The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

I stared in fascination as his tongue explored my flesh. It flicked my nipple, and I felt the snap of pleasure everywhere. His fingers pressed to me, deep in the cleft between my legs, and the steady slide back and forth caused goosebumps to lift on my thighs. Heat built and swelled from his touch.

“Jesus, you’re sexy,” he murmured when I swiveled my hips, wanting more friction, and his statement went straight to my head. He’d said his words would be lies when other people were around, so did that mean I’d always get the truth when we were alone together?

He jerked the crotch of my panties to the side and plunged a finger deep inside me in one swift move. The shocking invasion made me ball his shirt into my fists, pulling so hard I was lucky I didn’t rip the buttons. The stretch of his thick finger was uncomfortable but followed immediately by warmth and satisfaction. “Oh, oh, oh!”

His lips curled in a victorious smile as he sat back on his heels, focusing on his task. He used one hand to hold my panties out of his way and thumb my clit, while he turned the other palm up to the ceiling and eased his middle finger in and out of me.

“So smooth,” he commented.

Because he was looking at the most intimate part of me, all bare and exposed. He sounded appreciative, and that made sense, didn’t it? Wasn’t my forced makeover today partially for him?

He worked his finger in and out of me, moving faster with each thrust, until my whimpers and gasps weren’t the only sound in the room. Wet skin slid through wet skin, and the slick noise heated my cheeks. I was so turned on. Was that normal? I threaded my hands into my newly-dark hair and closed my eyes, unable to watch for a moment. I needed a break from the sight that was so erotic, I was going to tip over.

And I wasn’t ready to lose control.

I wanted this to last. To be able to commit it to memory, because every moment with Royce was full of peril. If Macalister found me lacking in any way, all this would be over. He’d take Royce from me and give him someone else to play with.

That thought made my eyes pop open. I didn’t want that. I shook on the deal and had promised myself to Royce, but that meant he belonged to me too. I reeled until I found his gaze, which was locked on to me. He was enjoying watching the pleasure wring through my body and twist on my face.

As if it weren’t enough, he bent and brushed his lips on the inside of my thigh, close to my knee. It was a chaste, sweet kiss, and the juxtaposition with what his hands were doing made me spiral. Up I went, climbing toward the end I wasn’t ready for.

Tremors bubbled up my legs, and he knew he was the cause. A deep smile widened on his lips. “You like this?”

I didn’t answer his rhetorical question. I simply hung on to his shoulders, my fingers twisting the dress shirt fabric as I hopelessly chased my breath. My pulse roared in my ears and my vision narrowed.

His finger pushed deeper, reaching somewhere new, and coupled with his insistent thumb rolling on my clit, I was doomed. When I gave a sharp gasp, he sank his teeth into the spot he’d just kissed on my thigh, and this soft, playful bite pushed me over the edge. My toes curled inside my sandals as my body jerked, overwhelmed with sensations.

I came—and left no doubt about it—because I shuddered wildly and let loose a bliss-soaked cry. It was a half-sob wrenched from my chest like part of me was dying and being reborn.

He stilled as the orgasm rocked through me in waves and slowly subsided.

When I returned to reality, he was waiting patiently on his knees, and my heart thudded faster, skipping a beat.

“That wasn’t very good,” I whispered. “Try again.”

He laughed, and the deep, warm sound was addictive. “You’re so full of shit.” His eyes were alight with humor, but sex simmered as well.

I pulled my top back into place but was interrupted when he yanked me into a surprising kiss. It was blistering. Mind-numbing. I could do nothing but tilt my head and receive it. I’d expected lust from Royce, but not passion. I thought he’d be the hurried and inconsiderate prince of Cape Hill, but as he’d admitted—that wasn’t him. I’d only met the real version of Royce a handful of times.

This version was . . . easier to imagine marrying.

Kissing, along with most things involving boys, wasn’t something I was practiced in, and he seemed content to let me find my way. I strayed from his lips, moving over his cheek, and enjoyed the sensation of his whisker-dotted skin.