The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

There were appreciative, encouraging chuckles from the board. “I think she likes that,” one of them said.

Shit, I did.

Instead of imagining Royce, now I pictured Mr. Shaunessy’s son, Richard. I used the humiliating memory to combat what was happening and control myself. The mental cold shower seemed to work, because—

“Time.” There was relief in Royce’s voice. Instead of watching me, he’d been fixated on the hourglass, beating his father to the announcement. Perhaps he’d silently pleaded for the sand to fall faster.

I sighed with contentment as Royce settled into the chair and surveyed the scene. He marveled at me, the sweaty, panting, and naked girl on the table in front of him. I was all for him now. Even without looking behind him, he sensed the turn of the hourglass. His gaze caressed across my body until it focused where he was most interested, and one of his long fingers pushed inside.

He pumped it leisurely, once . . . twice. The chair creaked as he shifted forward, and his mouth sought the bundle of nerves at the top of my slit that throbbed and ached. He found me hot and wet, and as his tongue cartwheeled across my sensitive skin, I groaned my approval through clenched teeth.

The candles in the candelabra in the alcove had become dripping, melting messes, and I could relate. Fire seared across my nerves from the insistent mouth lapping at me, and the finger that slid along, growing slicker with each pass. I was a melting, dripping mess too.

His tempo built, as did the urgency inside me.

I felt the sand cascade through the hourglass and pool at the bottom. Every single grain was one less fraction of a second that I’d have like this. As the pressure rose, so did the satisfaction Royce created.

Fuck, it felt good. His finger plunged deep and the tip of his tongue teased endlessly. My heart’s frantic rhythm matched his pace. I squirmed against the table, wanting to move, needing him just a fraction of an inch higher.

I moaned loudly.

The sound was drenched with desire, and some of the men shifted. A few were aroused, their tuxedo pants bulging. It was fucked up and yet flattering. I, a nobody, was suddenly powerful enough to have this effect on them. Everyone was looking at me, not just Royce. I’d never liked it before, but this wasn’t me. Right now, I was the rebranded Marist Northcott, soon to be the Hale edition.

I shuddered as his tongue massaged my clit, working to coax the orgasm from me, and the pleasure in my center ramped up. Tingling crept over my legs, signaling my climax. It bared down on me, faster and faster—

“Time,” Macalister said.

The hand moving inside me froze.

“No,” I gasped. “I’m so close.” The words stumbled from my lips. “Please, Royce.”

That was all he needed to hear. A second finger pushed in to join the first, and it was a lot, but my body was ready for it. His urgent thrusts made me shake. I was vibrating against the table, writhing against his mouth, struggling in the hands holding onto me.

But he took it a step further. The hand he wasn’t using to fuck me crawled the length of my body. The wool of his coat sleeve grazed over my stomach as his fingers closed, grabbing a handful of my breast. He thumbed my nipple, brushing back and forth.

“That’s it, Marist. Yes.” He paused his tongue just long enough to issue the order. “Give it to me.”

The prince had wanted me all to himself, and I gave it willingly.

Bliss exploded in my core, firing outward and racing across my body. My cry pealed in the candlelight, announcing what was happening, and the contractions that wracked me from head to toe showed them.

There was no mistaking the pleasure gripping me more intensely than Royce’s hold on my breast. The board members murmured encouragement and praise, but I couldn’t discern it over the buzzing in my ears.

The orgasm lasted longer than any I’d ever had. It seemed to go on forever.

As the satisfaction crested and began to fade, I collapsed back onto the table, my shoulders slapping against the wood. I drew huge swallows in while Royce rose deliberately from his throne and cast his gaze down on me.

My stomach clenched as he slipped the fingers he’d used to fuck me with into his mouth, closed his lips, and sucked my taste from them. He watched me the whole time he did it, his eyes flaring with unsated desire.

Jesus.

It looked like he’d wasn’t quite done enjoying me and his carnal eyes made promises. Next time, he’d have me exactly the way he wanted, and without a time limit. He’d warned me in the back seat of my Porsche that once he got inside me, he might never leave, and I knew we were about to find out if it was true.