She drew back enough to catch my gaze. “I would never ask you to stop doing what you love,” she said. “You wouldn’t ask me to stop cooking, would you?”
I shook my head. “Never.”
“Then we’re the same.”
“I’m so damn lucky,” I said, trailing my nose along the line of her jaw.
“So am I,” she said on a sigh, arching into me.
The motion drew a growl from my chest, and I claimed her mouth, hard and hungry.
“Nine,” I said against her lips, my hands palming her bare ass underneath the robe. “You’re killing me.”
She laughed, a sweet sinful sound that promised more glorious torture. “I thought you’d like the new robe,” she said. “Much better than the cotton one that was starting to wear me.”
I chuckled, kissing the edge of her neck. “You look sexy in anything,” I said.
“But this one,” she said, reaching between us and freeing my dick from the split in my pajama pants. “Feels better.” She rubbed the tip against the rich silk covering her warm pussy, and I gripped her ass harder. “Right?”
“Mmmhmm,” I said, unable to form a coherent response as she fisted me with lazy strokes. She moved and pressed me right where she wanted me, that damn warm silk creating this crazy combination that focused my awareness on one thing and one thing only.
Palming her ass, I hefted her against me. She locked her ankles around my back, her robe bunching around her hips, leaving her open and exposed to me.
Gently, I laid her back on the sectional, knowing we weren’t going to make it to one of the guestrooms. I knelt between her legs, hooking my hands under her knees and dipping my head.
“Oh!” She jolted when I gave her seam one long, hot lap.
“You’re delicious,” I said, the vibrations from my words making her shudder. “And you’re mine.”
She moaned in response, arching into my mouth as I licked and sucked and swirled until her gasps became a scream I had to cover with one hand. She trembled against me, her orgasm ripping through her in the most beautiful way.
When her body relaxed, I peeled my hand from her lips and settled myself between her thighs. She still pulsed as I slid into her, hot and tight and wet.
“Damn,” I hissed as I seated myself to the hilt.
She wrapped her legs around me, arching, rolling those hips until I did what she silently demanded.
Flipped us over, to where I was on my back, and she was looking down at me from above.
My fierce woman.
Loved torturing me.
Slowly, agonizingly, she lifted herself until the tip of my cock threatened to slide out.
Then she slammed herself downward, the shock from the sensation sending heat waves of pleasure rolling across my skin.
I reached up, cupping her breasts in my hands, lightly tracing my thumbs over her pert nipples. She arched her head back as she rode me. Her hands roaming over her own body, then lower, to my chest, my neck, anything she could sink her claws too as I pumped her from underneath.
“Oh, God, yes,” she moaned, falling forward so that our chests touched.
I gripped her hips, guiding her, keeping pace with how fast and hard she wanted it. Each thrust drawing me closer to my own release. The sight of her, lust-starved and greedy on top of me, pushing me to the brink.
She fisted my hair, jerking it hard enough to bring my mouth to hers. Her tongue swiping in, the flavor of her still in my mouth making her moan even more.
“Fuck,” I hissed against her lips as she pushed harder, faster.
“Yes, Warren,” she said. “Fucking hell, yes.”
“Damn your dirty mouth, woman,” I growled, my release soaring through me as I felt her clench around my dick. Another orgasm shaking her body over mine.
I swallowed her moans, kissing her as we came together, my pumps slowing, bringing us down gently.
She loosened her grip on my hair, drawing back when we’d caught our breath.
“I love you,” she said, all slick and hot on top of me.
“I fucking love you,” I said, smirking.
“You want to go play in a bed now?” She asked, rocking back and forth just enough to make me hiss.
“Hell. Yes.” I loved how insatiable she was, how much it matched my own craving for her.
“Then let’s go,” she said, shifting to stand, gathering the robe that had fallen open around her.
I hopped off the couch, prepared to strip her of that silk so I could watch her walk naked to one of the guestrooms we’d been using over our own. I reached for the silk at her shoulder, but a loud wail stopped me midway.
I dropped my hand, laughing as Jeannine shook her head. “The girl knows,” she said. “I swear she knows.”
“I’ll get her,” I said. “You get that sweet ass in bed,” I ordered.
“But it’s my turn,” she argued. “And you have practice tomorrow.”
I shrugged. “Which means I won’t get to see her or you as much as usual,” I said. “I have to get my time in where I can.”
“You are everything,” she said. “You don’t have anything to make up for.”
“It’s not about that,” I whispered, as she followed me toward our bedroom. “It’s about me loving my girls.”
She swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing as she smiled.
“Now,” I said, my hand on our door. I pointed my free hand at the guest bedroom down the hall. “Get that gorgeous ass in there.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, hurrying down the hall. I watched her beautiful long legs all the way until she turned into the room.
Blinking out of my love-filled-haze, I walked into our room, scooping Katherine up and cradling her against my chest. A few bounces and a whispered I love you and she was easily drifting back to sleep.
I didn’t put her down right away though.
I held her, gazing at the way she looked like her mother, but had my dark hair. The perfect split between two souls.
“I love you,” I whispered. “More than you’ll ever know. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you and your mother just how much I do.”
Something thick tightened in my throat as I laid her back down, the same thing that seemed to want to burst from my chest.
I never knew happiness like this existed.
Before, hockey had been my one and only love.
And it wasn’t until I collided with Nine that I realized how empty hockey was without them by my side.
Now that they were mine?
I could finally start living.
The End
The Seattle Sharks Have Bite!
Did you enjoy WINGER? Interested in the Rookie’s story? He’s skating your way July 25th! Sign up HERE to read his story early!
Sign up here for my newsletter for exclusive content and giveaways!
Follow me on Amazon here to stay up to date on all upcoming releases!
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my incredible husband and my awesome kids without which I would live a super boring life!
Huge thanks must be paid to these amazing authors who have always offered epic advice and constant support! Not to mention creating insanely hot reads to pass the time with! Sosie Frost, Winter Renshaw, Gina L. Maxwell, and Heather Stone…there aren’t enough words for how much I adore each and every one of you!
About the Author
Samantha Whiskey is a wife, mom, lover of her dogs and romance novels. No stranger to hockey, hot alpha males, and a high dose of awkwardness, she tucks herself away to write books her PTA will never know about.
The Crown Sneak Peek
If you enjoy the Seattle Sharks series, you may enjoy my Modern Day Fairytale Romance series! Turn the page to read the first chapter of THE CROWN!
The Crown—Prologue
Xander
How the hell was this happening?
Six months ago I’d been in New York, arguing a human rights case in front of the U
nited Nations. Then the call came, and my entire life turned upside down.
I drew a shaky breath as they slid the last piece of marble in place, effectively sealing my father’s coffin in the tomb. It was as if my lungs had simply forgotten how to function since he died almost two weeks ago...as if I didn’t know how to breathe in a world where he couldn’t.
I was twenty-eight years old and drowning in a sea of regret. Had I learned enough from him? Had I listened when he’d asked? Done as he’d wanted? Why hadn’t I spent more time here in the last few years? The cancer had been quick—both a mercy and the worst case scenario, and though he’d told me his soul was ready to leave this life, mine was anything but ready to let him go.
“Your Highness,” one of the workers said, tipping his hat as he walked by. His coworker repeated the gesture. I nodded in acknowledgment, but my powers of speech had apparently left with my oxygen supply.
They were finally all gone. The press, the aristocracy, members of parliament, even my mother and sisters had left with the formal processional. But I needed to see this, needed to stay until he was truly at rest.
“It feels very Game of Thrones down here,” Jameson said, sipping from his flask as he came to stand next to me. In age, my twin was only two minutes my junior. In maturity, there was at least a decade between us.
“It’s a catacomb. How would you like it to feel?” I asked, reaching for the flask.
“Less like the Middle Ages. Be careful there. It’s straight whiskey.”
I took a swig and relished the sweet burn as it slid down my throat, warming the chilled numbness that was my torso. “It was built in the Middle Ages, jackass.”
He took the flask and threw another swig back. “And one day we’ll be buried here, Xander. You, me, Mother, Sophie, Brie, and even your precious Charlotte. This is our future.” He spread his arms out and spun slowly as if I needed a tour of the Generations of Wyndhams buried down here. “You will be married to Charlotte, the leader of our people, and I will continue the life of debauchery only the spare to the heir can have.”
He was right. No matter how I’d fought this destiny, how badly I didn’t want it, this was mine—every cold, bleak, practiced and rehearsed moment. Even Charlotte. As much as I loved her like a sister, I’d never wanted more—even if our parents had betrothed us as children. As if Jameson’s words had a direct line to my throat, it tightened, and I loosened the knot of my tie.
I was supposed to have another decade or so of freedom. A decade to pursue my passions after I’d finished law school and two subsequent years serving in the Ellestonian military—a hard-won career as an international human rights lawyer. Years to learn from my father after I’d accomplished my own goals, to become the kind of leader he was naturally. But death didn’t work on anyone’s timeline but his own.
“We need to get up to ground level with the members of our family who still breathe,” Jameson said, running a hand through his wreck of a hairdo. He took two steps forward and placed his hand over our father’s tomb. “Rest easy, Dad. Xander’s got this.”
He turned and clapped me on the shoulder as he passed. A moment later I heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs out of the catacomb into the cathedral above us.
I walked to my father’s resting place and ran my hand over the smooth marble, my fingers tracing the lines of our family crest.
One by one, I erased the items off my bucket list and tucked them away to the furthest corner of my mind. My hopes of a career, a family that wasn’t in the public eye, a wife who wanted me for my heart and not the title behind my name, or because she’d been told it was her legal obligation. I scraped together every selfish thought I could find, and I buried them there with my father.
From now on, my personal wants and needs didn’t matter.
“I will make you proud.” My voice echoed through the stone structures.
Then I opened my eyes, stood tall, and straightened my tie before turning on my heel to embrace the future I wanted no part in.
I was Alexander Gabriel Edward Wyndham the Fourth, and within the next year, I would be crowned the next King of Elleston and her sixty million people.
Fuck. My. Life.
The Crown—Chapter One
Xander
Six Months Later
“Alexander, I need to talk to you,” Mother hissed in my ear with a smile as she waved to the dignitary from France. Our suite at the Palace was packed to the brim with foreign dignitaries. The cocktail party had been her idea, a way to see everyone in New York City in one event.
“Of course,” I said, mirroring her smile. “Did you see that Nicolai is here?” I nodded toward the Prime Minister of Dronovia. He’d gone toe-to-toe with Damian, our Prime Minister more than once. Of course, Damian hadn’t given an inch. That man had zero moral flexibility.
“Don’t let that tux fool you. He’s a shark under that Armani.” Her voice was smooth and still sharp, which pretty much described Mom to a T. “Let’s find somewhere private.”
I cringed but walked her toward the private office. She’d been trying to get me alone all day after she’d heard my address to the United Nations this morning. Maybe I’d gone off on refugee status and humane treatment by EU nations...maybe it had been too much...or not enough.
I opened the door to the office and led my mother in by the small of her back. She was more than a head shorter than my six foot four, but damn if she didn’t tower over me when she was pissed. And right now...the woman was livid.
I looked out across the crowd to see Charlotte raise her hand with a small smile. Of course, Mom had made sure Charlotte and her father had been invited to the party. As a Duke in our country, he had every right to be here, but I knew her purpose in New York City was for me, not the UN.
I gave Charlotte a small smile and a nod, then rolled my eyes at my brother, who stood by her side, giving me the god-have-mercy-on-your-soul grimace as Mom entered the office ahead of me.
Mom’s smile stayed in place until I closed the door, then promptly fell to a disapproving scowl. “Alexander,” she sighed. Her fingers rubbed the small stretch of skin between her eyes.
“Mother,” I answered, leaning back against the door. “Are you enjoying our trip? I thought two weeks here might be a little much, but it’s a welcome break from the monotony of Elleston, isn’t it?” Any topic of conversation was preferable to what she was going to throw at me.
Her sharp blue eyes could have cut a hole through my head. I missed her smile. The one she had before Dad died. The one she shared with Jameson, ever the rogue with his dark, constantly messed up hair. Mine was always respectably tamed. Though we were identical, it was as if our styles had taken on aspects of our personality—mine always within the limits of propriety, and Jameson’s as wild as he was. And though our Mother expected me to be the epitome of every etiquette class, she loved Jameson more for that wildness he was allowed to keep.
“Enough. Alexander, it’s been almost six months since your father passed—”
“I’m well aware.”
“And though I don’t mind being Queen Regent, you can’t be crowned until you’re married. That’s clear in our Constitution—”
“Which is clearly outdated.”
“That’s not up for debate. The women must stop. Charlotte knows what’s expected of her, and it’s not like you two don’t get along fabulously.”
“As friends,” I said softly. “And it’s not like I have women in and out of the palace like Jameson does.” I liked women. Hell, I loved women. I just had more respect for them than allowing anyone I spent the night with to be the subject of tabloid speculation. There was such a thing as discretion.
“Jameson is not the heir.”
“And there you have it.”
“Alexander, what you have with Charlotte is real. Friendship can be the base for an amazing marriage,” she answered, her eyes pleading. “If you’ll just announce that you’re engaged, that will appease Parliament for the meantime.
A short engagement, and then we’ll crown you the day after the wedding if need be. It’s not like the plans aren’t already in motion, anyway.”
“And if I want love? Or at least passion?”
“You love Charlotte, I have seen how you care for each other.”
“Like a sister,” I responded with a little bite. “We’ve never even dated. We both agreed to date other people as we wanted until the time came.”
“Well, the time has come, and royal marriages have been made of less. You love her, and you’ll be passionate about your country. That’s far more than some have had.”
“Far more than you had?”
She blinked, then patted back an imaginary strand of her salt and pepper hair. “I was lucky to love your father. It is my deepest hope that you’ll find the same happiness in your marriage. But if not...then duty before all else.”
“I am twenty-eight, and I’m still learning everything I need to rule this country. Now isn’t the best time to throw a marriage into the mix.”
The noise of the party behind us made our silence all the more poignant.
Mother smoothed her designer gown, and then looked up at me with a calm determination. “I give you three months to announce your engagement, or I’ll do it for you. That’s the longest we can wait before we flirt with the constitutional deadline. Already, there are cries to disband the monarchy, and we must show that you are ready for the role of King, which according to our laws, means marriage. The time for...play has passed, and though I know this was never the path you wanted, this is the path you’ll take.”
I stepped aside, and she swept through the door like the queen she was, regal and composed. I knew she suffered under that carefully placed mask, knew how much she missed my father, but she never showed the outside world her pain.
Winger Page 17