Royally Yours (Royally 4)

The skirt goes next—she slides it past the swell of her hips, down her petite, shapely legs—leaving her only in delicate lace garters, opaque white stockings and satin knickers.

Without a sound, Lenora dips her head, unhooks her garters and rolls the stockings down each leg. Then she slips her knickers off too. And I eat her up, devour every inch of her, with my greedy eyes.

She stands before me, bare and breathtakingly beautiful. Like something from a dream, a fantasy—full breasts, a tiny, trim waist and a beckoning bush of pretty dark curls between her legs.

I pull in a breath of air and slowly circle her. I don’t touch her—I don’t dare—if I do, we’ll be skipping a whole bunch of lessons tonight. Her hair flows in mahogany swirls down her back—brushing the top of the firm, perfect globes of her arse.

The things I could do to her. The things I will.

“You’re exquisite.” I press a single kiss to her temple. Then I close my eyes, breathe deep and regain my control.

I move around, standing in front of her—my voice coming back to me, strong and firm.

“I had a lesson in mind for tonight. Words—the names of things.”

Her brows furrow. “The names of things?”

I wrap my fist around my cock and stroke it meaningfully.

“The names of things.”

Her cheeks go red, but she manages to roll her silver eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Edward. I know the names of things.”

“Dr. Hatchet again?”

“Well . . . yes, mostly, but—”

“And what names did the good doctor teach you?”

“All the proper words, of course.” Her eyes slide down and I grow even harder under her gaze. “Penis, vagina, areola—”

“No.” I shake my head. “No. Those aren’t the words I want to hear from your puffy, perfect lips.”

She narrows her eyes. “Well, what do you want?”

“I want to hear you say cock.”

Lenora’s eyes flash to mine. And she frowns.

“Those are cheap words. Vulgar words.”

“They’re real words. Hot words. Sensual words real people use in the throes of passion and fucking and lust and love. If you can’t bring yourself to say it, sweetheart, you’ve got no business getting anywhere near it.”

Lenora lifts her chin and lets out a shuddery breath. And then she looks me right in the eyes—stunning in her stubbornness—and that beautiful bud of a mouth gives me exactly what I want.

“Cock.”

And it’s fucking sublime. So good I could come with three pumps of her pretty hand.

“Dick.” I say it like an order.

“Dick.” Mine twitches at the sound of his name in her lovely, lilting voice.

Her pupils are dilated and her nipples are two tight, rosy points begging for my mouth. I lick my lips and take it up a notch.

“Pussy.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Pussy.”

Instinctively, my eyes drop to hers . . . and my mouth waters.

“Sweet, wet, pussy.”

It’s going to be—there’s not a doubt in my mind.

“Sweet, wet, pussy.”

I lean in closer, so our noses are just inches apart. And my voice is low and ragged now—filthy.

“Cunt.”

“I hate you.”

And I laugh. Because this, now, here . . . her . . . nothing has ever felt so good in my life.

“Say it, Lenny,” I tell her softly, almost begging. I run my fingertip across her collarbone, feeling the thrum of her pounding heart. “Say it for me and I’ll give you a kiss.”

She inhales slowly, her breasts rising—her nipples just grazing the hairs on my chest. And Christ, she looks so delectable I want to pounce on her. I want to spread her out, hook one leg over my shoulder and thrust into her, hard and fast, right here on the goddamn floor. I want to pump into her for hours, until her voice is hoarse with pleasure and her pussy is so full, I drip out of her.

And then I want to take her all over again—in every way I know how. Fuck those pouty lips, come down her throat, have her from behind, on her knees, teach her to ride me until she scours my back with her fingernails, because it just feels so . . . damn . . . good.

But I won’t do any of that. Not tonight. Because it has to be slow. It has to be right.

For her . . . it has to be perfect.

Her eyes shine with boldness now. With challenge. Because retreat is not in my Lenny’s vocabulary. She rises up on her toes, bringing her mouth so close to mine, I can taste the sweetness on her breath. Her tone is sultry, teasing—accentuating every consonant.

“Cunt.”

My eyes slide closed with bliss. “Hmmm . . . good girl.”

I open my eyes and slowly sink to my knees in front of her.

She peers down at me, tantalizingly bewildered.

“What are you doing?”

I smirk up at her. “I promised you a kiss. I’m giving it to you.”

I hold her by her hips, lean forward and envelop her pussy in a deep, open-mouthed kiss. My lips suck on her gently, and my tongue strokes slowly up and down between her folds.

“Ohh!”

She tastes sweeter than I’d even imagined. The scent of her curls here is floral too—fresh and clean—lilacs in the snow. The softest, prettiest pussy—I could stay here on my knees for her all night long.

“Edward . . .” She rises up on her toes, before settling down into my lapping, lashing mouth on a long, serrated moan. “I . . . ohhh . . .”

“Do you like it, sweets?” I ask against her hot, wet flesh.

“Yes . . .” Her breath puffs from her mouth. “Do you like it?”

I look up so she can see the truth in my eyes.

“I do . . . so much.”

She bites at her bottom lip. “Are you sure?”

I kiss her thigh, her hip. “Let me show you how much I like it.”

I guide her to the chaise longue, lay her down and spread her knees with my hands. I kiss up her pale, smooth thighs and across her tiny waist, groaning at the feel of her soft skin beneath my lips. I rest my chin on her pelvic bone and smile into her searching gray eyes.

“Can I tell you another secret, Lenny?”

“All right?”

“I’ve dreamed about these lips too.”

Then I bow my head and worship my Queen.

THIS IS NOT NORMAL. It’s some deviant thing he learned while traveling. A sin—it’s too good not be a sin. One of the big ones, I’m sure—deadly. And that makes sense, because my heart beats so hard and my breath is so short, I feel like I might die.

And I couldn’t care less.

Just the sight of Edward’s blond head between my legs makes me cry out with need. With passion. My moans fill the room in a voice that sounds nothing like me. My back bows and my hands stroke through Edward’s hair and across his smooth, taut shoulder blades—needing to feel his skin.

“Jesus . . .” I draw in a moan at the hot, slick sensation of his wet moving mouth.

Edward looks up at me with the devil in his eyes.

“Edward.”

Then he dips his head back down and takes his time—playing me like a fiddle, making long leisurely strums with his tongue and pressing humming open-mouthed kisses against my flesh. He grasps my knees, spreading my legs wider and drags his tongue up and down through my wet lips. And then he spears me with his tongue, pushes it inside in firm, thick thrusts. It’s wicked and dirty and incredible.