Royal Bastard (Instantly Royal 1)

She cupped his dick through his jeans. “Shut up and fuck me.”

Surprise battled with lust on his face before the latter won out. “Bossy, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea.” She ran her palm across his length, feeling his heat through the denim. “Put me down.” She unwound her legs from around him, hating to lose the feel of him against her but needing more than the hint of him through the layers of their clothing.

He gave her a questioning look but lowered her until her feet hit the ground. She didn’t stop there. Continuing downward, she kept her attention focused on his face until she was on her knees, undoing the button of his jeans.

“Hands on the wall,” she said, hot desire like lightning in her veins.

He arched an eyebrow, and for a second she thought he was going to try to wrestle back control. Then, slowly, he lifted his arms to shoulder height and pressed both palms to the wall.

“I see you can follow the rules when properly motivated,” she said, lowering his zipper.

“There’re more rules?”

“With me?” She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down to his ankles along with his jeans. “Always.”

His cock was at mouth level, just where she wanted it, hard, the head swollen with need and a few drops of pre-cum glistening on the tip. God, it was glorious.

“You’re going to want to put your hands in my hair, hold me in place, and fuck my mouth.” She wet her lips. “You don’t get to.”

Something primal flashed in his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because that’s for later; right now I want to taste and tease and take what I want.”

“You want my dick that badly?” he asked, challenge in his tone.

“I want all of you that badly.”

Whatever he would have said next came out as a groaning hiss when she opened her mouth and took him in deep. He kept his eyes open as her lips traveled all the way down to the root, but it was a fight. His entire body tensed with the effort not to move, not to rock in and out of her. She loved this, not the power of having a man like this but the thrill of giving Nick what he needed because she knew it—understood it—down to the depths of her soul. They weren’t that different, the two of them. They needed to be wanted.

“Fuck, Brooke,” he said, his hands curling into fists but not leaving the wall above her. “Your mouth.” He let out a lusty groan when she flicked her tongue against his balls. “Your tongue.”

Spurred on by the desperation in his voice, she continued moving her mouth along his shaft in languorous ups and downs. It was blissful agony for both of them, the best kind of mind-melting torture that made her wet and achy. The whole time she watched him, she saw the expressions fly across his face—hunger, need, ecstasy. She wrapped her fingers around his base, her fingers not quite touching, and released him from her mouth. Never tearing her gaze from his face, she pumped her hand up and down his cock wet from her mouth and licked the tip, relishing the salty liquid there.

Nick’s jaw tightened. “You’ve got ten more seconds.”

“What happens then?” she asked, continuing to stroke the hard length of him.

“I move my hands from this wall,” he said between gritted teeth.

Her heart sped up and her core clenched. “Breaking the rules, are you?”

“I’m American; it’s what we do.”

The rough timber of his voice made her nipples tingle.

“What else do you do?” she asked, a breathy excitement in her voice.

“This.” His hands captured hers and he yanked her to her feet, trapping her between him and the wall with her arms above her head. “Your time is up.”

“Now what?”

“My turn.” Keeping her wrists pinned with one of his hands, he trailed a fingertip down the side of her neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Don’t move your arms.”

She would have answered if she could, but he was unbuttoning her jeans and shoving them down. He traced a finger across the damp center of her knickers.

“Did sucking my dick make you wet?”