The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

SEVENTEEN

ROYCE’S HURRIED FINGERS went to the black silk tied at his neck. He stared at me with the same hungry desire he shown in the department store mirror, only this was magnified a thousand percent.

I wanted him to hurry but didn’t need to say it out loud. He could tell. He practically ripped the silk tie off, jerking it through his collar before hurling it at the chair. Next came the jacket. He shrugged out of it, revealing black braces beneath, and tossed it in the general direction of his discarded bowtie. When it missed, one of the board members released me, moved to pick it up, and hung it neatly on the chair back.

Royce peeled off one suspender and then the other, and all his urgency fed into his stare. His deadly serious gaze pressed down on me, ensnaring me far more than the men surrounding me.

He moved with methodical precision to undo the line of black buttons down the front of his pleated white tuxedo shirt, untucking it from his pants as he went. I got flashes of his strong chest and trim waist as it opened, but then his fingers were at the button at his waistband, working to undo it, and my nerves took over.

It was almost laughable I was still nervous, given what I’d just been through, but I couldn’t control it. My heart beat out a skittering song as he tore down his zipper.

He abandoned his undone pants for a moment and scooped his hands under my thighs, dragging my body right to the edge of the table and forcing the men around us to adjust their grip.

There was electricity between us, strong and powerful. Did he feel it too? His crystal-clear eyes trapped mine, and my heart swelled. Oh, yes. He was right there with me.

He hooked his thumbs into the band of his underwear and bent slightly, dragging them and his pants down until they were stretched across his thighs, halfway down his legs. His dick was hard and ready, and now that it was in view, the realness of what was about to happen seized me.

If I could have picked any other way for my first time, I would have. But as I stared at his handsome face, his eyes struggling between guilt and lust, I felt confident I wouldn’t have picked anyone else to be with.

All the men seemed to be holding their breath. The room had gone so quiet and still, it felt like Royce and I were alone.

He leaned over and put a hand flat on the table beside my head, bringing him so he was only inches from my lips. Our warm, bare stomachs pressed together and—shit—that felt nice. His questioning gaze explored my face. It searched my eyes, caressed forehead, and landed on my lips. He studied them like he expected secrets to spill from them at any moment.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

I inhaled a deep, preparing breath.

And nodded.

He kept his hand beside my head but straightened, rising up on it. The guilt that had colored his expression was pushed out of the way and determination took over. His other hand slipped between our bodies, and the naked tip of his cock brushed over me.

It was a velvety stroke through my wetness, but it had me clenching so tight, my fingernails dug into my palms. If I opened my hands right now, there’d be little half-moon indentations there.

“Relax,” Macalister urged.

I jerked at the intrusion of his voice. He’d moved to stand at the side of the table, probably so he could have a better view.

I focused on the only man I wanted to be with. Royce’s chest lifted and fell with his uneven breaths, and it was so sexy. He looked classically beautiful, the way Hermes was often depicted in marble statues.

The second time he teased himself over me, I didn’t flinch. I held perfectly still as the head of his dick found my entrance and began to push inside.

My eyes widened, and I sucked in a breath through tight teeth. I was soaking wet, but no amount of preparation could truly make me ready. The stretch grew more uncomfortable the further he went. Deeper he invaded, not stopping, and my body did not want to surrender to him.

His steady, slow press into me was too much. I was too full.

It ached between my legs. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but a throb of discomfort. My back bowed off of the wood, and I groaned. My face contorted with displeasure. I wanted to flee, but the men were there, and the words wouldn’t come from my tongue. My mind held them back, forcing me to just wait.

Wait for me.

Royce’s lips parted on a soft, pleasure filled sigh. His head dropped for a moment, as if regrouping, and his gaze found mine again. His intense stare centered me so the cautious withdraw of his body from mine was . . . different. Not unpleasant. I softened back into the table.