My Royal Hook-Up

by Riley Pine

  He nods. “Understood. I will brief you on what I can in the morning. For now, take care of your wife and your child. The accommodations may be sparse, but I assure you, both of you are well taken care of.”

  He starts to exit.

  “Wait!” Juliet says. “I do have one more question. One I hope you can answer.”

  X raises his brows.

  “It’s just—” she says. “Well, you have all this surveillance equipment. I was wondering about—the room.”

  A flush of heat creeps up her neck and to her cheeks, and the corner of X’s mouth twitches.

  “The room is private,” he says. “Soundproof, too.” And with that, he closes the door.

  Juliet slides the door’s impressive-looking dead bolt into place, then spins to face me. “I know this is all a lot to take in. I’m still reeling, myself.” She steps closer. “But we’re stuck here,” she says, unzipping her dress. “Captive in this tiny room.” She lets it fall to the floor, and all that’s left is her exquisite skin, her womanly curves and a—constellation?

  “Those birthmarks,” I say, my voice rough as my finger traces the shape they make. An arrow.

  “Yes?” she says, her voice hitching. “Damien, are you remembering something?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the dark corners of my memory to come into the light. But as quickly as it came, the sense of recognition fades.

  “No,” I say, and I watch her expression fall. “I’m sorry.”

  She moves closer, stepping out of each of her shoes as she does. “About our deal in the forest by the stables,” she says. “Where we apparently gave Rosegate quite the tabloid fodder.”

  “What about it?” I ask.

  “I made some promises to you, that I’d prove my worth to your family—and your worth to yourself. But I did not ask you for anything in return.”

  “Except to defend our child with my life. I’d say that’s a pretty tall order.”

  Heat floods to her cheeks. “I mean I have not asked anything of you—for me.”

  I cock a brow. “And now you’re asking.”

  She nods with a shyness that makes my chest ache. “I have been a captive since the day I was born. And if what you and X think is true, it is not because the king and queen were protecting me. It is because they were controlling me. I don’t want to be their puppet anymore. I don’t want to be afraid.” She pauses.

  My hands twitch at my sides, and I know that I will explode if I do not touch her soon. But I feel like we are on the cusp of something here, and I need to hear her out.

  “What do you want, Juliet?”

  She skims her teeth over her bottom lip, a sexy, coy tease.

  “I want you to make me your captive. And then set me free.”

  She unbuckles my belt and slides it free from my jeans. Then she hands it to me.

  “Are you sure?” I ask her.

  She nods, then heads toward one of the small beds. She reaches over her head, gripping the metal frame of the utilitarian headboard.

  Neither of us says a word as I wrap the leather around her wrists, again and again until it’s tight enough to leave a mark. For a second I wonder if it hurts her, but one look at the grin on her face tells me otherwise.

  I slide two fingers between her legs, and she writhes against my touch. Christ, she’s drenched. This is all it takes. My cock strains against my jeans.

  “Cover my eyes,” she says with a whimper.

  I pull my shirt over my head, rolling it up before I rest it over her eyes.

  “Are you scared?” I ask.

  She nods. “But I trust you, Damien. I trust you like I never should have trusted my own flesh and blood. But we are blood now. The blood of rebirth. Of new beginnings. Show me that I don’t have to be scared. Show me that I’m not a prisoner anymore.”

  I lower my face between her thighs and give her one long slow lick from bottom to top, my tongue flicking her swollen clit.

  Her arms jerk, her bound hands straining against the belt.

  I plunge a finger inside her again. Then two. And then three.

  She bucks against my palm, but I can still feel her restraint.

  “You’re no one’s captive, Juliet. Least of all mine. And no one can fucking silence you anymore. So stop silencing yourself.”

  I pump my fingers inside her while I lap at her sensitive folds, her throbbing center.

  She thrashes with wild abandon, and I can tell she is close.

  “Let me hear you, Juliet.”

  Then I bury my face in her tangy sweetness as she lets out a fierce, guttural roar.

  It is not the sound of a kept princess but that of a mighty queen.

  Juliet

  I am dying in the darkness, dying of undiluted, absolute pleasure. Western medical science would scoff at such a claim, but it’s the truth. My truth, anyway. My body cannot contain this much bliss. But Damien isn’t content with making me climax once. He won’t stop. And all the while he mutters the most wicked delicious things.

  “I love licking you all over.”

  “That’s right, baby, writhe against my face. Use me as your fuck toy.”

  “I own this sweet pussy.”

  It’s as if his depraved language is a key, opening something dark and wild within me.

  I would slap the face of any other man who dared address me with such words. But here, tied to a bed, who knows how far under the earth, I can’t get enough.

  By my fourth orgasm, soundproof walls be damned, I’m sure every operative in The Hole is ready to high-five my sweet prince.

  My hands fall to my sides, and I realize that I’m free. Somehow after the frenzy of my last climax, Damien unbound me without me noticing.

  Grabbing me by the waist, he rolls onto his back.

  “Sit on my face, Princess.”

  My shoulders flag. “I... I can’t come again.”

  His green eyes gleam. “You’ve only just begun. In this room, in this second, I call the shots. You’re mine to command.”

  Later I’ll spend time trying to decide why words that sound so very wrong feel so very right. But for now, my body obeys his order. I slide up over his chest, until I’m hovering above his scarred yet beautiful face. I pause to admire his chiseled jaw, the arrogantly perfect bone structure, the slash of bold brows.

  “Ride me hard,” is all he says, before grabbing my ass and slamming me down on his hungry mouth.

  My hips undulate, rocking my clit over his tongue, but this time I won’t take my pleasure alone. Reaching behind, I arch my back and grab his stiff cock in my hand. The tip is slick with precum and that helps my palm glide all the way to the root. He feels amazing and I increase the speed and pressure until he’s growling into my pussy.

  Fair’s fair. If he’s my undoing, I am his. Together we might be a disaster, but we can build something beautiful with our bodies.

  He jerks and I am so ready to feel his hot release, but that’s not what happens. Instead, he lifts me off him and swoops me down, gliding me over the length of his cock, thrusting against me even as he doesn’t penetrate. If I’d come hard before, it was nothing on these sensations. My pussy walls clench as he pumps his cock against me, driving his ass hard so that I’m bouncing. My breasts bob with the force of his sheer masculine virility.

  “Fuck,” he grinds out. “Jesus. Fuck. Shit.”

  I gasp, breath hitched, my throat so raw I couldn’t make another noise, even if I wanted. Why am I not stopping, coming off this peak? Surely the ecstasy must ebb, but it’s only growing.

  Then he moves his fingers into the crease of my ass; I’m so wet that it’s even reached there.

  He presses against my hole and I can’t believe what’s happening. I can’t believe that I am actually bucking into his touch, urging him on. When his finger is fully emb
edded into my backside, he takes his free hand and shoves it between my parted lips.

  “Suck it,” he moans, and I do, reveling in the taste of his skin.

  He’s filled every place that I have to be filled except the one that counts most. Then I’m on my back and he’s pressing my breasts together, around his hard cock, working himself in the crease.

  “Princess, I’m going to come on you. I need to mark you, do you understand? I have to do this.”

  I nod. For in some primal way, I do understand. Because I want to mark him, too.

  I rake my nails along his spine and he comes in a thick hot spurt all over my chest. It’s a royal mess, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Afterward, we retreat to the small bathroom and slide into the steaming shower. For as depraved and ruthless as he was in the bed, now he couldn’t be kinder and more gentle. He takes the bar of soap and drops to his knees, taking his time, cleaning my legs and my aching sex. Then he rises, sudsing my stomach and then my breasts. It’s with some regret that I watch his semen rinse away. I feel like an addict, and Damien is my drug. I want all of him, every way he has to offer. And if he can never truly give me his heart, perhaps this overpowering physical connection will be enough.

  And I’d believe the thought if not for the small, stubborn voice in my heart whispering But will it?

  “A penny for your thoughts,” he says as he massages shampoo into my scalp.

  “I’d expect a prince of Edenvale to be able to afford a bit more than that,” I tease.

  His chuckle is low and husky. “This prince would ransom his kingdom to spend another hour with you the way we just were.”

  “You’ve been with many women,” I say, hesitantly.

  “Not like that.”

  “Your first love, Victoria. You were with her like this?” I say the words casually even as they seem to paper-cut my very soul.

  “Why do you ask?” His gaze locks to mine as he rinses my hair.

  “You loved her. She was your woman. You had sex with her. For Victoria you weren’t some Backdoor Baron. You were Damien. I guess... I’m curious.”

  “You know what they say about curiosity,” he mutters.

  “It killed the cat?”

  “I’m just saying, be careful what you wish for. You’re my lawful, wedded wife. If you are in truth asking to know about Victoria, I will tell you the story. But fair warning, some things, once heard, can never be taken back.”

  My next breath is shaky, but my back remains unbowed. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Damien

  SINCE HER DEATH, I have spoken to no one of my affair with Victoria. Yet I cannot seem to say no to the would-be Nightgardin queen—my wife.

  “When it happened,” I start, “my father would hear nothing from me other than the admission that it was true—that I had not only caused the death of another, but that I had planned to steal her away from my brother.”

  We lie naked in one of the tiny beds, I on my back and Juliet along my side, her soft breasts pressed against my healing ribs. This way I do not have to see her expression as I reveal the worst of myself.

  “Because of jealousy?” she asks, caressing the skin on my chest with the featherlight touch of her fingers.

  “No,” I say with mild force. “It wasn’t that at all. Yes, I was envious of Nikolai. He had everything. It was all just handed to him—the looks, the charm, the women. He could have had anyone he wanted. Anyone. But when my father married Victoria’s mother, Adele, and the two came to live at the palace? He suddenly had eyes for no one other than her.”

  Juliet clears her throat, and her soothing touch ceases. “But—she was your stepsister.”

  I nod. “That was no matter. Once Adele saw that the prince—the heir, no less—had taken a liking to her daughter, it took her no time to convince Father of the match. After all, if Adele was queen, what better way to strengthen the Edenvale bloodlines but to have a second generation match as well?”

  I twirl a long damp strand of Juliet’s hair around my finger, but it does nothing to distract me. I know that I am here with her, in this strange place I still cannot believe exists. Yet at the same time I’m taken back six years to when I thought anything was possible. Now, of course, I know what a fool I was.

  “Queen Adele,” Juliet says softly. “She is the one who imprisoned Kate and tried to force your brother to marry that baroness from Rosegate.”

  “Yes. The family believes it wasn’t just her attempt at revenge on Nikolai—whom she blames for not keeping Victoria safe. Father, my brothers and X all believe it is somehow connected to your country’s attempt at infiltrating the palace.”

  I feel her muscles constrict at the accusation.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, and she relaxes against me. “I did not mean to—”

  “Just get on with the story,” she says with trepidation. “Before I lose my nerve.”

  “It’s quite simple, really,” I say. “When Victoria was betrothed to Nikolai, she was devastated. She thought him handsome, yes. And charming as fuck. But where he found himself infatuated with her, she found herself asked to play a part she did not want to play. By her own mother, of course.”

  I do not want to speak these final words to the fucking ceiling. So I slide to my side, stopping only when my eyes meet Juliet’s.

  “To this day, Nikolai will not hear me out, so promise me that if anything ever happens to me that you will tell him all of this.”

  She breathes in a shaky breath but nods.

  “Victoria had no allies in the palace. No friends. No one she could talk to. When the betrothal was made official, she needed a place to go where she could let her true feelings be known. She wasn’t coming to me. I happened to be in the garden maze when she showed up, weeping.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “I didn’t mean to fall for her, but it happened. For both of us. I wouldn’t have tried to run if she hadn’t asked. I wouldn’t have turned from my brother like that if I didn’t think that the first time I fell in love would be the only time. Christ, Juliet. I was a kid—a teenager. I thought I had all the answers and that as long as she and I loved each other, we were invincible. Haven’t you ever done something so fucking stupid all in the name of love?”

  I don’t wait for her to answer. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to lock away the memory of Victoria looking to me for solace—to make everything better.

  But I don’t see my first love in my mind’s eyes. Instead, I see a broken shoe. An injured knee.

  “Damien?” Juliet sounds worried, but I can’t open my eyes. I won’t—not until the vision becomes clear. Because this vision feels more like a memory.

  “Damien!” she says again, this time with more force. “What’s wrong? Does something hurt? Oh God, did—did I break something when I—”

  The vision fades, and I’m forced back to the here and now.

  I open my eyes to find hers wide with worry. She searches my still-bruised face—runs soft fingers over my healing ribs, and I grab her wrist.

  “I’m okay,” I say, and I feel a weight lift. Or maybe something in the air shifts.

  “Then what was that?” she asks. “What the hell happened?”

  “I loved her,” I say plainly, and I can see Juliet try to shutter an emotion, but fear is hard to hide. “But it’s not her I see behind closed lids. Not anymore.”

  She worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

  I return to my memory, the one that hovers elusive and out of reach. “Did you...on the night we met...were you—injured?”

  She sucks in a breath, and a tear streaks down her cheek.

  “The heel of my shoe broke, and I’d fallen and skinned my knee. My stupid palms, too. I swear I was like a toddler playing dress-up that night, and I—” She gasps again. “Damien...how did you
know that?”

  I grin—not because I think I’ve found closure with at least my own feelings about my first love, even though I’m pretty sure I finally have.

  I grin and kiss my wife, because when I closed my eyes, I saw her.

  It’s nothing more than a snippet of the time that was stolen from me, but it’s something. It means I’m getting close.

  “I believe you,” I say. “I can’t remember anything more than a broken shoe and your injured leg, but I believe you.”

  She forces a smile, and I understand.

  I remember a sliver of that first night. But I don’t remember her like she wants me to. I don’t remember what I felt that possessed me to make love to her like I’d only ever done with my own brother’s intended. I don’t remember falling in love.

  But maybe I don’t need to. Maybe letting go of Victoria means I can fall all over again.

  For now there are no right words, so she lets me kiss her until both our eyes fall heavy. And for the first night since I’ve been home, I sleep without waking from dreams or guilt—my beautiful, patient, pregnant wife’s limbs entwined with mine.

  Juliet

  We wake to a knock at the door.

  “Are you two decent?” It’s X.

  I fly to my feet, grabbing my scattered clothes in a pell-mell motion before dressing as if in a race. Damien doesn’t stir. It seems cruel to wake him when he is so peaceful. Even as I’m struggling into my bra, I take the time to study his face. The way his full lips part in slumber. The impossibly long length of his lashes.

  Despite the tattoos and scars, I don’t see a bad boy. I see a lost man. Someone who has been starved of love and affection and cursed, hated and feared. A man who never complained, never cracked, who made himself as hard as granite to face an even harder world.

  And as ridiculous as it seems, given the strength of all those cut muscles, one thought rises above all others.

  “I will protect you,” I whisper.

  He’s been hurt so many times. I won’t hurt him again.