaposition with what his hands were doing made me spiral. Up I went, climbing toward the end I wasn’t ready for.
Tremors bubbled up my legs, and he knew he was the cause. A deep smile widened on his lips. “You like this?”
I didn’t answer his rhetorical question. I simply hung on to his shoulders, my fingers twisting the dress shirt fabric as I hopelessly chased my breath. My pulse roared in my ears and my vision narrowed.
His finger pushed deeper, reaching somewhere new, and coupled with his insistent thumb rolling on my clit, I was doomed. When I gave a sharp gasp, he sank his teeth into the spot he’d just kissed on my thigh, and this soft, playful bite pushed me over the edge. My toes curled inside my sandals as my body jerked, overwhelmed with sensations.
I came—and left no doubt about it—because I shuddered wildly and let loose a bliss-soaked cry. It was a half-sob wrenched from my chest like part of me was dying and being reborn.
He stilled as the orgasm rocked through me in waves and slowly subsided.
When I returned to reality, he was waiting patiently on his knees, and my heart thudded faster, skipping a beat.
“That wasn’t very good,” I whispered. “Try again.”
He laughed, and the deep, warm sound was addictive. “You’re so full of shit.” His eyes were alight with humor, but sex simmered as well.
I pulled my top back into place but was interrupted when he yanked me into a surprising kiss. It was blistering. Mind-numbing. I could do nothing but tilt my head and receive it. I’d expected lust from Royce, but not passion. I thought he’d be the hurried and inconsiderate prince of Cape Hill, but as he’d admitted—that wasn’t him. I’d only met the real version of Royce a handful of times.
This version was . . . easier to imagine marrying.
Kissing, along with most things involving boys, wasn’t something I was practiced in, and he seemed content to let me find my way. I strayed from his lips, moving over his cheek, and enjoyed the sensation of his whisker-dotted skin.
I had a flash of him standing at a bathroom sink, shirtless with a jaw covered in shaving cream and a razor gleaming in his hand. He’d probably done it right before our date because his skin was soft and smooth until I went against the grain. Someday soon, perhaps I’d see that domestic, everyday image for real. That thought should have scared the hell out of me.
But it didn’t.
I used the tip of my tongue to trace the edge of his ear, mimicking the techniques he’d used on me. Satisfaction swelled as he let out a soft sigh. His hands tightened on my waist and pressed me into him . . .
So I could feel every inch of my effect.
It was powerful and intoxicating, and the courage that had waned after my orgasm started anew. I pushed a hand down his chest, tracing the line of buttons on his shirt as I headed for his belt, and appreciated the hardened form of his muscles beneath my palm.
He smelled like pine trees and something else. Like I imagined sex and desire would if they had a fragrance.
“You smell so good,” I whispered into the crook of his neck. I hadn’t intended to say that out loud, but my brain-to-mouth filter wasn’t operating at full capacity. I’d given exactly one hand job in my life, and I was pretty sure it hadn’t been good. I wanted to be better.
When I eased my hand between our bodies and traced the outline of him with my fingertips, his heavy breath filled my ear. He held perfectly still as I cupped him through his jeans and brushed my palm over the bulge.
Was my touch too timid? He reached down and placed his hand on top of mine, making me hesitate. Alarm shot up my back. Was he stopping me because I’d done something wrong?
No. He held on to my hand as he stood and then used it to help pull me up to my feet as well. He’d grown tired of kneeling, I realized, as he led me to the couch.
“Get lost, cat,” he said.
Lucifer lifted his head, eyed his master, and begrudgingly jumped down from the couch when Royce gave him a gentle nudge. Once the cockblocking cat was gone, Royce sat and tugged me down beside him. He guided my hand back to where it had been, encouraging me to use more pressure.
As I leaned over, he slipped a hand behind my head and resumed kissing my neck. It was seductive. He used his tongue and the edge of his teeth, and bliss buzzed through me as a fast-acting drug.
He undid his belt with one hand and unzipped his fly, giving me better access while also making it clear what he wanted. I was happy he was taking the lead. Would he mind giving me more direction if I asked?
“So, um . . .” I whispered as I slipped my hand inside his undone jeans, caressing him through the soft, black underwear he wore. “You might
have to tell me what to do. This will be the second hand job I’ve ever given, and the first one was subpar.”
A laugh cut off in his throat as he froze. “Subpar,” he repeated in disbelief. But then Royce was there, cupping my hand and guiding me again to stroke him. “Not fucking possible, unless you tried to squeeze his dick off.” His lips against the side of my neck curved into a smile. “Did you?”
My eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t think so.”
“Show me how hard your grip was.”
I did.
“Oh, you’re adorable.” He licked a line up to my ear, drawing a shudder from me. His voice was encouraging and persuasive. “Do it like you mean it.”
He jerked down the waistband of his underwear, and his dick popped free. I palmed it and was surprised at the soft skin, yet how rigid he was beneath. Stone sheathed in velvet. I closed my fingers around him.
“Harder,” he encouraged in a hush.
His palm moved to my wrist and urged me to slide up and down. The thick head of his dick pushed through my fist as I pumped back and forth on long strokes. I sat up so I could do it better.
His chest moved rapidly on his quickening breath, and the muscle along his jaw ticked. Royce’s eyes hazed. This was more reaction than I’d gotten last time, so I was doing something right.
“Who was it?” he asked between two heavy breaths. “The guy you were with?”
Was I supposed to talk about someone else when I had a guy’s dick in my hand? “Uh . . . Richard Shaunessy.”
“Liam’s son?”
I’d forgotten Richard’s father was a board member. I bit my lip. “Yeah. It was one time, and he wasn’t—”
“Nope.” Royce’s tone was clipped. “I don’t need to know. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Richard had been my prom date my senior year. We’d gone as friends, but when I’d made a move that night in the back of the limo, he hadn’t refused. Halfway into it, he’d explained we couldn’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret, he’d said. His embarrassment of me had been such a turn-off, I’d told him I’d changed my mind, and that his micropenis would be our little secret.