The Royal and the Rebel (Royally Pitched 2)

19

2 March

Xavier Hall

Juliana was ten years old when Robert had infiltrated the building where Ele had been held captive for three days. When Ele returned home, the seventeen-year-old girl Juliana remembered was gone. As she retreated further and further behind the castle walls and Jamie’s shadow, Juliana looked for explanations for her sister’s transformation. She’d stumbled across Stockholm syndrome on a basic internet search. But she remembered being fascinated by the cases of girls and young woman who’d developed what Wikipedia said were “positive feelings” for their captors.

As Juliana escorted Rowan to the elevators to leave the dreadful reception behind, she wondered if perhaps she was experiencing a similar reaction.

On the surface, she didn’t like Rowan Beckwith. He was abrasive and arrogant, self-righteous and haughty. Talking down to her was his default, and he often looked at her like an errant little sister who tried his patience. So, why was she feeling all soft toward him now? Physically, anytime he touched her, she sizzled like bacon on a hot frying pan. Everything inside of her heated up and popped with anticipation and want. His little chemistry lesson had melted her insides. She’d gone gooey and wet in a nanosecond. This constant state of arousal around him proved lust a blind, deaf bitch. Obviously, you did not have to like someone to want them.

And yet, she was starting to find things about Rowan she liked. He was honest. Rowan could have lied to Jamie about his predicament. He hadn’t had to share the details of the inheritance or the circumstances. Yes, they probably would have found out eventually, but still, when pressed, Rowan’s default seemed to be truth. Like his explanation of his life.

Sometimes, Juliana forgot other people could have tragic stories. Having lost her parents at ten in an apparent assassination, compounded by her sister’s kidnapping and subsequent PTSD, and then learning her own history wasn’t what she’d thought it was, well, it made her think she’d overcome a lot.

She hadn’t credited Rowan with a sad backstory. She knew it was all relative—how tragic was it to be a princess or in his case, the heir to twenty-three titles and hundreds of thousands of acres of land? But his history made him more approachable to her. He was also determined. She’d learned a lot about the extent of his injury over the last couple of days. His mobility and dedication to his rehab intrigued her. She was also starting to wonder if he had a hidden sense of humor. When she thought about Tristan Davenport being one of his closest friends, she imagined he had to have quite the tolerance for shenanigans. Wanting to see Rowan and Tristan interact—wanting to see that lighter side of Rowan she knew existed—scared her. Because she knew this was a temporary arrangement.

As they made their way back to his suite in the basement, Juliana was acutely aware of his discomfort. She could tell he was in pain physically. His expression was strained and his forehead damp with the exertion of his efforts. But he was uncomfortable too. Things had happened tonight. She had about a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but after her blunder earlier in the evening, she was confident no answers would spill so freely from his mouth again.

What was that weird interaction with Meena? And had he and Frederik ever spoken to each other? And would the world stop revolving every time they kissed? Oh, how she wished she had something to compare him to. But the couple kisses she’d shared had been more like swapping spit.

When they reached Rowan’s room, she opened the door for him and followed him inside. She wasn’t ready to leave. Darkness had already descended, and everyone staying at Xavier Hall would be engaged for the next several hours. She didn’t want to sit in the suite next door to him and stare out the window.

He dropped into the first seat he came across, and his crutches clattered to the floor beside him. He pushed the sports coat off his shoulders and flung it away from him. Untucking his shirt with a yank, he began to unfasten his brace.

“Would you bring that chair for me?”

Juliana set her clutch on the counter and grabbed the chair he’d indicated. She moved it to him and waited as he set his leg on top of it. The brace lay discarded on the floor on top of his coat. He reached out and began to rub his thigh.

Without thinking, Juliana batted his hands away and knelt on the floor next to him. “Let me,” she insisted quietly.

When he didn’t protest, she put her hands on his leg, right above his knee.

“Here?”

“Everywhere,” he said tightly.

She ran her fingers along the length of his thigh. The leg was bunched and tight. It seemed as if every single tendon and muscle was defined. There were sinews and planes, long stretches and dips. With a combination of light touches and hard digs, she focused solely on his leg.

Silence surrounded them. She had no idea how long she stayed there, didn’t feel the hardwood floor beneath her knees or the cramping in her fingers. What she noticed first was the relaxation of Rowan’s stiff countenance. Then, she heard the softs groans of satisfaction. They slipped through her like a loving caress. Who knew a sound could be an aphrodisiac? She should have left when the first trickle of sexual awareness dripped through her, but instead, her hand drifted higher. As if she were in a trance, she let her fingers march up his thigh. Part of her thought he would clamp his hand on her wrist to stop her, but when he seemed to ooze further into the chair and his legs inched further apart, Juliana continued higher.

The hard ridge of his erection popped like a jack-in-the-box. One moment, it appeared a hint of a shadow before it materialized in blatant invitation. Juliana had no idea what she was doing when she palmed it and gave a light squeeze. A hard grunt from Rowan made her look up. His head was thrown back, the long column of his throat visible, his Adam’s apple prominent. His eyes were closed, and his mouth looked on the cusp of a sigh. The sight of him was erotic, and Juliana flushed hot. As if he could feel the weight of her stare, his eyes opened and caught her gaze. The discomfort from earlier was gone, replaced by challenge and maybe hunger. He reminded her of a wolf then, all snarly and predatory.

She hesitated. Her hand rose up from him and hovered. There was a niggling in the back of her mind, an errant thought she couldn’t hold on to under the assault of his stare. He raised his brow—a taunt or a plea or a question, she couldn’t know. But then his hand grabbed her unsteady one and pushed it down onto his cock. In that moment, she remembered his lesson.

“Can I touch you?” she asked, the hesitation gone.

He looked almost proud when he said, “Yes.”

So, Juliana scooted closer, and with deft hands, she unbuckled his belt. She didn’t stutter as she undid the button and drew the zipper down. But as she went to draw his boxers down and free his erection, she paused. In her head, she reviewed all the reasons this was a terrible idea. She literally had no idea what she was doing. How much would he discover about her if she botched this? How many other women had offered Rowan Beckwith, the footballer, a hand job? How many things would change with this one act?

But then, the Juliana who had stolen the spotlight to save her sister, surfaced. The spontaneous woman who lived right beneath the surface bubbled up.

Rising up onto her knees, she slid Rowan’s dick from his boxers. She curled her fingers around him and squeezed much like she’d done moments ago. His hips gave a small jerk. Oh, she liked having Rowan Beckwith in the palm of her hand. The next time he offered some snide remark, she was going to remember this power she had. She moved her hand along his length, experimenting. He was smooth and solid, thicker than she would have thought. She ever so lightly grazed her nails on the upward slide, and Rowan hissed. She explored with her fingers and watched every reaction with curious eyes. He liked the hard press of her around him but also the light skittering of her nails. His hands were curled around the seat of the chair, as if he was resisting the urge to touch her.

After only a few minutes of Juliana’s ministrations, something seemed to shift. She could feel the energy in the room change. If Rowan were a phoenix, he was about to rise.

“Cup my balls,” he demanded, and Juliana jumped. Without thought, she followed his command.

“That’s it, Princess. Right there.”

Juliana squeezed, and Rowan almost came off the chair.

“Been too long. Not going to last,” he said. Then, he drew a sharp breath in. “Put your mouth on me.”

She wanted to balk. She wasn’t ready for that, not sure exactly how that would work. She raised startled eyes to his, and she saw her insecurity register in his gaze.

He gave a slow smile. “You need some lubrication.”

Juliana flushed red with understanding. She leaned down and licked up one side and down the other. His scent, soap and arousal, filled her nostrils. She gripped him and covered the head of his cock with her mouth.

“Fuck!” he grunted as his hips jerked their approval.

The sudden punch forward surprised her from him for a second. But she liked his reaction and needed to level the playing field. So, she dipped her head back down to him as her hand gripped his shaft. Up and down she went as she kept her mouth over his plump head. He shifted once, twice, and then he pushed her away from him. He came with a long groan as Juliana watched, her hand still working him. His cum landed on the tails of his white shirt. His wrist gripped her hand and gently pulled it away from him. They stayed there as he caught his breath. Then cleaning her with clinical detachment.

The first prickle of embarrassment flared. She tried to sit back on her feet, but Rowan held her where she was, her arm captive. He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her palm. An involuntary shudder racked her body. He pulled her up to standing and gave her a second to get her balance after being on her knees for so long. He maneuvered his left leg in between hers. Her dress rode higher, and his hand crept up the back of her thigh, caressing. She was caught off guard as an awareness of a power shift overcame her.