Royally Screwed (Royally 1)

And it feels sublime.

With her fingernails biting into the back of my neck, Olivia pulls herself up, lips to my jaw, teeth scraping my stubble. “I want you to fuck me everywhere, Nicholas,” she pants. “Come everywhere. Between my legs, on my chest, my mouth, down my throat…oh, oh it’ll be so good. Everywhere, Nicholas.”

“Fuck, yes,” I hiss, feeling crazier with each word.

Note to self—cheap beer makes Olivia wild. Stock up on the stuff.

With a ding, the lift opens to the penthouse. Home sweet home.

Olivia locks her ankles at my lower back and I carry her, palming and kneading that luscious arse, across the foyer, heading for the bedroom. My journey is halted in the living room—by the head of my security team, waiting on the couch, stiff as an angry board and frowning.

And suddenly I don’t just feel like a teenager—I feel like a teenager who’s been caught sneaking in past curfew, stinking of sex and smokes and liquor.

“So…you’re back, then?” Logan stands.

“Uh…yes. It was a grand show,” I tell him. “No incidences occurred; no one seemed to recognize me.”

He throws his arms out—imitating a fed-up mum now. He sounds like one, too.

“You could’ve called! I’ve been here all afternoon—goin’ half out my mind with worry.”

And I know it’s rude, but the amazing day and the certainty that I’ll be balls-deep in Olivia quite soon makes me too happy to care.

I chuckle. “Sorry, Mum.”

Logan is not amused. His teeth grind so hard I think I hear it.

“This isn’t funny, My Lord. It’s dangerous.” His eyes shoot to Olivia for an instant, then back my way. “We need to talk. Alone.”

“All right, settle down, now. My hands happen to be exquisitely filled at the moment.” I give Olivia’s arse a squeeze, making her giggle and hide her face against my neck. “We’ll talk in the morning, first thing—I promise.”

His gaze darts between us, still looking unhappy. But he nods.

“Have a…pleasant evening,” he grinds out, then marches toward the elevator.

Once he’s gone, Olivia peeks out from her hiding spot. “I don’t think he likes me anymore.”

I kiss the tip of her pert little nose. “I like you.” Then I push my hips forward while pulling her closer—letting her feel every hard inch. “Do you want me to show you how much?”

Heat rises in her cheeks. “Yes, please.” Then she bites her lip and adds with a meek accent. “My Lord.”

Hearing that from Olivia’s lips does things to me. Makes me want to do filthy, dirty things to her. Without further delay, I carry her to the bedroom to get to it.

Most of the time Bosco sleeps in Ellie’s room. She brings him in with her and shuts the door—just to make sure our dad doesn’t trip over him when he staggers in…or Bosco doesn’t find a way to actually open the refrigerator door and eat until his stomach bursts.

But sometimes, Ellie gets up in the middle of the night to pee and forgets to close the door behind her. And on those nights, Bosco usually ends up in my room. If I’m lucky, he curls up quietly on the foot of my bed or burrows in close to me for warmth like a furry, ugly baby bird.

Usually, I’m not lucky. Because usually, Bosco is hungry when he finds his way into my room, and I’m the feeder. So he wants to wake me up. But he doesn’t lick my face or bark to wake me up.

He stares at me.

With those black, beady little eyes he stares hard and long—and though it sounds weird, loudly.

And that’s the exact same sensation I get later that night while I’m asleep next to Nicholas. Like someone or something is staring at us so intently, it’s deafening.

I feel it before I open my eyes. But when I do, I see a woman in white standing at the foot of the bed, gazing down at us.

My lungs scrape to inhale shocked, terrified air. It’s more than a gasp—it’s a prelude to a scream.

But then I feel Nicholas’s hand on my chest, under the covers. Steady, strong—pressing just enough to be meaningful. To tell me he sees her too and that I need to hold it in, hold it together.

The moonlight from the window casts the huge room in a bluish light, making the woman’s skin shimmer in a milky glow. Her hair is dark, chopped in a bob to her shoulders, her face bony, with points at her chin and nose, but not unpretty. Her eyes are fixed on Nicholas, dark and shiny—and fucking loony-tunes crazy.

“You’re awake.” She sighs. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

Nicholas’s throat works reflexively, but his voice—that captivating voice—is smooth and reassuring. “Have you?”

“Yes. It’s so good to see you again.”

His fingers move just slightly against my sternum, saying it’s okay—everything’s okay.

“It’s good to see you as well,” Nicholas replies. “How did you get in, again?”

She smiles, and goose bumps rise all over my skin.

“It was just like we agreed. Work at the hotel, pretend to be a maid until you give me the signal. You always have those boys with you, so I knew, when you started sending them away at night, that was my sign.”

Crap.

Her eyes jump to me, as if I said it out loud—but I didn’t.

“Who is she?” she asks, sounding the same level of insane but not nearly as happy.