Royally Mine: 22 All-New Bad Boy Romance Novellas

by Susan Stoker

  Except it wasn’t one I could ever return to. Not now, not ever.

  I’d made a decision, and it was too late to change it.

  Even though I was fairly certain I’d botched it.

  Chapter Seven

  Two Months Later

  Darius

  I sat in my father’s office—I still thought of it that way, even though I’d been duke for six years—and stared out the window at nothing. I’d been sitting there all night. Hadn’t bothered going to my bedroom. Hadn’t bothered with dinner. I’m not sure whether I’d slept or not. I’m not sure I would’ve noticed the difference.

  The darkness outside lightened to a dull gray, but I felt no more illuminated.

  Like the walking dead, I’d been doing the same thing for the last two months. I was empty. Numb. It seemed nothing could bring me back to life. Not even the drinking and drugs of my wilder days. Not that I hadn’t tried. Not women, either.

  I couldn’t dredge up excitement for any female, no matter how beautiful.

  No one compared to Chelsea, the woman I couldn’t make care about me.

  It confirmed my darkest suspicion—the one I’d had all my life.

  I wasn’t worth caring for.

  I kept wondering if I should have done something different. Held my treacherous reporter hostage, or asked her to marry me. What would’ve convinced her to not to walk off that yacht with my heart on the sole of her fucking flip flop?

  Except then I tell myself she wasn’t worth it. She was using me, and hanging onto a girl like her would inevitably end this way.

  But something in my heart didn’t believe that.

  This was a girl who’d risked her life for a fucking dog—and not even her own.

  Did she really fit in the hole my rational mind kept trying to shove her?

  But she had to. Right?

  To make matters, worse, I’d been waiting for the shoe to drop. When would Chelsea publish her tell-all?

  Like a coward, I hadn’t told my aunt it was coming. I didn’t want her to know her beloved Kaspar had been anywhere near the paparazzi. And despite it all, I did trust Chelsea’s word she wouldn’t mention my cousin.

  She may be ambitious, but she wasn’t a liar.

  My cell phone buzzed on the table, and I looked at it with disinterest.

  The queen.

  That was a call I was definitely not up for taking.

  Why in the hell was she calling me at six in the morning?

  Not even that question had me curious enough to answer. I let it go to voicemail. And the next five calls that came in, too.

  D-day.

  Chelsea’s story must have hit. Did I want to know what she’d said?

  My gut twisted. No. Definitely not.

  It was enough to push me out of my seat, though. I stumbled to the bathroom and took a too-hot shower, hoping the steaming water would be enough to scald me back to life.

  No such luck.

  I shaved off the two month’s worth of scruff on my face. Not because I wanted to look good for the influx of paparazzi that I expected would soon be camped outside the manor gates. Only because I knew if I didn’t, the queen would screech until it happened.

  After the Madison incident, she’d threatened to strip me of my title.

  “Go ahead,” I’d told her. “I never asked for this life.”

  She’d then gone on a diatribe about my responsibility to family and country and ended up crying over my wasted life.

  Yeah. It was a good time.

  I do believe she cares for me, and I know Kaspar does, which is the only reason I ever make half an attempt to redeem myself.

  Except everyone knows I’m irredeemable.

  I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

  A tap sounded on my bedroom door.

  I couldn’t force any sound of acknowledgement out of my throat. It just took too much effort.

  “My lord?” Edwin, my butler tapped on the door again. “The queen is on her way to the manor, sir.”

  Of course she was.

  “What is the news, Edwin?” I asked with a sigh, toweling off.

  Edwin cracked the bedroom door and spoke through the gap. “A story broke during the night in America. Rolling Stone Magazine revealed the truth about what happened with that woman last year.” He spat the words ‘that woman,’ his anger over what Madison had done always apparent.

  I went still. “An exposé on Madison?”

  “Yes, my lord. Interviews with her friends, past and subsequent play partners, photos of her in the BDSM scene. The press here are running the story non-stop. Support for you on social media is through the roof.”

  My heart pounded. Not about the results of the story. About Chelsea. What she’d done. “Bring me the article, Edwin.” The urgency to connect with her, to read words she’d written had every cell in my body flaring to life.

  I yanked on my clothing and stalked out into the living room in my bare feet to meet Edwin, who carried a laptop, open to the story.

  By Chelsea Chase. I read the byline.

  Chelsea Chase. I repeated her name in my head, loving that I finally had her full name.

  “Get Samson to research this reporter, Chelsea Chase. She’s American. I need an address for her. And call over to the hangar to ready the jet.”

  “Where should I say you’re going, sir?”

  “Wherever Chelsea is. Find out. I leave immediately—as soon as you have the location.”

  “Yes, sir.” Edwin bowed, moving swiftly away.

  I re-read her name. Chelsea Chase. A sweet name for a beautiful girl. Why had she done this? Crazy girl. I didn’t need saving any more than my dog had. But she must have believed I did.

  Sources close to the duke say it was out of an ingrained sense of chivalry that kept Halsburg from reporting the truth. “A gentleman never contradicts a lady,” or so the duke believes, said one close friend.

  I sank into the closest chair at my dining room table, reeling. For the first time since the day I’d watched Chelsea run off the Sweet Surrender, the constant ache in my chest eased. The heaviness in my limbs lifted.

  Chelsea had gone to bat for me.

  Ridiculous.

  Adorable.

  I was going to spank her silly for this.

  A grin on my face, I headed back to my bedroom to pack a bag, only to find Edwin had already done so.

  “You may wish to change your clothing, my lord,” he said as he breezed out of the room. “I laid a change out for you.” When I gave him a blank look, he reminded me, “The queen’s on her way.”

  “Ah, yes,” I said. “Thank you, Edwin.”

  My elderly butler—one of the many manor employees who’d known me since the day I was born—beamed as he bowed. “If I may say so, sir, I’d quite like to send my thanks to Ms. Chase.”

  I shoved off my jeans and pulled on the pair of dress pants he’d laid out for me. “Hopefully, you’ll have the chance to do that in person, Edwin.” I couldn’t stop the goofy grin from stretching across my face.

  “Is this woman the cause of your despondency the past months, my lord?”

  “A misunderstanding with the lovely reporter, yes, Edwin. Very perceptive.”

  Edwin bowed again. “Well, then, I will make haste in preparations for your departure.”

  Crunch of tires on the gravel drive outside signaled the queen’s arrival.

  I wondered what her reaction would be.

  I probably would’ve sworn I didn’t give a fuck, but considering how light I felt knowing I’d done something right for my family, for once, I knew it wasn’t true.

  Chelsea believed in me. She’d cared enough to defend me, wielding her mighty pen. Cared enough, even, to sacrifice our relationship to do so.

  Some of my newfound buoyancy dipped. I rubbed my forehead. That part still didn’t sit right with me. Had our time together been nothing more than her chance at a big story, and she wrote the one that would cause me the least
pain?

  No.

  She’d been in tears when she left that yacht. I know her heart was in ribbons, same as mine.

  And then, suddenly, it all came together for me.

  My mom abandoned her career for a man.

  Chelsea had a history of choosing career over relationship. It was a habit I planned to cure her of, but it made sense. In her mind, men don’t stick around. The best bet is on career.

  Okay, I got it. I could work around this challenge.

  If I wanted Chelsea to leave her position at Rolling Stone and move in with me, I’d have to offer an equal career exchange.

  I was sure I could figure something out.

  ***

  Chelsea

  I drove home in darkness after a thirteen-hour day at the office. My story on Madison James had published yesterday. Rolling Stone’s office had blown up with calls and requests for interviews and quotes. I’d already given four Skype interviews with major news stations and talk shows. My boss was ecstatic at the publicity and had even told me I’d just sealed my career as an investigative journalist.

  Why didn’t I feel happier, then?

  All this time, I’d been telling myself that I’d made the right decision. The only decision.

  So why hadn’t my misery lifted?

  What did I think would’ve happened if I’d signed the NDA to make Darius happy? Did I really think he’d ask to see me again after the yacht returned to Ibiza? He was on a summer cruise. He wasn’t out looking for a relationship.

  Hell, he’d said publicly many times, much to the devastation of every single woman in his country, that he had no interest in taking a duchess. Was I so conceited, so delusional that I thought I would be different for him?

  That he’d drop to one knee and offer me a ring and a title and I’d wear ball gowns and tiaras for the rest of my life?

  Please.

  It was absolutely ludicrous.

  So yeah, I’d made the right decision.

  And the residual sadness I felt was just because, well, I’d fallen for the duke. Despite my best intentions. But time heals all wounds. Some day I’d be over him, and I’d find some nice, boring man to marry. The kind who would only want missionary style sex but who would never leave me.

  Ugh. What a pitiful picture that made.

  I parked on the street in front of my apartment complex and locked the car. The sound of male voices rang out from the front gate, as if there was a gathering there. Maybe a party waiting to be buzzed in.

  As I stepped closer, I caught snippets of another language and I froze, my heart pounding.

  Darius was here.

  Unready to face him, I ducked around the side of the building, pressing my back against the wall. I dragged a ragged breath in through my nose. I felt too raw, too exposed to face Darius. What would I say? Would he understand?

  “Are you hiding from me?”

  I shrieked when he stepped out of nowhere, directly into my personal space. A streetlamp lit the shadows on his face, but his expression held all the dark intensity I remembered. He planted his hands on the wall beside my head, pinning me back against the wall. “Are you really afraid of me?”

  I struggled to calm my breath. “I-I was trying to get myself together first.”

  His expression softened. He caged my chin and stared into my face, as if searching my very soul. His brown eyes were black and dangerous. “When did I ever want you together? I prefer you shattered in a thousand pieces, waiting for me to glue back together and shatter once more.”

  He trailed his hand down my throat, and I fought to steady myself against the inevitable panic. When his finger caught in the string around my neck, he jerked his gaze up in surprise. “You’re still wearing my collar,” he choked.

  “I never took it o—”

  He smothered my words with a kiss, suffocating me with his mouth, his lips twisting over mine, dominating me, owning me. Always unbelievably bold, he wedged one hand between my thighs, rucking up my skirt to cup my mons.

  I moaned against his lips when he stroked over my sex, shuddered in pleasure.

  He bit my lower lip and pulled, holding it captive.

  I trembled, suspended, at his mercy, waiting for him to go on, to let go—something.

  He released me, his perusal of my face and body dangerous. “You think you deserve to wear my collar after you left me?”

  Heat bloomed on my face. I sucked my pulsing lip into my mouth and shook my head. “No, sir.”

  Dark satisfaction bled over his expression. “Come.” He slid his hand behind my back and propelled me away from the wall. “Take me up to your place. I’m going to punish that sweet little ass until you remember what it means to be owned.”

  My inner thighs squeezed together, trying to alleviate the pulsing desire he’d created at their apex.

  He walked past his entourage gathered at the gate, saying something to them in his language, and waited for me to unlock the gate with the key code. He said nothing as we walked up the open air staircase to my apartment, but he snatched my keys from me and opened the door himself, pushing me through it a moment before his lips locked onto mine.

  He licked into my mouth, fucking it with his tongue as he tore at my shirt, shoving it up to my neck and yanking impatiently until I held up my arms. He only broke the kiss to pull it over my head. Then he went for my skirt, pushing me in the direction of my bedroom, the location of which must have been obvious, since it was a tiny, one-bedroom apartment.

  “I’m going to fuck that tight pussy of yours so hard, baby,” he growled, shoving my skirt down my legs. I had to cling to his neck to keep from tripping on it, since he continued herding me along. He wrapped a strong arm around my waist and lifted me, allowing the skirt to drop. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the bed and lowered me onto my back, never breaking the incredible kiss.

  He grasped my panties on both sides and pulled them swiftly down my legs. “Take off the bra.” He made a beckoning motion with his fingers. “Give it to me. Now.”

  I fumbled with the clasp and pulled it off. He took it from me and grasped my wrists, wrapping the bra around them and tying a tight knot. “Arms overhead, baby. You move them and I’ll hold back on treating this pussy.”

  He shoved my knees wide and lowered his head, licking up the seam of my pussy, sending shivers through my body.

  “I don’t usually start with pleasure.” He used his thumbs to part my labia. “Especially not when you have punishment coming.” He ran the tip of his tongue around the inner lips, causing me to buck my hips. “But in this case, I think you’ve earned a reward too.” He tongued my clit with his tongue in quick flicks.

  I lost control. I’d been without his touch for so long, believing I’d never feel it again. My body responded immediately, ready to go off like a firecracker. My eyes rolled back in my head and I let out a long, low moan.

  “Uh oh. I hope you haven’t forgotten the rules.”

  I jerked back to reality, my brain scrambling for the right words. “Master, may I come? Please? I need to…”

  “No, baby. You may not. You’re going to come all over my cock. But not until I say you can. Understand?”

  I didn’t understand. Not at all. But I wasn’t about to disobey. I’d spent two months lamenting my decision to disappoint him. I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it again.

  I panted like women on television do when they’re having a baby. It was BDSM Lamaze in my bedroom.

  Darius stood and pulled a condom from his pocket, while I pinned my gaze on the ample bulge in his pants.

  I wanted his cock inside me, couldn’t wait to be filled by him, taken by him, completed.

  Yes, completed. That’s how it felt when he took charge of my body and wrung every last climax out of me.

  He unzipped his pants and freed his cock, sheathing it quickly before he climbed over me. He grabbed my hips and lifted my pelvis to meet his, sliding into my swollen entryway with ease.
/>   I moaned my satisfaction, rocking up to meet his thrusts.

  He fell forward and pinned my bound wrists above my head. “Tell me something, Chelsea. I have to know,” he rasped, his accent thicker and more guttural than usual.

  “What?” I panted.

  “Tell me you didn’t fuck that ex-boyfriend again. Tell me or I’ll have to knock his fucking teeth out.”

  His jealousy was ridiculous and violently pleasing to me.

  I moaned louder, lifting my hips.

  “Tell me, baby.”

  “I didn’t.” I managed to say, shaking my head against the bedspread.

  “Who fucked you? Who fucked you since me? Anyone?”

  He was being an asshole, and I didn’t care. I loved his possessiveness, his demands. “No one.”

  Some of the fierceness relaxed from his face. “Thank Christ.” He lowered his forehead to meet mine. “Thank fuck, beautiful girl. I would go crazy knowing someone else had been here.”

  “You are crazy,” I murmured.

  “So are you, American.” He rocked into me with more force. “I missed this tight. Little. Pussy.”

  “I missed you too,” I whispered, tears smarting my eyes. In all my wildest fantasies, I never let myself believe he’d come for me like this.

  But he had.

  “Now, baby,” he growled, his thrusts growing deeper, a muscle in his cheek jumping. “Come for me now.” He plowed in deep and stayed, his release shuddering through his body.

  I immediately followed suit, as if my body had been on a timer, ready to go at his command. My legs clamped around his waist, and I took him even deeper as my internal muscles squeezed and milked his cock for all it was worth.

  He roared something in his own language and fell upon me with another heated kiss, twisting his lips over mine, twining our tongues.

  ***

  Darius

  I’d meant to sit down with Chelsea, to tell her all the things I hadn’t said before. But instead I’d fucked her brains out. Not that I had any regrets. She looked so beautiful post-orgasm, her cheeks flushed, her glossy hair messy.

  I ran my thumb over her swollen lips. “Thank you for the article, baby. It was sweet of you. The queen is pleased.”