Secret Heir

I don’t remember much from that point on.

Well, that’s not true; I remembered the most delicious parts.

His hands ran up under his sweater as he pinned me against his leather couch.

His lips on my neck, teeth nipping at the flesh.

Stumbling down the hallway, his body slamming me against the wall, hands locked above my head as one of his palms trailed up my thigh and under my skirt to hook my leg around his hip when he’d fucked me for the second time. A thumb hooking in the delicate lace of my panties before his fingers breached the fabric and ran up my soaking wet slit before he’d made me his.

And I was totally his.

The memory of my body writhing against his as he sucked on my earlobe, his fingers working in and out of me before my first orgasm bloomed low in my belly and shot across every nerve I had. He laid me down on his bed, his hard body hovering over mine, caging me in. The sound of a zipper as he pushed his suit pants down his powerful thighs.

His rough hands trailing up my legs and over my rib cage before pulling his sweater over my shoulders.

Fingers hooking in my pushup bra and pulling the fabric down to reveal the hardened peaks of my nipples. Teeth dragging across the sensitive flesh as he slid between my thighs and teased his throbbing arousal through my slick folds.

The low growl that escaped his throat as my nails dug into the hard muscle of his back and dragged across his skin when he pushed into me for the first time.

My very first time.

My second orgasm in as many minutes as he ground his hips between my thighs and fucked me so hard the only words that escaped my lips were, “Oh, God. Yes. Rome. Yes.”

Oh, I remembered plenty.

And I hated that I missed him already.

But that didn’t mean that I could stay. I was in Copenhagen for a reason, and that reason was not getting to know dead-sexy Viking sex-on-a-stick men like Rome.

Well, maybe it was.

My scholarship did specifically mention Viking culture on the paperwork...so maybe?

I groaned, sunshine just splitting the cheap plastic blinds of the apartment as I flopped into bed, every cell in my body aching from the hulking hunk of Danish man meat that’d just had his way with me.

I smiled, eyes falling closed as I fell asleep, the scent of my very own Viking on my skin.

FOUR

Rome

“It’s been three months, Bjorn! Drop the excuses, if you can't find her just say it so I can fire your incompetent ass.”

“Sir, I’m sorry but there’s no record of a Pixie—”

“I told you Persephone. Her real name is Persephone.”

“Yes, sir, I understand. We’ve searched everything, Sir—”

“Ugh, useless. Who’s your biggest competition in the city?”

Bjorn frowned. “There isn’t one, Sir. We’re the leading private investigation and security company in all of Denmark. That’s why you hired my staff on retainer—”

“Jesus, I'm going to have to go out of country if I want anything done.” I slammed my palm on my desk and stood, the look in my eyes enough to light fire to Bjorn’s pathetic form.

“We’ll keep looking, Sir.” He left, shoulders hunched. My assistant ducked her head into my office, caught sight of the anger boiling over in me, thought better of it, and closed the door.

She knew me well. I paid her enough to know me better than I knew myself, and she was worth it.

I tossed my phone across the room. It landed on the couch then bounced off to the marble floor. I could see the crack splitting the screen from where I stood.

“Shit, I’m a fucking mess.”

I crossed the room, body strung tight as visions of Pixie danced in my head all damn night long.

Eighty-one days and counting since I’d met the sweet American girl.

Almost three months since she’d left me high and dry, alone in my bed with my cock in my hand. Not really, she’d at least had the grace to fold my sweater and leave it on the couch before she left me. When I’d woken up that morning, I’d felt the sting. My pride and ego had taken a knock, but not as much as just plain missing her had.

My emotions had taken a nosedive in the last few weeks. That night with her had changed my life forever. She’d crushed me with her innocence. I’d been brutal with need. A barbaric bastard that’d driven her away. I knew I couldn’t have with anyone else what I had with Pixie, I would have to find her. I would never give up.

The days in meetings and public affairs ate up my thoughts, but when I was home, alone, it was the fucking worst. At night, after the day was over and I checked in with Bjorn, I ran on the treadmill obsessively, then lay in bed, fresh from my shower, cold, wet, and so fucking alone.