The Royals Series

by Bay, Louise

  * * *

  I found it difficult to look at him as we got out of the car and went into his building. Even in the elevator I studied the floor rather than glance at him and have him see how much I wanted him. He periodically squeezed my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles, sending sparks of lust across my skin.

  In his apartment, we stood in front of the couch, holding hands, looking out onto the city.

  “Did you feel it?” he asked, keeping his gaze forward at the skyline as if he was trying not to look at me. “Between us, at the auction house?”

  I knew what he was asking. There was a pull toward him, a need to touch him, a desire to be alone, together.

  I nodded and he turned toward me. “I wanted it to be just you and me.” He released my hand and cupped my face, stroking his thumbs over my cheekbones. “I like you.”

  His eyes flicked to my lips.

  There was nothing but the sound of our exaggerated breathing in the air.

  “I like you, too.” I shouldn’t like him—I should think he was spoiled and indulged. Except that he didn’t seem that way at all.

  He sighed as if he were disappointed. Slipping my jacket from my shoulders, he didn’t take his eyes from my face. Not as he undid my sleeveless shirt, leaving it to fall to the floor. Not as he removed my skirt. Not when I stood in front of him in just my underwear. He stepped back and finally let his eyes trail down my body. Just his glance intoxicated me, each part of my body lighting up as he inspected me. “Sam,” I whispered, urging him to take pity on me, to touch me.

  My cry brought his gaze back to my face and he stepped forward. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, Princess.”

  My fingers fumbled at his shirt but he knocked them away and unbuttoned it quicker than I could have. My body was weakened by him. Relief flooded me as I placed my palms against his chest. I’d been waiting to touch him, to kiss him. He took his pants off and snaked his arms around my waist, one hand smoothing up my back, the other down to my ass, holding me against him. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his forehead pressed against mine.

  “You. I want all of you,” I replied.

  He groaned as if just my words increased his need for me. “You don’t know all of me, Princess. Not yet.”

  “I don’t care,” I said. “I want it all.”

  He pushed his lips against mine, urgent and needy. Our lust had been let off the leash; I just couldn’t get enough of him. I pulled at him and he gripped me tighter. My hands went from his neck to his chest to his sides. I couldn’t decide where I should hold him, where I could feel enough of him, get enough of him.

  He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, our lips never leaving each other’s, our tongues pushing and reaching as he walked across the living room.

  His hands went to my hips, holding me as he encouraged me to unwrap my legs.

  “Bend over, Grace,” he said, turning me so I faced the couch. I shivered and leaned over the black velvet arm, the fabric pressing against my warm skin, softly grazing my nipples.

  Sam smoothed his palms up my spine, then down and over my ass. “Beautiful,” he whispered, then his touch left me. I pushed up on my hands and glanced over my shoulder. “Stay there,” he said from a few steps away. He crouched, rummaging in his pants pocket. I took the opportunity to admire his body, his hard thighs, the peaks and troughs of his arms where muscle overlapped muscle. He stood and walked toward me, his thick cock flat against his stomach. Jesus.

  Strong was the only word to describe Sam Shaw. And it wasn’t just his body that earned that description. When he spoke, the way he walked—everything about him exuded strength. Like rock, having weathered a thousand years of the world, Sam was strong inside and out.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, stroking his hand across my lower back.

  Couldn’t he tell?

  I opened my legs and turned my head so he couldn’t see my smile as he moaned. The crinkle of the condom wrapper delayed the feel of his cock at my entrance. I sagged, relieved he’d soon be inside me, hoped he’d cure this need I had.

  “You want more of me?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Talk to me, Princess,” he said. “I want to hear it.”

  “Yes,” I said, my voice small and desperate.

  “Say it louder,” he bellowed.

  “Please. I want you deeper. I want all of you deeper.”

  He slammed into me and I slid against the velvet. He hooked his hand over my shoulder, driving me onto his cock. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He pulled out. “Tell me,” he said, his voice soft.

  “Yes, I want it. Please, Sam.” What was he doing to me? This man had me begging for his dick. But as he drove into me again, my questions disappeared and I could only concentrate on the way he filled me up. I had no control over my body. The heat. The layers of pleasure that seemed to settle over me with every thrust. Sam gave me everything and I lay there, feeling like I could give him nothing in return.

  His thighs pressed against mine as he continued to fuck me. His hands tugged and pulled at my waist, my hips, my neck. I was covered in him.

  I wasn’t used to taking from a man. I was used to giving, to concentrating on making him happy, making sure he was getting what he needed. All I could think about was how good this felt. How perfect Sam made me feel.

  He withdrew and I reached for him, but his hands left me, too. I snapped my head around, but before I had time to argue, he’d pulled me up and sat my ass on the back of the sofa. “That’s better. I can see your eyes,” he said, pushing into me again. His pace was less feverish this time, slow and steady and deliberate, as if he’d regained some control now that I’d admitted I wanted him.

  He leaned forward and brushed his lips over mine before dipping to kiss my shoulder. His kiss turned to a bite as he increased his thrusts. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t tip over the back of the sofa, but just as I became unsteady, he caught me, pushing us closer, his teeth sinking deeper and deeper. The pain heightened my pleasure and with his next push, my orgasm began to uncurl and my nails dug into his shoulder.

  “Oh God, yes,” I cried.

  His movements became jagged, and I pulled him toward me, wanting more of him, not ready for the peak of my climax to fade.

  He let out a tremendous groan, thrusting sharply into me as his orgasm collided with mine. He brought his forehead back to mine, our breaths short and out of synch.

  It was like he tore the pleasure out of me, then coated himself in it. As if our orgasms were symbiotic, joined.

  One impossible without the other.

  * * *

  “I knew you’d look unbelievable naked against this couch,” he said as we lay side by side on the cushions, where he’d arranged us post orgasm.

  I giggled. “Is that why you bought it?”

  “Yeah, I think it was.”

  I shivered. “Are you cold?” he asked, pulling us closer. I shook my head. I wasn’t. “I should have a blanket or something. You know, on the back of the cushions like you do in magazines.”

  I grinned. “You don’t even have dining chairs—accessories are a second layer. You need the basics first.”

  “Have you decided on what tattoo you’re going to get?” he asked.

  My eyes widened. “Oh God.” I’d forgotten to look. “Where is it?” I tugged at his arm, twisting it so I could get a better look.

  He stroked my chin with his thumb. “You’re very beautiful.”

  “Where’s your tattoo?” I asked.

  Without taking his eyes from mine, he lifted his arm toward the ceiling. I shifted up onto my elbow, scanning his skin.

  “No, on my side,” he said.

  Along his body were a few handwritten words. I pressed my fingers next to them and looked closer. “Wait and hope,” I read aloud and glanced up at him as he brought his arm down, hiding the marking once more. It was beautiful. The script was curly and pretty and seemed to de
corate rather than defile him. Perhaps I could have a tattoo. I liked the way it hid under his arm waiting to be discovered, revealed just to people he decided he wanted to show it to. It made me feel special. I rarely took risks, but when I had, they seemed to pay off—the gallery, him . . . “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It’s from a book,” he said, cupping my face, distracting me from the ink. He kissed me on the nose. “There was something else I wanted to do to you on this couch.” He pushed himself up, sliding me to the edge of the sofa until I sat up. “Lie back,” he said. “I want to see that blonde hair spread across the cushions.” He pressed my thighs open with his palms and fixed his stare between my legs.

  Maybe I should have been embarrassed, but I liked watching him watching me. He was so focused and intense. “Even your pussy is beautiful,” he said, glancing up and grinning at me as he pushed his hands up my thighs. “Your mouth . . .” He kissed me briefly on my lips, using just a whisper of his tongue. “Beautiful. This, here . . .” He trailed his tongue along my collarbone and I melted into the cushions behind me. “Is beautiful. It’s all . . .” He placed kisses down my chest, between my breasts and over my stomach. “Beautiful.” He paused and pulled back before his thumbs opened my lips. I lay before him as he spread me wide, and somehow it was okay to be so exposed to someone, to him at least. It felt right.

  He nudged his tongue into my folds, then up toward my clit. My back arched in anticipation. The fire between us that had built during the auction reignited, as though it had only been temporarily quenched by that first orgasm. Sam moaned against my sex, the vibrations scattering across my body. My hands threaded into his hair, urging him on. I wanted more, wanted whatever he could give me. “Yes.” My voice came out breathy and begging as he licked and pressed his flattened tongue against my clit. Wetness trickled out of me. We were going to ruin his couch.

  The softness of his tongue on my clit mixed with the rough of his stubble on my thighs was too much sensation. I jerked and he placed his large palm on my stomach to hold me in place. Two fingers began to circle my entrance. I wanted them deeper, needed him inside me.

  He knew that if he gave me what I needed, I’d be gone, pushed over the edge immediately. He wanted to tease me a little longer.

  “More,” I cried out. As if my plea was what he’d been waiting for, he thrust his fingers into me, his tongue rounding my clit. It was too much. I gripped his hair, suddenly wanting him to hold off, but he was relentless. The teasing was over and he was going to make me come with a vengeance. The realization stirred my orgasm. I had no control. My body was his. Sensation ran down my thighs and they began to shake. He flicked his tongue over my clitoris and I was gone. I released my grip on his hair, my hands falling to my side as my back arched and I came in a violent wave.

  Panting, I watched as he grinned up at me. “You taste amazing.”

  I could barely breathe.

  I couldn’t tell him that no man had ever made me come with his tongue before. I couldn’t say that sex with him was so different to sex with any one of my other boyfriends it was like comparing ice and diamonds. He was everything I shouldn’t want—everything I’d spent my life rejecting and here I was, wanting him so badly I could barely breathe.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sam

  Grace seemed to have a rule that she ignore me the first three times I called her. Which was why I was pulling up her number for the fourth time in forty-eight hours. I looked out of my office window and down below at the street. The yellow of the crush of cabs reminded me of the prints we’d bid on at the auction but lost. I hadn’t minded not getting them even though I liked them. I’d just enjoyed being with Grace.

  After the auction, the sex, the way I told her she owed me a tattoo, she’d left. And I’d wanted to ask her to stay but I couldn’t quite find the right words—a good reason. I’d spent the last two days trying to find an excuse to call her. She’d mentioned something about an exhibition she thought I might be interested in and I wanted to know more. About the exhibition. About her.

  “Sam,” she answered.

  “Come to my office at twelve,” I said, looking south across the buildings. Was she at the gallery? What was she wearing? Was her hair up or down? I liked the way some escaped when she wore it up. I wanted to see her.

  “I’m busy,” she said, but I heard the grin in her voice. She didn’t hate the idea.

  “Then unbusy yourself and come to my office at twelve.” I was supposed to have a lunch, but I could cancel. “I want your thoughts on dining tables.”

  I needed another place to fuck her. A dining table would do nicely.

  “I haven’t said yes to the tattoo,” she replied.

  “You will,” I said. “I expect you here at twelve sharp.” I hung up.

  I’d never had any difficulty walking away from women I’d had sex with. I knew it was better for them, and for me. I had no need to create emotional ties. But with Grace, I just couldn’t keep away. If I hadn’t called her, insisted on hiring her, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t have gotten in touch with me. She’d have made it easy for us to part ways.

  Maybe that was why I was chasing after her like a teenage boy.

  I busied myself, trying to get enough work done so that I didn’t have to come back to the office this afternoon, after I’d taken Grace to get her tattoo. Wanting to prove to myself that it was possible to spend an hour not thinking about Grace Astor.

  * * *

  At twelve fifteen my fingers hovered over the buttons on my phone. Should I call and make sure Grace was coming? I looked up at the knock on my office door as my assistant came through, followed by Grace. I stood up to greet Grace but she didn’t look at me. Her eyes were everywhere but on me, taking in my office, Rosemary, everything.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee or a glass of water?” Rosemary asked.

  Grace smiled and shook her head, a strand of hair escaping from the way she had it fixed up. “No, thank you.”

  “Nothing for me, Rosemary,” I said, rushing her out of my office. “Please close the door.”

  I rounded my desk, heading toward Grace. How should I greet her? A kiss on the cheek? A nod of the head? Instead, my hand smoothed over her back and I guided her toward the conference table. “Please take a seat.”

  “So, I’m here,” she said, her eyebrows raised as she sat down and finally looked at me.

  I sat, returning her gaze. “Thank you for coming.” Did she not want to be here? I didn’t want her to think I was pressuring her. I wanted her to be as pleased to see me as I was to see her. Perhaps I should focus on our business relationship. “Tell me about the exhibition you mentioned when I last saw you.”

  Grace paused before she said, “It’s for an up-and-coming artist.”

  I knew she had a proclivity for rising stars. Was this one an ex-boyfriend, too?

  “I think this will be his second exhibition out of art school. There was a really traditional feel to his last show, so I’m hoping you’re going to like it.” She gave a little half shrug as if to say What more do you want me to say?

  I nodded. “If you think it’s worth my while.”

  “You don’t have to come along,” she said. “I could go on my own, do a bit of research, take a few photos on my phone and then report back. I don’t know too much about the work, to be honest. I have to see it—it could be a disaster. I don’t want to waste your time. I know how busy you are.”

  Didn’t she get it? The exhibition was just a reason to spend time with her. The art was secondary. “I’ll pick you up.”

  She frowned. “You don’t need to do that. It’s not like it’s a date or something. I can meet you there.”

  Not like it’s a date or something. The last time I’d been on a date was in high school, and I hadn’t realized it was a date until I arrived at the movie theater to discover it was just me and Jessica Warner. I’d kissed her, because why not? To this day, it had been the only date I’d ever been on.<
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  Grace’s hands were folded neatly in her lap, belying her sexiness. If I was going to take anyone on a date, it was going to be Grace. “I’ll pick you up,” I said. “We can research together. Now, what about dining tables?” I asked, not ready for our meeting to be over.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  I didn’t understand. “Maybe?”

  “If it’s small. And pretty like yours.”

  It took a few seconds for me to realize that she was talking about her having a tattoo. “You think my tattoo is pretty?”

  “Pretty wasn’t what you were going for?” She grinned at me.

  “If you like it, I’ll take it,” I replied and her cheeks pinked.

  “There’s a place in the East Village that is supposed to be good, but you’ll have to come with me. I’m not doing it alone.”

  Her wanting me to accompany her anywhere should scare me. I’d spent my whole life determinedly independent but somehow the thought of her needing me wasn’t as frightening as it should be. But I had to make an effort to keep the corners of my mouth down—I liked it.

  “It would have to be small,” she said. “And I like the idea of words. No Mickey Mouse head or anything.” She was talking fast like she did when she was nervous.

  I hadn’t expected her to say yes to the tattoo. And now she was offering it, I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. I’d buy whatever she wanted—tattoo or no tattoo. I liked her just as she was. She didn’t need to add anything to her already beautiful body.

  “What about this afternoon? I’m sure you’re busy around here, but I might lose my nerve if I wait.” She curled a strand of hair around her ear. “So?” she asked. “Are you busy?”

  “Always,” I replied. Her shoulders sank a little. Relief? Disappointment? I wasn’t sure. “But I’m the boss, so I can—”

  “Okay then,” she said. “We should go.”

  “We don’t have to,” I said. “I mean, it was a big ask—too much. I never thought you’d actually—”