She stood here in this hot pink blouse cut low enough to tease her cleavage but not actually show it and a dark blue pencil skirt (the color of my nuts currently) that looked like it was painted on her curves. I almost wished she’d go back to the fucking sundresses. I didn’t know which was worse. At this point, I was convinced she could wear a bedsheet and make it look sexy. My bedsheet, to be exact. My bedsheet and nothing else but tangled hair and a freshly fucked glow.
Her chest heaved, and the heartbeat in her delectable little throat pulsed with need. Watching the way Katie responded to me play was my new addiction, and Beethoven’s Silence was now my favorite song. I imagined her sitting on the lid, legs spread, pussy open for my eyes only, her body writhing against her own hand while I played until she came. One day, I would have her exactly like that. One day very soon.
From the minute I learned her last name, I wanted to destroy her. To break her apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the girl who ate cotton candy in front of Ferris wheels and quoted erotic poetry. I wanted to make her pay for her father’s mistakes because my father never had the courage to. And now he was sick and would never have the chance. But all that changed the last time I saw her, the night her eyes told me she’d lost the internal battle we’d both been fighting. The battle between what we wanted and what we knew we shouldn’t have. Now I wanted to destroy her in a different way. I wanted to claim her, to taste her, to feast on her until there was nothing left for anyone after me. I wanted to ruin her for all the Keatons of the world who thought they’d ever have a chance.
“So, this thing with Keaton…”
“Is over. It was a moment and now it’s gone. That’s all.”
Good. Because I didn’t like to share. I felt a pang of guilt that I was actually glad that she might have had her heart broken by him, but it was short-lived.
I nudged the piano bench backward as I stood, my hand wrapping around her tiny waist and sliding her in front of me. “And this? Is this a moment?”
The keys sang a cluttered melody when her ass pressed against them. She shook her head. “No. This is…” She licked her lips again. “This is a mistake.”
I hooked my fingers under the bottom of her skirt, inching my hands up her legs and pulling the fabric with me, stopping only when it was hiked up around her waist, showing me the outline of her perfect fucking pussy through the white lace of her panties. Suddenly, it was all I could think about, the only thing I craved, just one touch.
She was right. This was forbidden. But her eyes met mine and they were so dark, so hungry, I’d give her anything. Everything. I would rip out my soul and hand it to her if she asked me to.
Forbidden. I hated that word.
I eased myself between her thighs then brought my mouth to hers, hovering but not quite touching. My cock brushed against that sweet spot between her legs, and she let out a gasp. “I almost made you come, and I hadn’t even touched you yet. Does that feel like a mistake?”
Her shuddered breath skated across my lips, so I pressed harder, and she gasped. I kept my cock tucked safely inside my pants but that didn’t stop me from feeling how wet she was. She was right there… open and ready… at the tip of my dick. One more centimeter, and I’d be inside of her.
She arched her back, slowly rocking her body into mine. Grinding, seeking, chasing. Again. And again. Her actions were a delirious contradiction to her words. This was definitely not a fucking mistake. “Oh God,” she breathed, and I couldn’t tell if it was a plea or a prayer, but I was about to answer it.
I took a fistful of her hair, the way I’d been wanting to do since the minute I saw her, and tilted her head back, exposing the delicate column of her neck. An overwhelming urge to mark her there shot through me. And I would. One day. One day, I would mark her everywhere. With my mouth. With my cock. With my cum.
I brushed my nose against hers then brought my mouth to her cheekbone. “See what you do to me?” I drove into her again, my thick head pushing through the barrier of fabric and slipping past the seam of her lips. I pictured her swollen, pink, and waiting for me. “See what I do to you?”
Her hands fisted in my shirt. “We…” She swallowed, her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. “We can’t do this.”
I hiked her leg around my waist. The movement caused her panties to shift to the side, leaving her bare cunt exposed and ripe for the taking. I was suddenly painfully aware of how close we were, of how easy it would be to drag my zipper down and bury myself inside her. “Oh, we are fucking doing this.”
I situated myself between the seam of her lips, right up against her clit, and she whimpered. Jesus, I was coming undone and we weren’t even naked yet. “Someone could see us,” she said.
She was right. My antechamber had no door, just an open arch leading inside. Anyone could’ve walked by at any given moment but… fuck them. The only thing I cared about was hearing my name on her lips when she came.
My mouth dropped to her throat, my breath dusting the sensitive flesh there, but never kissing, never really touching. “You mean like I saw you in the library?” I traced my fingertips down her arm, a gentle brush from her shoulder to her wrist. Her nipples peaked and strained against the silk of her shirt. She was sensitive, so fucking sensitive, to every single touch. “Tell me, sweetheart, were you thinking of me? When you sucked his dick, did you want it to be me?” The last thing I wanted her to remember right now was another man’s cock, but I needed to remind her that she was mine from the minute I saw her in the kitchen.
She didn’t answer. I didn’t care. “No one is me, Katie. No one.” I moved against her, a slow, steady glide. Pushing up then sliding down, letting her sample every inch of my thickness. My lips danced across her collarbone, close, so temptingly close to blazing a trail with my tongue. “Just like no one is you. And that’s where it gets fucked up. Because this… us… we’re toxic. But I can’t seem to stop.” God, she smelled good, like the gardens after a summer rain. I moved my mouth back to her ear, skimming my lips over her skin. I continued moving against her, and the friction licked, hot and tight, at my balls. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” she said, her voice thick with need. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
I had no intentions of stopping. I just loved hearing her beg. She was bold, yet vulnerable. Honest, yet guarded. Innocent, yet longing. A gorgeous mess of contradiction, and I craved all of it.
The piano keys clanged again as she lifted her hips to meet me, hungry, greedy waves grinding away at my throbbing ache to give in and fuck her. She gave, and I took. I took it like my life depended on it, like I couldn’t breathe without it. I cupped her ass, pulled her against me, and I took every breath, every moan, every last quiver as she fell apart in my arms. She was so fucking perfect like this.
“God, you’re beautiful when you come,” I breathed against her temple as I loosened my grip in her hair, not giving a shit that she probably just stained a ten-thousand-dollar suit. It was fucking worth it.
My mouth ached to kiss her, to taste her, to seal this moment in that sacred place in time where memories never died. But I knew if I did, that I wouldn’t stop. One taste and I’d drag her through the double doors at the back of this room and straight into my bed. And we both had more than we could take for one day.
I took a step back, letting her leg fall from my waist. One heel rested on the piano bench beside me and the other planted firmly on the marble floor. Her pussy was red, rubbed raw by a rock-hard erection hidden behind a wall of cashmere and wool, and the evidence of what just happened still glistened against her swollen flesh. I hooked a finger inside the elastic of her panties, letting the scent of her linger on my skin as I pulled the tiny, thin fabric back into place. She shuddered at my touch, her lips parting and her eyes growing that deep shade of blue that made me want to lose myself somewhere deep inside her.
Her hair was a mess, her face flushed the perfect shade of pink, and her pulse still thrum
med in that vulnerable little part of her throat. Heat seared through me, my mind memorizing this moment and storing it away for later when I was in my bed with my hand fisted around my cock and wishing it were her mouth. I drank her in, realizing that this wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t even a moment. This was a promise. A preview. A small taste of what was yet to come.
This was it. I’d found the warmth. The lion had finally found his sheep.
Sixteen
I combed my fingers through my hair and failed miserably at smoothing the wrinkles out of my skirt. Sutton’s gaze burned through me, raw and unapologetic, pinning me in a web of forbidden wishes and unspoken promises. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The blue-gray walls seemed taller, sharper now that they held our secret, ominous. Like the storm in Sutton’s eyes. I let down my guard. I’d always thought I was strong, but I felt myself weakening for him, for his words, for his touch. My walls of steel had turned to glass and if I wasn’t careful, Sutton would shatter them all.
“I’m sorry.” I hardly recognized my own voice. “I shouldn’t have… We shouldn’t… I need to go.”
He brushed a loose hair from my forehead, letting his fingers linger on my cheek as he slid them down my face. “You can fight this all you want, little sheep.” Little sheep? He held my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my eyes on him. “But I’m going to fuck you. With my fingers, with my mouth, with my cock. I want to feel you from the inside out, to bury myself so deep inside that all you feel is me. All you taste is me. Until every part of you from here…” He trailed his fingertip from the tip of my nose down my chin and to my collarbone. Between my breasts all the way to my belly button. Then lower… “To here.” He cupped me through my skirt. “Until all of you smells like me. And once I do, I’ll ruin you. You can fuck your vibrator, your pillow, even fuck that asshole Keaton, but it’ll all be empty. Nothing will ever fill you like me.”
His filthy words excited me, and I hated him for it. He thought I was fighting him. I gave up on fighting him the minute I followed him into this room. Fighting did neither one of us any good. Fighting gave the illusion that there would somehow be a winner, and this was a war where everyone lost.
“You don’t have that kind of power.” I hoped my words landed as painfully on his ears as the lie had ripped from my chest.
“Oh, but I do.”
And he did. Power emanated from him like heat from a flame. Even now, as he stood in front of me, his breath ragged and pulse throbbing in his neck, it was nearly impossible to deny that he was bred to be king. From his piercing blue eyes to his sharp jaw to his broad shoulders, Sutton Thorne was the epitome of control. A shudder split down my spine, and a knot twisted in the pit of my stomach.
“We’ll see about that.” My voice fought hard to find confidence I didn’t feel.
I fled the room and ran to my villa, stopping only to brace one hand on the wall in order to slide out of my heels. The sound of their echo against the marble floors was too loud. The sunlight through the stained-glass windows was too bright. The afternoon breeze was too cool against my skin. The whole world was suddenly ten times more vibrant, my senses sharper than ever. I felt everything. Anxiety and guilt ripped through me until I tore my clothes off and sought shelter in my shower, letting the hot water wash away my sin.
The European tile felt cool against my hot skin as I rested my head against the shower wall. The water rained over my face, hiding my tears.
I didn’t even know why I was crying.
Because I felt like I let my dad down.
Because I gave myself to Sutton without a fight.
Because somewhere deep down, I knew he was right. Keaton was right. This wasn’t a one-time deal. Sutton wanted more. He would take more. And I would give it to him. Because I wanted it too. Then he would fulfill his promise. He would ruin me.
I spent most of the next day in my villa pretending to be invisible. It was nearly dark by the time I finally decided I should go to the library. Sutton was there with his long legs sprawled in front of him as he stretched out on the leather sofa, reading a book. An Adonis with brains dressed in a designer suit. He made it seriously difficult not to want to picture him naked. I walked past him to a set of bookshelves on the back wall and pretended my heart wasn’t pounding in my chest.
My fingers traced the spines of books I couldn’t name because my mind raced with memories of yesterday, of his body against mine. I blindly plucked one from the shelf then walked back and took a seat in the chair opposite him.
The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Really? A tragic love story about twisted destinies and French architecture. And monsters that hide behind the face of beauty.
Sutton’s eyes lifted from his book. His gaze caught my legs as I crossed one over the other and leaving me regretting my choice to wear this dress. His stare was intense and invasive, and it penetrated me to the bone. I felt his fingertips on every inch of my body without him even touching me.
“It’s late. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.” His polished voice slid over my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
I was.
I flipped to the next page in my book, not entirely focused on reading. The black ink ran together in a cluster of undecipherable lines and shapes. I just needed something to do with my hands. “Why are you here?”
He held the book up as though the answer were obvious. “I’m reading.”
The Art of Sailing. Obviously being a super sexy prince with mad piano skills and unrivaled knowledge of the female body wasn’t enough for him. Now he needed to learn how to sail, too. Awesome.
“And why do you keep calling me little sheep? Like I’m about to be sacrificed or something.”
His lips quirked to the side, and his eyes glinted with challenge. “That depends… Are you a virgin?”
I peered over the top of my book. “Maybe.”
He let his gaze slide over my body. “Doubtful.”
The memory of yesterday lingered deep down in the pit of my stomach like the finish of a fine wine. I twisted in my chair, clenching my thighs together to ease the sudden ache. His mouth curled in a wicked grin then he went back to his book as though he were the only one in the room.
In the distance rolling thunder rumbled, declaring the untamed power of Mother Nature. I looked out the window at the charcoal sky at the same time a bolt of lightning split open the heavens. An ice-cold chill shot up my spine. I clung to the book in my hands like I clung to my dad’s memory—like I might disappear without it.
I hated storms.
“Hey.” Sutton tossed his book onto the table next to him and sat up straight. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward to search my soul for lies. “You don’t look fine.” The concern in his voice sounded genuine. I tried to ignore it, but all it ended up doing was strengthening this overwhelming gravitational pull between us.
I closed my book and stood up. Pelts of rain began hammering the ground, pulling memories to the surface of a night I wished I could forget. I used to love the rain. The steady drumming on my rooftop always lulled me right to sleep. I would lie in my bed and count the seconds between the thunder and the lightning the way Dad had taught me to. Now it gave me nightmares. I walked over to the bookshelf, sliding the hardcover novel back into its place. I pretended I was brave when all I wanted to do was run to my villa and hide under my covers and never leave.
Before I could turn around, Sutton’s arms caged me in. He leaned down and whispered against my ear. “It’s okay to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid of the rain.”
I’m drowning in it.
“The rain brings us life, Katie. It makes the grass greener and the flowers bloom. It quenches the thirst of those precious crops you love so much.”
Maybe for him. For me, there was no life. Nothing bloomed. There was only rain above and destruction below. Storms were uncontrollable, like a Mack truck speed
ing without any brakes, no way to slow down for the impact. They didn’t bring life. They ripped it up by the roots and scattered it across the ground in piles of chaos.
I spun around to face him, which was a big mistake because now his eyes were locked on mine, gripping, piercing, owning. Reminding me of all the things I lost and exactly who was to blame. Thunder rolled again, thrumming to the pounding of my heart.
“I don’t need you to play therapist, Sutton. We shared a moment. So what? That doesn’t mean you know me.”
He toyed with the hair that fell over my breast, letting his fingertips brush my nipple and bringing it to a peak. “I know you better than you want me to.”
The energy around us vibrated like the windows in the storm. My heartbeat pulsed in my ears. I was sure losing my dad would kill me, but here I was, breathing, feeling, and very much alive.
Katie shuddered the second I touched her. Her full breasts rose and fell with the heave of her chest. All I thought about was how perfectly they would fit in my palms, kneading her tight little nipples between my fingers, how she would arch her back and—
“You should go,” she said, ripping through my fantasy.
That’s not what your body says.
I wanted to mark every inch of her. I needed to see her face when she came again. It was an all-consuming obsession that I had to see to the end. First, I needed to know where her loyalty laid, if she shared her father’s hatred for the Crown or if my dad was right and she was just grieving. Soon, I would be king and inherit my father’s enemies. I had to make sure she wasn’t one of them. My last name—and all the fucked-up obligations that came with it—didn’t give me any other choice.
Crown of Thornes : a modern day royal romance Page 11