Royal Pain (His Royal Hotness 1)

I bite down softly on her nipple, ready to take her deeper into the maelstrom of desire that’s grabbed us by the throats. But when she moans my name and clutches at me, I’m the one who goes under.

Chapter 20

Savvy

I gasp, tremble, try to press myself even closer to the hard, muscular warmth of Kian. He’s killing me with his patience, killing me with his ability to hold off his own need so that he can stoke mine. He did it the other night and he’s doing it again now and all I want, all I need, is him on the brink of ripping his clothes off like he did mine and fucking me like I so desperately need him to.

Instead, I get patient, thorough Kian who’s determined to put me through my paces and is acting like he has all the time in the world.

The bastard.

But, God, no matter how frustrating it is—and the answer is very—all the little details feel good. He feels good against me, so good that I’m close to losing it completely if he doesn’t do something soon. And by something I mean more than stoking the flame, more than driving me crazy. I mean fucking me. I mean slamming himself inside of me and making me forget how temporary this is, and how fast he’ll be gone when he’s ready to move on.

But I’m not going to think about that now, not going to worry about a nebulous future when he feels so good against me. So strong and caring and sexy. And when he bites sharply at the underside of my breast—so sharply that I’m sure I’ll have a bruise—I’m afraid I’m going to lose it completely. Afraid I’m going to come before I ever get to feel him inside of me.

He’s barely touched me and already I’m trembling on the brink of orgasm, ready to fly over the edge at the slightest provocation.

“Hurry,” I urge him, trying to fight it, trying to hang on to this side of control with bruised and battered fingertips.

But I’ve wanted him since we sat down on that balcony at the gala and no matter how many times I told myself it was wrong, told myself that it shouldn’t happen, that I’m done with important and powerful men—and am especially done with this family—here I am. Wrapped up in Kian’s arms and begging him for more. Begging him for everything he has to give me, and more.

And now that I’ve given in, now that I’ve said to hell with being safe and protecting myself from pain, I want to feel everything, experience everything that Kian has to offer me. I want to kiss him, taste him, fuck him, want to have a quickie right here against this wall but also want to make this last forever.

And though I haven’t said a word about what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling, Kian seems to know. To sense it. To understand my need to draw this out and make it last forever. Or at least as long as we need for bodies and emotions to reconcile.

Or maybe this is just the kind of lover he is, slow and thorough and determined to draw every last ounce of response out of me. Whatever is driving him, I’m grateful. And determined to enjoy the ride as long as it lasts.

But then Kian bends to my breast, nips at my areola, and my body wigs out, a scream of frustrated need welling up inside of me. I bite it down, hold it back, because if he knows how much this hurts he’ll finish me off. And I’m not ready for this to end, not ready to lose myself in pleasure so intense it blinds me to everything, including the look and feel and taste of Kian.

But when he bites me again, then carefully laves the sting until only the memory of it remains, I lose the fight. No man should be so tender and so controlling, so selfless and so domineering all at the same time. How am I supposed to resist him? How am I supposed to keep from falling for him harder than I ever did for his brother?

Already, my relationship with Garrett seems like it happened a long time ago, to someone else. And what I felt for him? What he made me feel? It’s nothing compared to what Kian pulls out of me so easily.

The knowledge scares me a little, but it’s too late to turn back. Too late to try to save myself. I can’t. Not now, and maybe not ever.

I don’t know how I got here. It seemed like such an easy thing—like the right thing to do—to rescue him at the gala when everyone wanted a piece of him. How was I to know that it would lead here, to me falling for Kian? For Garrett’s brother?

It’s such a Gossip Girl thing to do…especially when this can’t turn out any better than my relationship with Garrett did. I’m still a commoner and he’s a prince, for God’s sake. This can’t end anywhere good.

The thought tears at me a little, but I shove it down, ignore it, as I clutch his head to my breast and relish the soft, sweet brushes of his tongue and lips. Because no matter how hard the landing is going to be, there’s nothing on earth that’s going to make me miss this ride.

“Kian,” I whimper as he nibbles his way across the vulnerable underside of my breast. “Please. I need you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he moves to my other breast. “I’m just getting started.”

“Please,” I gasp again, my fingers clutching at his shoulders as I sob out his name. Suddenly, my body isn’t mine to command anymore, my voice and thoughts and movements taken over entirely by his mouth, his touch. By him and his indomitable will.

Kian shifts then, once again catching my wrists in his strong hands. Then he pulls them forward, clasping them in front of my body with one hand.

“What are you—” I’m out of it, my head fuzzy as I try to figure out what he’s doing.

“Look.” His voice is deep and gravelly, nearly unfamiliar in his desire. I feel a sharp rush of pleasure at the thought that I’ve done this to him, that I have driven this gorgeous, brilliant, amazing man so crazy with lust that he can barely speak.

I follow his gaze and am transfixed—much as he was—by what I see in the dim light. He’s captured my wrists in such a way that my arms frame my breasts, plumping the already full mounds up and out for his pleasure.

For my pleasure, too, because already I can feel the increase of blood flow to the constricted area. But he isn’t done, the hand on my wrists tightening so that my arms squeeze my breasts even more tightly. They actually sting, the air chafing my sensitive skin and too-tight nipples.

“You’re beautiful, Savvy,” he tells me, eyes wide in lascivious appreciation. “So goddamn beautiful.”