The Royal and the Rebel (Royally Pitched 2)

Instead, Juliana leaned down and placed her mouth on his. Their lips touched once, and she backed away. His hands were quickly tangled in her hair, and he pulled her to him.

“Again,” he whispered.

With no inhibitions, she opened to him. Their tongues tangled. It was a gentle exploration, a conversation with no words. In those moments, at once long and short, she was cherished and whole, in love and loved, sure and confident. On it went with the taste of him blending with the taste of her. She saw a future in their mingled breaths and wanted to hold on to it with both hands.

Rowan cupped her head, rubbed her back, traced patterns on her skin. It was like he was writing a love story on her body. Weaving a tale of companionship and united fronts. Leaving a message of pasts and futures combining. And she read them all, opening her body and her heart to the possibilities.

When he ended the kiss and whispered, “Come here, Jules,” she went.

She sat up. His hands wrapped around her back, and he guided her forward. She inched toward him.

“Did you find a diagram of this while you were searching?” he asked in husky voice.

Juliana contemplated answering, but her whole body was on fire. She could feel the damp trail she was leaving on his chest as she allowed him to maneuver her body to his liking. He tapped first one knee and then the other.

“Perfect,” he said.

He wrapped his hands around the back of her thighs, cajoling her up toward his mouth. Rowan ran his tongue along the length of her—from her clit, along her slit, and inside. Juliana lit up, like an electric current ran through her blood. She lifted on her knees, seeking to escape the intimacy of his mouth on her. But his hands squeezed her legs, applying just enough pressure to let her know he wanted her back. When she hesitated, his finger eased inside of her, gliding in the evidence of her desire. Another finger joined, and then he dropped kisses on the inside of her thigh, anything his mouth could reach. Juliana squirmed, silently begging for more as she moved up and down on his fingers. But he held back, teasing her with slow, shallow thrusts.

A moan gathered in her throat, both a complaint and a compliment.

“You have to take what you want,” he said in between nipping her leg with his mouth.

She wanted. Oh, how she wanted.

With careful deliberateness, she lowered herself.

“Yes, Jules,” he whispered as his tongue licked against her and his fingers filled her with purposeful determination.

He worked her with his hands and tasted her with his mouth. She was moaning and pumping her hips, chasing the glorious end. And all the while, Rowan was coaxing her closer, working her perfectly, encouraging her to ride his fingers and mouth. His sucked on her clit, and Juliana’s vision tunneled. He released her, and she cried out—partially in relief and partially in despair.

“Come on, Princess,” he grumbled, his voice like gravel. “Let yourself go.”

His order bounced around in her head. She couldn’t grab on to a thought. Every surface of her body seemed to be crying out for attention, thrumming with the need for release. Crossing her arms over her chest, she found her nipples and rubbed them and then pinched them. Need made her vibrate and shake. With a wicked growl, Rowan took her clit in his mouth as his fingers hit her G-spot. Juliana bucked and ground down on Rowan.

“Yes!” she yelled, as her orgasm screamed through her. “Oh, yes.”

Her hands reached out for the wall, so she could steady herself. Her head followed with a light thump.

Rowan must have been rubbing up and down her legs for a bit before the actions registered in the mush of her brain.

“Am I suffocating you?” she muttered, slightly embarrassed by her actions and her screaming.

He chuckled. “No. But it wouldn’t be a bad death.”

She wiggled out of his hold and swung her leg over his head. Then, she crumpled in a graceless heap next to him. She must have closed her eyes because suddenly, she blinked awake, and Rowan was on his side, staring down at her. His head propped on his wrist as his other hand stroked her hip. There was a moment, as their eyes met, when his face was completely open and unguarded. The look of tenderness she saw was fleeting, and when she blinked against her exhaustion, it was gone. She wondered if she’d imagined it, if she needed it to understand what was happening between them. There was a new closeness, born from the proximity of the last week together. And they’d cemented it tonight with their hands and mouths. Doubts and fears danced around in her weary brain. She was going to have to admit she would miss him when this was all over. His grumpiness, his volatility, his goddamn fingers. This game they were playing was hazardous.

“Do you want to leave?” Juliana asked on a yawn. A part of her hoped he said yes.

Instead, he brushed a wayward lock of hair from her face. “I don’t think I have the energy it would take to move.”

“Aye,” Juliana managed. She considered trying to convince him to go, but like him, her reserves were tapped.

So, she curled into the warmth of his body and allowed him to pull the blanket over them. He draped an arm around her, and as she hovered between wakefulness and sleep, she was safe and content.