by Adora Crooks
“Hold up, buddy,” Rory says and lifts a palm. “You’re the one who blindfolded me right before a threesome. Do you want to talk about that?”
“Not particularly.”
I take a drag and blow the smoke away from her.
Rory sighs. “Listen… whatever you and Roland have going on… that’s between you two. As far as I’m concerned? You and me… we’re golden.”
“Right.” I take another drag. This time I hold the smoke in my lungs until it hurts.
I can feel her eyes on me. They’re inquisitive. “Speaking of you and Roland. What’s that about?”
My chest clenches up. I keep a straight face. “What about it?”
“You’ve worked for him for a long time, right?”
I nod. “Six years.”
“So you know each other pretty well.”
“You could say that.”
“Did the two of you ever…?” Her voice trails off suggestively.
I stare her down, daring her to finish that thought. “Ever?”
“You know.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. You seem to have… a special relationship. Did things ever get… intimate?”
“No.” The word comes out more forcefully than I would like. I pad my rising temper with “There’s always a woman involved. It’s not like that.”
“Not like what? Like… you’re not gay?”
“I’m bi.”
Why am I telling her these things? I need to shut up. I need to keep my mouth closed. But Rory is stubborn. She gestures dubiously. “You mean to tell me that you two have slept with the same woman… at the same time… and you’ve never bumped uglies?”
A red heat climbs up my throat. I pray my dark stubble and the dimming sunlight hides it, and I turn away from her. Like an idiot parrot, I repeat, “It’s not like that.”
She’s watching me. I can feel the heat of her eyes. “Maybe not for him,” she says softly after a moment. She looks out over at the garden, and she lets out a breathy laugh. “Oh. I get it now.”
I eye her warily. “What?”
“Last night, when you brought me to the palace… you wanted to scare me away.”
She’s getting dangerously close to the truth, and I square my shoulders. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s it, isn’t it? You blindfolded me and conveniently forgot to tell me about Roland… because you wanted me to freak out and leave.” Her eyes meet mine, and she blurts out, like she’s bloody Sherlock Holmes, “You’re in love with him.”
She may as well have stabbed me through with an ice pick. My feet root in the ground, and my molars grind. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My stubborn denial gives me away. “It’s true,” she gasps. “Does he know?”
I can’t speak. Literally. My words seppuku themselves on my tongue.
All at once, her expression grows somber. Those big eyes are wide and sad and pitying. “Oh, Ben,” she says. “I’m sorry. If I knew—”
“That’s enough.” This is painful. I would rather be dragged over hot coals, eat the barrel of my gun, or be buried alive than continue this conversation. I smash my smoke on the stone railing, and it spits out sparks and embers. “We should go back inside. I’m sure the prince is looking for—”
“Roland!” Rory raises her voice, a gracious signal to cut the conversation short.
The prince is backlit by the light from the palace, and it creates a halo around his golden hair. The heat from inside has made him unkempt, fizzy, and his cheeks are flushed with rosy splotches. He’s wearing that unbearable grin he always wears, as though he knows some incredible secret.
My heart is thudding in my chest, and I try to force it to slow down.
“I thought you’d run off,” Roland says as he approaches Rory. “I was going to start hunting for a glass slipper.”
Rory deepens her lean against the railing and half shrugs. “Ben was keeping me company.”
Roland glances around as though he’s looking for the invisible man. His eyes intentionally never hit me, and his forehead scrunches in faux confusion. “Strange, I don’t see anyone else here.”
One of these days, I’m going to punch the prince of England.
I’m going to ball my fists into that stupid, gaudy shirt, shove him hard against the wall, and—
No. No! Fuck!
My thoughts race around my head and trip over themselves. Rory has me all worked up. I need to extract myself from the situation immediately.
Wordlessly, I leave the two of them and slip inside. I wish I weren’t on duty. Maybe Rory had the right idea. I’m tempted to down ten of those champagne flutes.
I need my heart to stop pounding. As usual, it doesn’t listen to me.
16
Roland
I can’t keep my hands off Rory.
She’s everything I shouldn’t want. A common-born Normal. Punk. Ginger. But there’s something about her that makes me insatiable. The second Ben skulks away, I press her against the ledge and swallow her mouth in a kiss. Her lips taste like cherry. She makes a small, muffled noise of surprise before her body goes limp and pliable against mine. Every time I feel that switch in her—from rigid and tense to soft and submissive—my dick gets diamond hard.
“Stay with me tonight,” I murmur at her lips. “The worst part of today was waking up without you.”
She grins. “All my… stuff is at the hostel…”
“I’ll have someone collect your things.” I trail kisses under her ear and along her neck. She tilts her chin upward to give me more access and sighs deeply. I warn her, “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
I feel her throat vibrate on my lips when she laughs. When I draw my hand under her dress, however, her thighs close tightly to keep me out.
“People can see us,” she whispers.
“You’re right. We should move somewhere more private. My room, perhaps.”
She bites her lip, and her eyes dance with mischief. “Shouldn’t we stay for the rest of the party?”
“Sod the party. I hate these things anyway. They’re a bunch of stuffy wankers. They’ve got their heads so far up their arses they can’t remember what sunshine feels like.”
There’s a shift in her expression, and her eyes look almost sad suddenly. Her small hands rest against my chest. “Are you okay?”
I frown. “Yes. Why?”
“You’re just…” She waves her hand as though trying to pluck the word from thin air. “Frantic. It must be weird to be around all of those people after being alone for so long.”
“I’m not alone. I have Ben.”
That sounded better in my head, but when the words fall from my lips, it sounds pathetic. Truthfully, Ben has been my only real companion over the past ten years. He’s been my brother when I had no one. I can deflect with charming smiles and hot kisses, but even I know how sad that sounds.
Rory, mercifully, doesn’t push the subject. Instead, she hooks a finger around the horrid lace on my lapel and toys with it. “Speaking of Ben… I was thinking. What if we invite him back to your room?”
I blink. “You mean dead-to-me Ben Tolle? That Ben?”
She rolls her eyes. “You don’t mean that. Besides, you two have slept with the same women before, right?”
“Yes. We have.”
“So… it would turn me on. A lot.” Those doe eyes lift from my shirt and meet mine. “Please?”
I realize then and there that it’s physically impossible to say no to her. More than that, I don’t want to. I love this side of her—my bold and brash girl who isn’t afraid to ask for what she wants. “Smart and kinky.” I grin. “I like it.”
“I’m one of a kind,” she jokes.
I, however, am not joking, not in the slightest when I tell her, “You absolutely are.”
Even in the low light coming from the palace, I can see her cheeks flame up with a blush. If I get any harder, I’m going to burst out of the confining prison of my pant
s.
“I’ll text him,” I say. I dig my phone out. Ben’s number is at the top of my recent calls. I shoot him the text: Your presence is required. My room. Stat.
I hit Send and tuck my phone away. “Done. He’ll meet us there.”
With that, I step to the edge of the terrace. A lantern flickers above us. There’s a small switch next to the lantern, impossible to spot if you weren’t looking for it. I flip it upward and the secret door clicks as it unlocks. I use the neck of the lantern as a door handle, and the stone splits down the crevices, revealing a hidden entranceway.
Behind me, I hear Rory gasp. When I turn to her, her eyes look like they might pop out of her head. “Is that…?”
“A getaway door? Of course. Useful for assassinations and the like. It’s a little tight,” I warn her. “You’ll have to duck.”
I slip inside and take Rory’s hand to help her down the initial steep drop. She bunches her dress up and steps into the spiral stone staircase.
“Okay.” Rory’s laugh echoes as she follows me inside. “I’m officially wet.”
17
Rory
I don’t know what makes me hotter: Roland’s deep, lust-fueled kisses or the palace’s secret passageways and hidden doorways.
What can I say? I’m a slut for history and espionage.
It’s dark in the spiral staircase with only a string of emergency electric lights to lead the way. The stairs are steep and clunky as though they were built a long, long time ago, and I follow Roland down. It ends abruptly in front of a sturdy door with a latch handle. Roland yanks the latch back—it groans with disuse—and pushes it open.
We step into a brightly lit room. It’s cozy in here, something about it inviting and homey, and then I realize why—we’ve entered the palace library. Instinctively, I feel right at home among the stacks and stacks of books. Roland pushes the door closed behind him.
It’s a bookcase. Of course. I’m fangirl screaming on the inside. I love this.
“Which book is the secret lever?” I cling to his arm. No use hiding my fangirlishness now; he’ll find out sooner or later anyway.
Luckily, Roland looks amused rather than turned off. “The one book least likely to get picked up.”
He points to a copy of The Da Vinci Code.
I laugh and shove him. “You’re lying! You snob. I loved that series. Read it cover to cover.”
“I am lying,” he smirks. “But now I know you have terrible taste.”
“I must.” I grin and grip his chin. “I’m crazy about an arrogant asshole.”
“You’re mental,” he says, an impish look sparkling in his eyes.
“Insane,” I agree and link my hand in his. I lean back against a bookshelf and urge him closer. He takes my cues and flattens my body between his and the bookshelf before closing his mouth over mine.
I like him like this—boyish, playful, teasing. My brother and I always showed affection by taunting each other, and I’ve grown a thick skin over the years. It’s nice to have a man who doesn’t treat me like I’m delicate, breakable, or skittish. I push, he pushes back, and right now he’s pushed me against the bookcase and the heat between us is almost unbearable. I want to rip his clothes off. I want to feel the warmth of his bare skin against mine. I want, I want, I want.
We’re making out like teenagers in the library when I hear it. Footsteps click loudly down the hallway. A voice follows soon after, muffled at first, but I recognize it when the person gets closer—Princess Iris.
Roland hears her, too, because he holds his finger to my lips to gesture me to stay quiet.
“Yes, he was just there, you bloody oaf,” the princess is saying to someone. “How could you possibly lose the prince at his own ball?”
Oh God. They’re looking for us.
Another deep voice mutters a response that I can’t make out, and the princess scoffs. “You’re as useless as a pig’s arse, you know that?”
My heart is pounding so loudly, I’m afraid it’ll alert the princess to our hiding place. I’ve done my share of petty crimes—trespassing empty lots, loitering, using my expired college ID to get student discounts, and the good old running the thermometer under hot water to get the day off from school. But escaping a royal masquerade ball and sneaking around the palace with the prince himself… this is definitely next level.
It’s scary and exciting all at once.
Roland isn’t helping the situation. His finger still on my lips, he pushes it in and invades my mouth. I let him, sucking it softly, digit by digit. My eyes stay on his; those deep violet irises do something dangerous to my inhibitions. His other hand reaches under my dress.
I gasp before I can stop myself. He’s teasing me, petting my swollen sex through my underwear. I’m soaking wet, I can feel it, and I’m positive I’ve drenched straight through. I know this because he presses a finger against the soaked fabric and hits the bull’s-eye immediately against my aching core.
My vision blurs with want. I groan and bite his finger to keep myself from begging him. I grind against his crooked finger, so badly wanting it inside of me. Instead, his knuckle nuzzles against the soft fabric, tormenting my needy entrance.
I’m panting lewdly, his finger stuck between my teeth like a horse’s bit. Roland looks positively entranced as he watches me unravel under his touches. I feel so hot underneath this dress suddenly, my pebble-hard nipples chafing on my bra.
The footsteps are coming closer. Soon enough, the princess and her companion will pass, but until then, I’m trembling. Roland’s finger slips under my panties then, and I feel him between my legs. I whimper—I can’t help it.
Roland’s lips graze my ear. “Quiet,” he murmurs. His breath beats on my neck and makes my skin tingle. I’m trying so, so hard to be quiet, but he’s caressing me, pushing my wet arousal around my slit. The tip of his finger hits that sensitive bundle, and I jerk like I’ve been shot through with electricity. Roland pins me in place with his body, and his lips attack my throat. His hard cock presses against my hip, and I want it inside me so badly I could cry. With a single flick of his finger on my swollen little nub, he has me right where he wants me. I’m shivering with pleasure as he flicks it over and over, unrelentingly, and everything in me feels tight all at once, from my cunt to my lungs to my trembling heart.
Suddenly, Roland crushes his lips against mine. I break. My orgasm comes crashing at the very tip of his finger. I moan, inhibitions gone out the window, the sound muffled only by his mouth. I’m throbbing, grinding, thrashing, battling the intensity of my pleasure with my desire to keep quiet. Roland doesn’t stop until I’m flushed, and twitching painfully.
“God, you’re so good at that,” I whimper.
“Good.” Roland’s mouth stretches out in a cocky grin. “Because I’m only getting started with you.”
The noises outside have stopped. Princess Iris has gone, and we’re alone again. Only then does Roland remove his touch, readjust my panties, and finish me off with a sweet kiss. I’m buzzing, still hot and bothered. My clit, the needy thing, is now ultrasensitive after his ministrations, and even the soft kiss of my cotton panties is painful now.
Roland licks me off his finger, and it sends another stab of lust through me. “You’re delicious,” he says.
“You make me breathless,” I tell him.
He takes my hand in his. The warmth of his palm is comforting, and it feels ridiculously natural to hold his hand. “Come on,” he says. “While we have the chance.”
I stumble behind Roland as he pulls me out of the library and we sneak down the hall. I’m practically limping, my legs wobbly and barely operable, but somehow we make it to his room.
I forgot how dark it was in here, but now the gunmetal gray of his room feels soothing, like putting a cold washcloth on a migraine.
“Take off my dress,” I beg and turn my back to him, pulling my hair up so he can get at the zipper. Roland slides the zipper down, and I shove it off my hips, kicking the heav
y thing to the floor. My boots come off, my bra, my panties, and I make a messy pile of clothes on the floor.
Next, I attack his shirt, trying to get all the buttons off. “I need your skin on mine,” I tell him. The cold nips at my already peaked nipples.
“Couldn’t agree more,” he says. He express-lines the buttons and rips his shirt down the middle completely. Buttons fly, his flouncy shirt becomes a pile of rags on the ground, and dear God, that chest.
He sweeps me up in his arms, and there’s nowhere I want to be more than right here, wrapped up in him. His bare skin is soft, his muscles hard, and his body is hot as a furnace. I run my hands up and down his form, tracing his slim waist, finding the hook of his hips.
I intend on screwing him until I can’t see straight, but when our lips touch, I fall into a different kind of swoon. The fire between us has shifted from all-consuming heat to a low, delicious burn. My back hits his fluffy mattress, and Roland falls on top of me, his lips never leaving mine.
“I love kissing you,” he confesses, and the genuine, gentle tone of his voice makes my heart beat faster.
“I love it, too,” I whisper.
We roll around in his bed, kissing and tasting one another. I could lie here all night with him, lip-locked, but the moment is interrupted when the lights in his room flicker once and then cut abruptly. The room is doused with darkness, and I let out a surprised squeak.
Something is wrong. Roland sits up, and I prop myself up as well. “What was that?” I whisper.
“Stay here,” Roland says. The urgency in his voice makes my bones go cold, and I freeze in my spot, even though there’s a part of me screaming, Don’t leave me! When people split up, bad things happen! I’ve seen horror movies, I know how this works!
Roland goes to the door, and I hear the handle squeak when it twists but then—nothing. The door doesn’t budge. He pushes at it, trying to force it open.
It’s no use. We’re trapped.
“Well,” Roland says jovially, “that can’t be good.”