by Nikki Sloane
A dark laugh threatened to escape from me as I resumed my plan of getting my mouth on Royce. I curled my fingers around his underwear-covered dick, massaging him through the soft fabric.
Macalister had certainly failed, hadn’t he? It was pointless he’d even tried to make me his. I’d belonged to Royce the second I looked up from the book I was reading in the Hale library last year and discovered his provocative eyes staring at me.
I captured my bottom lip between my teeth as I slipped my fingers under his waistband and inched his underwear past his hipbones. I worked the elastic down just until he was exposed. He was thick and hard, laying across his thigh, and when I leaned in, he twitched.
Once again, his words were full of subtext. “Do you like my plan?”
“I do,” I whispered.
And then I sucked in a breath and ran the tip of my tongue up the length of him in one tentative lick.
It made his whole body shudder and his voice tight. “Oh—fuck—I think your plan is better.”
I giggled, both at his humorous statement and my nerves. His head dipped back when I did it again—this pass slower and more exploratory. His skin was so soft, warm and velvety smooth against my tongue.
My unsure caresses must have sent the message to him that I was looking for direction, because he adjusted and leaned back on one hand, freeing the other to cup the side of my face. His tender touch disarmed and guided me to take him inside my mouth.
A deep, appreciative sigh rained from above as I widened my lips and slid down, taking more of him in. All the way until my mouth was full and I could take no more. I wrapped a fist around the base of him, holding his dick steady while also stopping him from going any deeper.
“Oh, God, yes,” he groaned.
Pleasure ripped through me in a hot flash, landing as a pulse in the center between my legs. It felt different than when he touched me, but just as good. It stimulated my mind, rather than my body.
His fingers were buried in my hair and rested on the nape of my neck, and he used his touch to urge me to hold still. It was so he could slowly retract his hips, easing himself out of my mouth.
The head of his dick just cleared my lips before he began his advance. The push of him inside me in this new place was erotic. Hot. And when he let out another satisfied sigh, power coursed through my veins.
Before, I hadn’t understood the appeal of the act. The enjoyment seemed one-sided.
But, oh, there was pleasure here.
It burned in my body with each labored breath Royce fought for and every stroke as he worked himself in and out of my pursed mouth. I enjoyed finding new ways to draw out his sounds of contentment. He groaned when I swirled my tongue. He throbbed when I sucked. A gasp poured from him when I tightened my fist and tried to keep still, letting him control the tempo.
Although he was doing the majority of the work, it didn’t matter. I quickly went out of breath, even as all I had to do was kneel on the carpet beside the bed and let him fuck my mouth. An ache swelled inside me, hot and needy, and I shifted in my position so I could press my knees together and clench against the sensation.
Royce picked up the pace, sawing his hard cock in and out until it was slippery with my saliva and soreness crept along the muscles of my jaw. As his satisfaction began to build, his careful control slipped. The hand on the back of my head was firm and dominating. It urged me to rock with him and move faster.
Desperate, urgent, mindless sounds drifted from him. Sighs and groans soaked in pleasure. It made me squeeze my thighs harder against the ache. Was I . . . going to come? Just from listening to him? The power he gave me was like being high, and I wanted more.
“Yeah.” His quiet encouragement was sandwiched between deep gulps of air. “Fuck, yeah.”
I pushed my hair back out of my face, which had become damp with sweat. My heart beat wildly, pounding in my chest, and I swirled my tongue over him to mimic its frantic pace. His hips bucked and his cock throbbed, but he didn’t slow down.
My gaze flicked up to connect with his. He was my beautiful Ares, the god of war, and I was happy to be conquered by him.
“You’re gonna make me come. Is that what you want, Marist?” His tone was sinful. “You want me to fill up your virgin mouth?”
I moaned my approval, and it made him wild.
The bed creaked quietly from his strong thrusts. His hips weren’t even on the mattress anymore, giving him more room to piston himself in and out of my mouth. I tried to match his intensity, sliding my tight fist furiously along the part of him I couldn’t fit past my lips.
It unleashed a moan from him that could have doubled as a sound of pain, but it was obviously pleasure. His body jerked, and his controlling hand on my head locked down, holding me still as he erupted.
Hot, thick liquid filled my mouth in spurts, and his chaotic gasps of satisfaction came in waves. He shuddered like thunder was rolling through him before he sank down onto his back. When my throat bobbed in a thick swallow, it dragged a final, deep groan from him.
The taste of him lingered in the back of my throat. It wasn’t like the girls made it seem in porn, but with his reaction, I didn’t mind it. When he stopped throbbing, I pulled away, sat back on the legs folded beneath me, and wiped my hand across my kiss-swollen, damp lips.
“Fuck,” he uttered into the stillness that had settled around us. It deepened the contrast between the quiet now and the sounds of sex that had filled the room just moments before.
It was a battlefield after the cannons had gone quiet, and he lay on the bed as if I’d slain him.
Then, his chest rose with a heavy breath, followed by another, and his hands went to his hips, jerking the sides of his jeans and underwear up to cover himself. He moved swiftly, doing up his fly, and once finished, he bolted upright. His hands scooped under my arms, and he dragged me into his lap so I was sitting on him, one leg on either side.
It surprised me when his mouth claimed mine, so soon after what we’d done, but he didn’t seem to care, and I was greedy for his kiss. It was intense and full of unexpected, real passion. In the aftermath of his orgasm, I wondered if he was even capable of lying.
“Was it everything you’d hoped it’d be?” he teased but then turned serious. “Because it was for me. That felt fucking amazing.”
A smile burned across my lips and heated my face. “I’m glad you let me talk you into it.”
One more short kiss was all I got before his arms banded around my back and he was moving—turning us until I was flopped down on my back on the bed, him crawling over me. He kept himself supported on his hands and knees, so I wasn’t crushed beneath him, but he was close enough our bodies were connected.
I arched my back, pressing harder against him. I wanted to feel his weight on me. His skin touching mine. But he shifted to the side so one hip rested beside mine on the bed and coursed a hand over my leg, up under my skirt. It was so he could grip the back of my thigh and lift, draping my leg up over his waist.
“Oh,” I whispered, turning toward him and grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt, stretching it carelessly in my hands as his fingertips brushed over the crotch of my panties.
His words rasped as he asked the question, which I didn’t have to answer. It was apparent. “Turned you on, huh?”
I closed my eyes and buried my forehead in his chest, so I couldn’t see his evil smile, but I pictured it in my head.
“Next time, I’ll make you take off your soaked panties. But tonight,” he pulled the fabric to the side and out of his way, “this will do.”
There wasn’t time to catch my breath before his finger pushed inside me. There wasn’t time to think, not about anything but him. It was how he was in life.
He invaded.
The stretch to accommodate him felt good. So, freaking, good. His thumb flicked across my clit while his long finger pulsed in and out at an unhurried pace. It was torturous, yet filled me with bliss.
/> One finger gradually became two, and I was hopelessly out of breath. Whimpers and soft sounds of need dripped from my lips. I wasn’t going to last long like this. I’d already been close when I’d been going down on him.
He moved faster and harder, reaching a spot deep inside me that caused my legs to tremble and my pulse to roar.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
Part of me didn’t want to. I knew it would be my undoing, and I wanted to live here in this moment just a little longer, balancing right at the edge before he took me over. But when he asked for it, I immediately complied, and—oh—his eyes. They were such a beautiful blue, deep like the water just beyond the cape.
His gaze was a weapon. It was an arrow, slipping past any defense I could mount, driving straight and true into my heart.
I came with a cry, my gaze locked on his. All the physical pleasure I felt was reflected in his eyes. Like me, he enjoyed giving just as much as receiving. Maybe more. The sensations wracked my body, washing me in heat and ecstasy, and as soon as the orgasm released me from its clutches, I gasped for air.
It took me a lifetime to recover. “It’s a good thing,” I panted, “you talked me out of sex.”
Concern washed down his expression. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Yes. It just, like, took a lot out of me. In a good way.”
I’d done a terrible job convincing him because worry continued to twist on his face. It was strange and wonderful, and if I’d been told six months ago it was possible he could care about someone else, I wouldn’t have believed it.
My palm made its home on his chest, hoping someday soon the heart beneath it would be mine.
“Seriously, I’m okay,” I said softly. “I’m better than okay,” I amended.
There wasn’t anywhere else I’d have rather been than right here, in his bed and in his arms.
Royce took the plate from me and set it on the silver tray resting on the top of his dresser. He’d had someone from the staff bring dinner to his room, and we’d eaten in his bed, talking about all the things we should have months ago.
It was an eye-opening experience. He was a fan of the classics, he said. Tupac, Jay Z, Biggie, and the Beastie Boys. He thought the movie Pulp Fiction was overrated. And he was curious if I was interested in booking a private yacht for our honeymoon so we could tour the French Riviera.
“Or,” he leaned back against the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest, “we can just stay on the boat the whole time. I don’t know if we’ll leave the cabin. I plan to spend a lot of time fucking the new Mrs. Hale.”
His smile made a blush heat my face, but at the same time, his words caused cold trepidation to grow in my stomach, and I pulled the comforter tighter across my body. I’d been so focused on the initiation, and then the wedding planning, I hadn’t thought much of what came after. I decided to deflect.
“What if I don’t want to take your last name?”
I imagined the question had the same effect it would if I’d told him his bank account was empty. He stared at me, seated in his big, white bed, and utter disbelief streaked across his face. “Excuse me, what?”
I had every intention of taking the Hale surname, but he didn’t need to know that. I blinked innocently. “If I give up my name, what do I get in return?”
His tone was wry. “A percentage of my enormous fortune.”
“Besides that.” I tilted my head and gave him a look to make sure he knew I wasn’t serious. Although, I sort of was. We’d taken a big step today, but I hoped by the time we exchanged vows, he’d be ready to share all of himself. “What will you give me,” I teased, “of value?”
He straightened and strolled toward me, finally understanding. Excitement and mock outrage painted his expression. “Are you blackmailing me, Marist Northcott—soon to be Hale?”
“Of course not.” I spoke it syrupy sweet. “I’m trying to enter into negotiations with you.”
He went to sit beside me, but we were interrupted. The quick rap of knuckles against wood wasn’t much of a warning. We only had time to turn and look at the door before it swung open, and the temperature plummeted.
Macalister’s suit was as dark as a black hole. He swept into the room with furious eyes, and when he discovered me resting in Royce’s bed, a scowl hinted at his lips.
“I came to check on Marist,” he announced, “and see if she was settled.”
His gaze zeroed in on me, and I wanted to shrink beneath the covers. I hadn’t seen him since we’d struck our deal, and somehow that absence made this moment more awkward. It verged on terrifying.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Good. I’m pleased you’ve decided to stay with us.”
The way he said us made it sound like he actually meant me. I frowned. “I haven’t decided anything yet.”
Royce didn’t say a word, but the subtle shift in his posture gave away his displeasure. I was sending mixed signals, wasn’t I? Saying I wasn’t sure I was going to stay while I was nestled in his bed?
And I was the first girl he’d allowed here.
I put my hands down on the mattress and used them to push up, attempting to sit straighter in the bed. “It makes more sense for me to keep living here.”
“It does,” Royce said quickly.
“But I won’t stay . . . if someone gives me a reason to leave.”
Perhaps Macalister would think I was talking about her, and I was . . . but I also very much meant the warning for him.
He gave a short nod. “There’s no risk of that happening. I’ve been quite clear with everyone, including the staff, about the boundaries.”
I had no idea what that meant but didn’t want him to elaborate. His presence in the room shattered the warmth and closeness Royce and I had built, so I wanted him gone as quickly as possible.
“You came to check on Marist,” Royce said flatly, “which you’ve done. Is there something else you need?”
He sounded like he wanted his father gone more than I did.
Macalister’s hands hung loosely at his sides, but I didn’t miss the way he curled his fingers, balling a hand into a fist of tension. “Yes.” He leveled his penetrating gaze at me. “Alice has asked I pass on her apology to you.” He spoke it like the language was unfamiliar to him. “She is quite sorry.”
Royce’s mouth dropped open. “Are you fucking serious?”
“No.” Instinctively, my hand came up, signaling to stop. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not ready.”
Surprise and irritation mixed on Macalister’s face, like he was upset I wasn’t willing to accept this grand gesture he’d been forced to make on her behalf. “She confirmed her intent wasn’t to kill you.”
Royce’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Well, that’s great.” His shoulders were tense, his posture adversarial. “Her fake apology means nothing. The only person it matters to is you. I guarantee she isn’t saying it because she feels bad. She’s only apologizing because you demanded it.”
An apology meant admitting you were wrong, and that mistake gave him power over her. She’d told me before she and Royce were Macalister’s greatest failures. They didn’t submit to him like everyone else did.
Now she had to.
Macalister pretended his son didn’t exist and kept his focus locked on me. “You’re a reasonable person. You understand sooner or later you will have to deal with the situation so we can all move past it.”
Move past it? My blood simmered hotly in my body. “Sooner or later, huh? I choose later, then.” I drew in a deep breath, filling my voice with as much power and finality as possible. “If there’s nothing else—goodnight, Macalister.”
Oh, he didn’t like the way I’d spoken to him one bit and hated how he couldn’t do anything about it even more. He was a burning glacier, raging fire trapped under thick ice. He cast a final look at me before he went, and it was so dark, it opened a void inside my stomach and
threatened to swallow me whole. But I kept my face neutral, holding firm as he strode to the door and pulled it closed behind him with an angry thump.
My first night in Royce’s bed didn’t lend itself toward decent, restful sleep. I was a light sleeper, but he wasn’t, and although his snores were relatively soft, I tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable or keep my mind quiet.
It amazed me how quickly he drifted off after turning off the light, totally relaxed to share a bed with someone else, even when he’d said he’d never done it before. If anything, I should have been the one more familiar with it. Emily and I had been close growing up, and I’d often snuck into her room and climbed into her bed. We’d stayed up late to whisper about cute boys and gossip.
There’d always been plenty of both to come by in Cape Hill.
But tonight, there was no whispered gossip with Royce. We didn’t cuddle. He stuck to his side of the enormous bed and me to mine, and after a quick goodnight kiss, he’d snapped off the light and gone right to sleep.
I turned away from him and mashed my pillow beneath my head.
Earlier, when I’d changed and prepared for bed in my room, I’d discovered the chess set Macalister had given me—where the pieces were from the Greek myths—had been set up on my coffee table. A white pawn was placed forward two squares, as if Macalister were playing the white side of the board now and had made his opening move.
Instead, I put the piece back on its home space in the starting position.
I’d told him no more games, and I’d meant it, no matter how beautiful the chess pieces were or that I’d begrudgingly come to enjoy the strategy of it. What was he thinking, anyway? That I’d invite him into my room to play?
Fuck that.
The only time we’d used this set, the pieces had been flung across the room, and his mouth had smothered mine while he’d pushed me against the bookcase.
It irritated me how he was already trying to bend the rules when we’d only made the deal two days ago, although I wasn’t that surprised. He liked to push. He was happiest when the people around him weren’t.