Crown of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  “You tell me.”

  One hand slid down her back and cupped her ass, while the other slipped into her bodice, grazing her soft skin, and squeezed her nipple. Liquid heat pooled between her thighs. She moaned through a gasp, covering his hand with her own.

  “The last thing I feel with you, Gemma Westfall, is timid.”

  THERE WAS NOTHING MORE BEAUTIFUL than Gemma Westfall’s flushed cheeks.

  Forget a Pacific sunset or the waterfalls of Alas de Ángel. Gemma is a natural wonder of the world.

  And all mine.

  In his homeland’s warm breeze fluttering in from the balcony, André slowly unzipped her dress and let the priceless, gemstone-covered fabric drop to the floor.

  Her sweet pink nipples hardened, the plump orbs rising and falling with her every breath.

  Well, maybe there was one thing more beautiful.

  The joystick in his pants jumped at the sight, straining against the zipper. Screaming for the paradise of Gemma’s body. “He’s been waiting all night for this view.”

  “Imprisoned by your pants. How cruel are you?”

  “You’re the cruel one, teasing him all evening.”

  Her brows rose. “You’re calling me a tease?”

  “Watching your hips sway as you walk, your long neck made for sucking on, and your lips…the magic they make.”

  The corner of her mouth pulled up. “And the dirty things they can do.”

  She gripped the length of him through his pants and squeezed, at which it stiffened more. “Let’s bring him out to play.”

  “Mm, you read his mind.”

  In three seconds flat, she’d unzipped him, thwacked his suspenders, and dropped his pants.

  Standing there in just his black boxer-briefs clearly wasn’t good enough for her. She slowly bent at the waist, gripped the hem, and yanked them down.

  Her delectable ass cheeks were full bare in the moonlight just for him. He smacked them gently and squeezed. Her soft ivory skin pinked under his touch.

  When she stood, a playful smile graced her face.

  His full glory jutted out, throbbing to reach her.

  Her fingers wrapped around him, stretching him and contracting his balls up into his sac.

  Mouthwatering, he skimmed his hands down her waist, over her hips, and across her thighs.

  “Tell me something,” he teased along her lips like a breeze.

  “Hm?”

  “What was it like at dinner, sitting next to me, you in that glorious dress without any panties?”

  She smiled against his mouth. “I hate thongs.”

  “Had I known you were commando all night…”

  “You would’ve ended the night sooner and dragged me up here?”

  He slipped his hand to her slick folds, already soaking wet for him. The scent of her sweet nectar filtered up from between her thighs.

  Oh, I could bury my face between her legs for days.

  She gasped when he found that sensitive nub—her hot button.

  “I would’ve found a dark corner and taken you right there in that room.”

  “Hardly respectable behavior for royalty. Surely more scandalous than my comments to that tart.”

  “Tart?” He chuckled. “Don’t censor yourself on my account.”

  Gemma scraped her fingers through his hair and lifted up onto her toes, arching herself into him. “I thought that was the problem with me. I don’t censor myself, which pisses off—oh!”

  His thumb circled her clit, then again, and again, in a relentless desire to see the surge of red cover her cheeks. He wanted her gasping in hot breaths before he plunged inside her.

  “So that’s what makes you speechless.”

  She moaned hard on a rapid circling of her sensitive core. “When unicorns fly,” she panted. The grip on his hair tightened, and she pulled his head to her chest, perfectly positioned over a peaked nipple.

  He nipped at it, and her body trembled.

  “You are the unicorn, Gemma.” He laved her areola, licking and suckling it like a lollipop. She bit her lip through a moan, sweet and intoxicating to his ears. “Rare, magical, and too beautiful to be real. I think I can get you to fly.”

  Slowly backing her up to the bed, he laid her down between the canopy curtains and onto the soft comforter. He shed his shoes and socks, then pulled a condom packet from the nightstand. By the time he’d slipped the rubber over his shaft, Gemma had sat up and leaned back on her hands, her legs spread and bent at the knees. Her folds were swollen, rosy, and nearly dripping.

  Fully prepped.

  A surge of heat flooded his brain, his dick screaming to plunge home.

  Dios mio, I can’t help myself. He dropped to his knees and growled as he gripped her silky calves.

  “Uh-uh,” she breathed, grabbing the sides of his head from between her legs and yanking him up. “First time tonight, I want hard and fast.”

  As she licked her upper lip, her ice-blue irises darkened to cornflower.

  “Beware what you wish for.” With that, he positioned himself at her seam, and braced his arms on either side of her shoulders. Then plummeted.

  He almost burst right then. A searing heat, damn near supernova levels engulfed his cock. The shockwave rippled through his body, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to come.

  Gemma moaned and licked her teeth. She grabbed his ass and squeezed.

  Jesucristo!

  The real life embodiment of the Goddesses of Love and War rolled into one voluptuous hellfire package.

  “Move for me.” She pulled him in deeper, rocking her hips forward.

  Her channel was so wet, so sweet. So damn hot. “Wait,” he rasped.

  Her low giggle rumbled through her body and vibrated along his dick. “Too fast?”

  “Never.” He grinned, and sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

  Thank God for the condom, or I’d have already lost it.

  “Then giddyup, Prince Charming.” She slapped his ass and her eyes sparked.

  “You’ll pay for that.” He grabbed her hands from behind him and pulled them up over her head, pinning them to the mattress. “Take a deep breath, Gemma.”

  He slid out to the oh-so-sensitive tip and pistoned into her. Then again, over and over like a jackhammer.

  Her moans escalated into little yelps, and her nails dug into his knuckles as she pressed her head back into the covers. She’d wrapped her legs around his butt and braced her feet on the back of his knees. The sight of her eyes clamped shut with pleasure tightened his sac, and he fought to keep from exploding.

  “Fuck, you feel so good.” He pressed his face into her neck, kissing her collarbone and smelling the sweet sweat that formed along an artery line.

  “Don’t stop,” she breathed.

  Her tight cocoon pulsed around his sheath, opening for him, drawing him deeper. Until the tip of his dick hit the very back of her.

  “Yes,” she screamed, her arms trembling. “More.”

  He pounded harder, and her gasps turned to squeals.

  “Take it,” he panted. “Take all of me.”

  His legs started to ache, but he refused to stop. Anything to keep this intense, hot sensation going, to engulf his body until he collapsed.

  Or at least until Gemma came.

  “Scream for me, Gemma.”

  Everything under him shuddered. Gemma bit her lip hard and drew her shoulders up to her neck. Simultaneous to her guttural cry, her pussy contracted and burned along his shaft.

  The scream echoed across the room, and probably through the open balcony doors across the garden. And he couldn’t care less. He let a salacious grin take over his face.

  Because that glorious sound spurned him faster, harder, deeper.

  Her body shook underneath him, and with every thrust, her breasts jiggled.

  Harder, faster…more. So close…

  Until he just couldn’t take anymore, couldn’t restrain himself any longer, and exploded.


  Her tight pussy milked him of every drop, his toes curling in sublime torture. He thrust again with each shot, emptying his soul.

  Every muscle in his body gave in, and he collapsed on top of her. Their hot breaths filled the quiet room, and the breeze danced across their skin. Goosebumps covered his arms, and quivers spasmed through his legs.

  Still buried inside her, he inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. The shampoo or hairspray, or whatever product she used, smelled like heaven.

  She made some kind of whimper noise under him, and he immediately shifted his weight off of her. He glanced at her shoulder, hoping he hadn’t opened the wound. “Did I hurt you?”

  But the bandage was still in place. Her eyes stayed closed, and the corner of her mouth lifted. “Yes. And I loved every second.”

  He smiled. “Was that hard and fast enough for you?”

  “Mm. Good start.”

  He gave an exasperated laugh.

  “Give me a few minutes,” she sighed. “I’ll ride you ‘til you break.”

  He nipped her lower lip and pulled it between his teeth. She slipped her tongue inside and massaged his like she was sucking him off, the expert she was.

  “You know the wildest stallions can’t be broken.” He dragged his hand across her glistening breast and squeezed.

  “Stick around. Wild stallions are my specialty.”

  “You’re welcome to keep trying.”

  “I intend to.”

  She pressed her mouth to his and sucked his lower lip in between her teeth.

  Promise?

  André’s hard length pressed into Gemma’s back, warm and growing longer every second.

  She smiled and shifted her bottom deeper into the spoon, but his hand around her waist didn’t move. His deep, even breathing on her back didn’t change.

  He was still asleep.

  Gemma peeked her eye open at the clock on the nightstand, ten feet away. The bed was so huge, it took a minute for her vision to adjust in the darkness.

  3:42am.

  Not long ago, they had just finished their third round of mattress wrestling, as he’d called it back on the ranch.

  Clearly, his joystick was ready for a fourth.

  She inched out of bed, careful not to stir him.

  I’ll give him a special wake up call.

  Padding over on her toes, she picked up his tuxedo pants off the floor and dug into his pockets for another condom.

  She pulled out something else. A folded picture.

  She dropped the pants and opened it. Her morning ardor cooled instantly.

  Vasco.

  Those black, soulless eyes had been burned into her memory. Also impossible to forget, his thick neck covered in a tattoo of vines with thorns. What the picture didn’t capture was his vicious, evil grin and putrid, hot breath.

  She knew those too well.

  “Son of a bitch,” she muttered. She flipped it over and caught a small section of writing. The print was tiny. But in the moonlight, the words were clear.

  Vasco Mafak

  Nationality: Solanian, Occupation: Contract Assassin

  DOB: Unknown

  Weight: 205 lbs, Height: 6’7”, Eyes: Black, Hair: Brown

  Former Solanian Royal Guardsman, using forged documents

  Identifying marks: Tattoo around neck and upper torso of vines with thorns,

  Bullet wound upper left torso under collarbone

  Whereabouts: Unknown

  Last seen in Philippines hired by Santos Lozano, contract on Solana Royal Family

  Last Recorded Intelligence: “The kickboxer doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Kickboxer.

  Those words cleared every foggy remnant of sleep from her brain.

  Her fingers itched to wrap around Lil’ Pete. The trusty Remington shotgun had given Vasco that bullet wound, marring up a good section of his precious tattoo.

  He’s coming after me for the one good shot I got at him. We have unfinished business, Devil.

  That was the nickname she’d given the bastard when he’d invaded the ranch in Texas. He’d killed Reyna in cold blood and had set her barn ablaze.

  With her beloved horses inside.

  “Gemma, what are you doing?”

  She spun.

  André sat up, his face peering through the thin, gossamer curtain around the bed.

  “How long have you had this?” she barked, holding up the photo.

  He blinked. “Had what?”

  The puzzled, half-drowsy expression boiled her insides. “You know damn well what.” She crumpled the photo and threw it at him.

  He dodged it. “La madre que me!”

  She cocked her head. “Really? My goodness? That’s the best line you could come up with? How about some backbone!”

  “It’s four in the morning and I’m half-asleep. What are you so pissed about?”

  Slowly, she moved to the bed, each step firmly planted because she didn’t know whether to lunge at him, or turn and walk out. He grabbed the photo, unraveled it, and sighed.

  Yeah, gotcha. Your bare, sculpted chest won’t distract me.

  “I’ve been going out of my mind with that Vivette bitch, and you’ve had that in your pocket the whole time?”

  He looked up at her and tossed the photo over his shoulder. “You admit you’re jealous?”

  She stopped at the edge of the bed. He didn’t back away or make room for her. Instead, he moved to his knees, their faces level and equally stubborn.

  “When were you going to tell me?” she ordered.

  “What are you going to do, go after him?”

  “That son of a bitch killed Reyna!”

  His jaw twitched, and she could tell he was biting on his cheek hard. He crawled to the other end of the bed and hit the switch, turning on all the lamps around them. “Please lower your voice. I’m right here, and I’m listening.”

  “I know where he is. Or rather, where he’s going to be. I have to finish this.”

  His eyes flashed. “The hell you are.”

  “It’s my responsibility.”

  “Like protecting Reyna was your responsibility?”

  She reared back like he’d slapped her. She moved back a good four feet after that. He knew how much Reyna meant to her, had seen how hard she fought.

  He uses that against me?

  He jumped from the bed, matching her forward for every step back she took. “You know where he’s going?”

  With every fiber of my being. “Back to the ranch.”

  André’s eyes narrowed. “Why? How?”

  “I’m the kickboxer. He’s coming for me.”

  He blinked, and unadulterated fear filled his face. “What makes you so certain?”

  Gemma smirked. “Because I shot him and got away. Kept him from completing his mission.”

  “I don’t buy it, Gemma.”

  “You don’t know anything about hunters. The concept of an obsession built over the one-that-got-away?”

  He seethed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are you going to do, embark on some suicide vendetta mission? Hide out in your little cabin and wait for him to come and slice you to shreds?”

  “No one knows that place better than me. I’ll see him coming and be prepared this time.”

  He lunged forward and grabbed her elbows. “I can’t risk losing you again.”

  Razor blades sliced up her arm at the pressure, her wound screaming in protest. She winced, and he loosened his grip.

  “You don’t understand.” Desperation crawled up her throat and sucked the air out of her chest.

  He froze, his eyes boring into hers. “No one on this Earth understands better than me.” His coarse voice made her swallow. He pursed his lips and took a deep breath. “You don’t think I wanted to personally slaughter that pinche cabrón who murdered my father and brother? But I can’t. He’s dead.”

  “Yours is dead. My son of a bitch is still out there! Still walking around, threatening to kill more. People I
love.”

  “And we’ll get him. The best intelligence agencies in the world are tracking this monster. They’ll handle it.”

  She fisted her hands at her sides. “They won’t handle shit. Whereabouts unknown? I know. I’ll finish it.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a long silence filled the inches between them. Finally, he touched his forehead to hers.

  “Don’t go.” The two whispered words cut right through her soul. “We’ll give the intel to the right people, and they’ll go get him. But not you.”

  She clamped her jaw shut, because if she opened it, her heart would give in and lose her chance at vengeance.

  “It doesn’t have to be you,” he whispered, the pitch higher.

  He touched his lips to hers. His tongue glided the seam, enticing her to open. To sway her, get her to agree with whatever he said. To replace the promise she made to herself with the promise to be his.

  She opened for him, feasting on his mouth, stroking his tongue with hers, and savoring the exotic taste of him.

  Branding it to her memory.

  He cradled her head, threading his fingers in her hair. Tingles raced down her spine, and a lump rose in her throat.

  She pulled back and made a huge mistake. She looked directly into his pleading eyes.

  “Please stay with me.”

  THE MANTEL CLOCK CHIMED TWICE. Flynn’s eyes inched open through the darkened room to a partially opened door. Alanna crept into the bedroom, her glorious gown’s train dragging along the carpeting. She scratched at her scalp, her hair draped around her shoulders in curly black waves. Hair he loved to wrap around his hand like a silk scarf. Her tiara and jewelry were already removed. In the dim light from the half moon outside, the lines across her forehead revealed her tension.

  He was about to speak, until she reached behind to unzip her dress.

  His heart skipped at the slow movement, no doubt her trying to remain as quiet as possible. But he enjoyed the slow tease that tightened his shorts. The fabric slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. His heart groaned with anticipation when she bent over to pick it up, her phenomenal bottom and hips on full display. The G-string covered nothing. Only he got to see her like this. No one else. He cherished that.

  She laid the gown across the chaise at the foot of the bed and soaked in the cool air from the open windows, completely bare and uninhibited. Stunning.