by Pippa Grant
Peach squirms in my lap, rubbing her arse cheeks against my hardening knob. She pauses only a moment, with a quick smile of triumph aimed at me, before turning her attention back to her sister.
But not before looping an arm about my neck and tickling me at my hairline.
By the gods, her fingertips are exquisite, sending electric sensations skittering across my neck and scalp. My eyes drift shut, my knob hardens, and everyone around me laughs and shrieks and cries in amusement.
“She’s quite good,” Samuel says.
“She gets it from me,” Peach replies, which causes a snort of laughter from her sister. Peach responds with a laugh of her own, her body shaking against me, and I drop my head deeper into the cushion of her bosom. I tighten my arms around her and sigh in contentment as her fingers drift into my hair and her fingertips lightly brush my scalp.
The last thing I remember is Peach shushing someone.
And then everything dissolves in a peaceful soft blue light, about the color of Peach’s eyes.
33
Viktor
I drift back to consciousness as a soft voice answers a tinny, grating voice from far away.
“No, that’s too low. We could cover the crew’s salaries for that, but how would we pay for fuel and maintenance?”
“I’ll fly the missions,” Joey Diamonte’s voice replies.
“No, you won’t. You have to get paid too.”
“But it’s—”
“I don’t care if it’s a mission to prove alien life exists on Jupiter, you’re not stretching yourself that thin. And who are we competing with anyway? If they can’t pay us what we’re worth, they can go fuck themselves. You get what you pay for, and I refuse to ask our crew to take any less in salary. They earn every penny, and we both know it.”
“So we take a hit on one contract. We’re building our reputation. The gains from this—”
“No. Let someone else take it. Trust me on this one, Joey. My gut says it’ll be ugly. There’ll be another contract to build our reputation.”
I blink awake and find Peach on the floor, her back to the other couch, legs propped up while she talks to Joey and consults her computer. The lights have been dimmed, so only her two screens illuminate the room. I’ve no idea the hour, but no light filters in through the windows, so it must be quite late.
“Oh, yeah. Look. Did you see the government contact? No fucking way. I’ve dealt with him before. There’s not enough money in the world to get me near him.”
“Peach…you’re not exactly near him.”
She rubs her palm over her forehead, her frustration palpable. “I don’t want you near him.”
Joey snorts. “I think I can handle an asshole or two.”
“Can you? Yes. Should you? No. Not when he’s the one who’s going to change contract terms last-minute and demand things we can’t deliver even remotely close to budget. Either one of us works with him, and that little balloon ride I took will look like a romp in the park. One of us will end up in jail for rearranging his face, I guarantee it. Hard no, Joey. We’re not bidding.”
“We need something. We lost the Magellian contract.”
“Fuck. How? Who else has a plane and availability?”
“I’m waiting for the call about someone subcontracting ours.”
Peach sputters something unintelligible.
“I’ll handle it,” Joey announces. I’ve heard that tone, and I suspect she’ll soon be threatening to remove someone’s intestines and strangling them with their own entrails if said someone attempts to cheat her. “Stop popping a blood vessel and tell me about your wedding plans.”
“Since when do you tell me to stop popping a blood vessel?” Peach replies.
“You’re avoiding the question. Is your dress big and ugly and horrific?”
“I don’t know. Some woman took my measurements a few weeks ago. I think I’m supposed to see the damage sometime soon.”
“You haven’t seen your dress?”
“You got married on the beach in shorts.”
“Yeah, but Zeus is only the king of his little imaginary world, while Viktor’s the king of a real country. The entire world is going to be watching.”
“Thank you so much for the reminder.”
My heart sputters a protest at her dry sarcasm, and it strikes me that the greatest indignity of love is that feeling it for another person does not obligate them to feel it back.
“Do I need to come pick you up?” Joey demands.
“No. We’re good. You should’ve seen Papaya tonight. We did family lip sync battle, and she was just…” Peach breaks off and swipes her eyes. She clears her throat and shakes her head with a wry smile. “It’s still really hard for her with the language barrier, but I’ve been meeting all the other parents at the school, and I don’t even care if they’re all working with me just because Viktor’s the king, they’re listening and understanding and talking about their own issues with raising kids. Like we’re all in this together instead of everything being Papaya’s fault. Like she’s finally starting on even footing.”
I rouse myself and move, because I shouldn’t be listening in to a private conversation. Peach lifts her head, and though I doubt she can see my features clearly with all the glare coming off her phone and computer, she smiles my direction anyway.
And though I know ‘tis impossible, my heart stops for a breath of sheer pleasure at the sight of her smiling at me.
Could she love me?
I’ve no idea. We have neither the history nor the trust she’s built with Joey and Gracie over the years.
But she’s here.
Tonight.
“Mister Sleepyhead’s waking up,” she tells Joey. “I’m going to get him to bed. Can you check on Meemaw for me tomorrow?”
“I’ll send Zeus.”
Both women crack up, and I assume I’m missing a private joke, though it’s easy enough to imagine Zeus and Meemaw settled on a couch watching questionable television shows and drinking beer together. Peach blows a kiss and waves at the screen. “Love you and miss you, snuggle bunny.”
“You are so disgusting,” Joey replies.
Peach is laughing as she hangs up. She stands and stretches, revealing a stretch of peach skin between her shirt and her pajama bottoms, and my knob stirs in anticipation.
“C’mon, King Snorasaurus.” She approaches with a hand outstretched. “Anyone who can sleep through Alexander lip syncing AC/DC needs to go to bed.”
I take her hand, but instead of letting her pull me up, I pull her down to me. She shrieks softly, but as soon as she’s on the couch, she shifts so she’s straddling me.
“Who won your horrific dance contest?” I inquire as I tangle my fingers in her ponytail.
“Your mum. She has mad skills with the eighties dance moves.”
This woman makes me smile more than I’ve ever wanted to smile in my entire life. “You have quite the moves yourself, my lady.”
“You’re only saying that because you were picturing me naked.”
“Quite right.”
She laughs again as she leans in and kisses me.
But kissing her lips is not enough. Not nearly enough. I wish to trace every curve of her body, to kiss every inch of her, to make her gasp and moan in pleasure.
To leave her so fully sated—mind, body, and soul—that she never wants to leave.
I came here with a mission to put the love back in Amoria.
But it seems Amoria is putting the love back in me.
34
Peach
This couch is worn and the cushion flat, like the rest of the palace, and my leg is squeezed between the back of it and Viktor’s side, my other leg dangerously close to slipping off the edge. We could be upstairs in a massive bed in under a minute.
But there’s something insistently sweet about Viktor’s kiss tonight.
It’s slower. Softer. More thorough.
His hands are making a leisurely exploration of
my entire body. From shoulder to fingertip. Neck to ass and around over my thighs. Up my ribs. Cupping my breasts, then dragging his fingers across my collarbone and up my neck.
Handling me as delicately as if I were an antique porcelain doll.
As if I’m precious.
As if I’m his. His to protect and savor, every inch.
Which is oddly more of a turn-on than his thick, hard cock nestled perfectly between my thighs.
He’s seducing me in slow, subtle degrees. Making love to my entire body instead of going for the obvious spots.
My breasts ache for his attention, and my panties are already so wet I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.
He likes me wet.
I like me wet.
Wet and ready and hungry for carnal release with a man who’s learned my body and knows how to use his royal scepter.
“Are you quite comfortable?” he murmurs as he trails a line of kisses over my jaw to suckle my skin beneath my ear.
I gasp as he rides that line between utter bliss and tickling me. “Yeaash,” I manage.
He strokes my trapped leg, as much as he can reach. “Even here?”
His fingers light up my skin, even through my pajama pants, and I manage to gurgle out a nnneerrgh.
“Ah, that won’t do,” he says.
With a lift and a twist, he’s settling me gently on the rug on the floor. One of the throw pillows goes under my head, and then he’s kissing his way down my neck. “May I remove your shirt, my lady?”
It’s such a Viktor question, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t adore him for asking. “Only if you do it with your teeth,” I reply.
“Ah, a challenge.” His smile flickers in the dim light, and those dimples—gah. I cannot resist those dimples. “Shall I start with your arms, or your hem?”
Only Viktor. He’s the most unexpected combination of hilarious and sweet and sexy as fuck. “My arms.”
He shifts for an angle at my sleeves, and his teeth graze my inner elbow. “You surprise me, my lady.”
“Do I?”
“I was quite convinced you’d demand I attempt the impossible with pulling it off by the neck.”
The thought of him trying to use his teeth to drag my shirt over my chin makes me laugh. He licks my upper arm on his way to my sleeve, and my laugh catches in my throat, because it’s a feather-light touch of his tongue that’s leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He takes my hand while he bites my sleeve, and guides my arm through the hole.
And then he leaves me trapped, my hand sticking out while my arm is tucked at my side like a chicken wing. “Viktor.”
“Patience, my lady,” he instructs while he moves to trap my other arm the same way.
I could get out. Maybe. The cotton is stretched pretty tight.
But I’m curious.
And I trust him.
Holy Thor.
I completely trust him.
He lifts my hem with his teeth, then drops it, and smooths his hand over my belly before dipping his tongue to my belly button. My entire body is humming in anticipation, and I arch into his mouth.
His fingers settle at my waistband. “May I?” he asks as he tugs the strings of my pajama pants.
“Please,” I gasp, because now his nose is tickling my belly button while his lips are drifting lower, and I don’t care how he gets to my pussy, I want him there.
He lifts his heavy-lidded gaze, surveys my chest and my hands flapping out of my arms, and he smirks.
Thor, I love that smirk.
Especially when he smirks right on my lower abdomen as he tugs my pants down my hips.
I huff out a laugh until he presses a kiss to the apex of my thighs, and then I’m gasping for sheer pleasure again. “Viktor—we should—someone could—”
“’Twould serve them right.” He punctuates the sentence with another hot kiss to my panties over my clit. “And I daresay amuse the dickens out of them as well. Your hands are quite the sight.”
“You—aaah,” I finish on a sigh as he licks the satin over my seam.
“Do tell me if you become quite bored.”
As if that’s possible with his mouth teasing my clit and his fingers stroking the edges of my panties between my thighs. My legs fall open wider, and I tilt my hips to offer him a better angle.
“More, my lady?”
“Eat my panties off.”
“You’re quite obsessed with my mouth.”
“I like to keep it busy so you can’t talk.”
He chuckles, and the reverberations against my clit almost make me come on the spot.
“You wish me to remove your undergarments?” he asks, right there with his nose and his lips hitting all the best places through my panties.
“Yes,” I gasp.
“With my mouth?” He stroked my inner thigh again, and this time, I barely whimper out an mm-hmm, because it’s all I can force through my lips with him talking against my panties.
“And then you would have me lick and stroke your fanny?”
This man and his European slang. I’m caught between laughing and losing my breath again. “Viktor—”
“Ah, a thousand apologies, madam. Your peach blossom.”
“You are not—”
“Oh, my lady, I am quite funny,” he assures me.
And Thor help me, I can’t stop the laugh. He is.
In his own way, he’s very funny. I squirm to try to reclaim control of my hands, but my shirt is stretched as tight as it will go, and then Viktor strokes a finger inside my panties, right over my seam, teasing my entrance “You’re quite wet, my lady.”
“Deeper,” I gasp. “Viktor, more.”
He bites my waistband and tugs my panties down. His nose brushes my clit, and I buck off the ground.
“The lady approves?”
“Touch me.”
He finishes stripping me out of my panties, settles between my legs again, and licks me back to front with his flat, hot tongue, then flicks at my clit.
“Oh, god, Viktor, more.”
He thrusts two fingers in and out of my pussy while he nips and sucks at that hot bundle of nerves as anticipation throbs and hums in time with my heartbeat, tightening and spiraling and climbing, hotter, deeper, faster. My hips are jerking against his mouth, his fingers are thrusting deeper, and I’m crying out incoherently, the ugly chandelier above me swaying in my vision until I shatter with a massive starburst deep within, clenching and pounding and squeezing, Viktor urging me deeper with a crook of his fingers and a hard suck of my clit.
I cry his name.
I strain so hard a seam rips on my pajama shirt.
And my release crashes over me and through me, my vision a hazy white with pink glitter hearts swimming through it, wave after wave after wave of undiluted bliss pulsating in my core until my body goes limp on the rug. “Holy fucking hell,” I manage to whisper.
“I’ve passed then?” Viktor murmurs. He kisses his way up my stomach, bites the edge of my shirt again, and drags his torso along mine while he pulls my shirt over my neck and chin.
And leaves it there.
The bottom of my shirt is draped over my face, blocking my view.
And trapping my arms even harder with only my hands still sticking out of my sleeves.
I heave out a laugh. “What are you—oh.”
He licks a trail around my nipple, and goosebumps erupt over my entire body. Even on my butt cheeks.
“Viktor—”
“’Tis so rare I get the opportunity to fully appreciate your body,” he murmurs while he traces the swell of my other breast. “The lovely curves and exquisite silkiness of your skin. I rather like having you at my mercy. I wonder if I could bring you to climax merely by teasing your breasts.”
“I d-doubt it,” I rasp out.
“A challenge, my lady?”
“You’re s-smirking again.”
“I do so love a challenge.”
I’ve never loved men playing with
my breasts, but Viktor doesn’t try to juggle them, or assume biting the very tips of my nipples is all it would take. Instead, he loves all of my breasts, taking his time stroking and licking the underside, exploring my sides, taking my entire nipple into his mouth and working my sated body back into a frenzy with two hard sucks.
“Need—arms—” I pant, and in one fluid motion, he’s pulled my shirt the rest of the way off.
I grasp him by the hair and pull him up until I can claim his mouth, wrapping my legs around his hips and holy fucking god of thunder, I think his erection grew three sizes today.
And he’s still wearing all his clothes.
“You—naked—now,” I order. I’m pawing at his shirt, at the buttons, because I need to feel his skin on mine.
I need to be close to him. Closer.
As close as we can be.
I need to know he’s as desperate to be inside me as I am to have him inside me.
I don’t know why I’m craving him so badly, I just know I want more. It’s not enough yet. I need—
I need everything.
He goes up on his knees and sheds both his dress shirt and his undershirt. His abs ripple, his pecs and shoulders bunch and flex, and my mouth goes dry.
No wonder half the maids blush when he walks by.
He’s so fucking hot.
He’s also mine.
I attack his belt like it’s a snake trying to steal the goods before I can get to them. He grabs my hands. I look up, and he’s watching me with the most peculiar expression.
And I realize I’ve been mumbling to myself.
Mine.
Oh, fuck.
That’s not what—
“I’m fully aware you wish to wear the pants in this family, but these are far too long for you. I should be happy to get you—oomph.”
I tackle him and take him back down to the rug, an unapologetic smile spreading wide over his lips and erasing so much stress that my heart aches for the strain he’s under every day. “You are such a smart-ass,” I say before I tackle his mouth too.
I reach between us and finish unbuckling his belt while he holds my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks as he slows my frantic kisses, his stubble rough against my mouth, his erection bulging beneath my quick fingers while I pull his pants the rest of the way down and free his insistent woody. He’s slick on his head, and I grip his shaft and wipe at another drop of precum while he hums against my tongue in his mouth.