Royally Screwed (Royally 1)

“Jesus,” she breathes out softly, “you are so fucking…hot.”

And I laugh. I can’t help it. Though I’ve heard such compliments before, there’s a wonder in her voice, an awe, that’s just too adorable. The chuckle still rumbles in my chest when I skim her tank top up and over her head. But I stop abruptly when I glimpse Olivia’s breasts, covered in nothing but innocent white lace.

Because they are seriously, beautifully perfect.

I lean back in, my hips circling and grinding, lips skimming over her delicate shoulder to her neck—pausing to suck hard over her pulse, making her gasp. My teeth scrape the shell of her ear.

“I want to kiss you, Olivia.”

She giggles, kneading my back. “You are kissing me.”

I slide my hand between us, between her legs, rubbing where she’s already hot and aching.

“Here. I want to kiss you here.”

She goes languid in my arms, her head lolling, so my mouth can roam free.

“Oh,” she moans on a breath, “oh, oh…kay.”

I’ve pictured fucking her on the coffee shop tables a dozen times, but this kitchen table isn’t cutting it. I need more room. And I want only softness and silk touching her back while I eat her.

In one move I scoop Olivia up and toss her over my shoulder, caveman style, heading for the bedroom. She squeals and laughs and squeezes my arse as I walk down the hall. I give hers a playful smack in return.

She lands in the center of the large bed with her eyes shining, her lips smiling, and her cheeks flushed. I stand at the edge of the bed and beckon her forward with my hand.

“Come here.”

She rises to her knees and comes closer, but ducks her head when I try to kiss her—trailing her lips over my chest instead, in a dozen soft, worshipful pecks that turn my blood to fire. I cup her face in my hands, guiding her up to meet me.

And then I kiss her, slowly. Deeply.

And the teasing play, the joking spirit that surrounded us, dissipates, replaced by something more powerful. Urgent and primal. Olivia’s mouth never leaves mine as my hands wander their way behind her back, releasing the clasp of her bra. I skim the straps down her arms and cup her soft, full breasts in my hands.

My thumbs drift back and forth over her nipples—hardening them to two dusty-rose peaks. She sucks on my neck and bites at my earlobe—getting rougher with desperation—and then I dip my head and my mouth takes the place of my thumbs.

I suck her in long, slow drags and quick flicks of my tongue. Olivia’s spine arches, trying to get closer, and her nails sink into the skin of my shoulder blades—leaving half-moons I’ll relish tomorrow. I move to her other breast, blowing first, taunting her just a bit, until she yanks my hair. My mouth suctions harder, bringing teeth into play, pressing against the tantalizing flesh.

When Olivia’s hips begin to move in searching, seeking circles and frenzied, grunting gasps come from her throat, I lift my head from her sweet tit and guide her onto her back.

She looks into my eyes and I’m lost. Wrecked. Owned. There’s no thought, no desire—except to please her. Make her see stars and touch heaven.

Deft fingers open her jeans, peeling them down her legs as I straighten up.

I take a moment to enjoy the view—Olivia’s flushed, heated skin almost bare in the middle of my bed. The way her pitch-black hair lies against the stunning, flawless flesh of her breasts. Her flat stomach, sculpted, and the way the thin straps of her pastel-pink underwear cling to dainty hips.

The triangle of fabric between her legs is lace—see-through. It shows a trim, pretty little bush of soft black curls. It’s different—most of the women I’ve been with do their damnedest to have their vag imitate Mr. Bigglesworth, Dr. Evil’s hairless cat.

I’ve yet to discover a thing about Olivia that I don’t like—but this, I like very, very much.

I feel her eyes on me as I lick my lips and slide the pink lace down her legs—giving me an unobstructed view.

“Christ, you’re a beauty,” I groan. With a smirk, I crawl onto the bed, hovering over her. “Pretty enough to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner—and still want more for dessert.”

I raise her ankle to my shoulder—then I move upward slowly, kissing and sucking on the skin of her calf, behind her knee, to her taut inner thigh. Her breath hitches when I place her foot back on the bed and my palms against her thighs, spreading her wide. I lick two fingertips and run them through her cleft, rubbing, searching.

Olivia’s eyes drift closed. “Nicholas.”

Yeah, that’s the spot.

My fingers circle Olivia’s pretty clit—pink and swollen—and I drop down to my stomach. I kiss her thigh, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Say my name again,” I murmur.

Olivia’s chest rises and falls quickly. “Nicholas.”

She pants and gasps as my mouth moves closer.

“Again.”

Still rubbing with my fingers, my nose brushes those soft curls, every bit as fragrant and sweet as the rest of her. Maybe more.

“Nicholas,” she moans, her voice raw and pleading.

Music to my fucking ears.

Then I give her what we’re both aching for.

My mouth moves over her pussy, enveloping it in a heated kiss, and my tongue slides between those plump lips. With a loud whimper her hips rise, but I hold her steady. Focused and unrelenting in my need to make her climax.

Christ, her taste. The slick feel of her against my tongue. It’s magnificent.