Royally screwed, p.10
Part #1 of Royally series by Emma Chase
I shrug, sitting down across from her. "It was a phase."
And suddenly the situation feels very familiar--like an interview.
"Would you get punished if you misbehaved or did they use a whipping boy?"
She's done research. Whipping boys were used back in the old days when corporal punishment was all the rage but princes were thought to be too sacred to be struck. So, an unlucky lad--usually poor--would be chosen as the prince's companion, and that child would take the beating in his place. The idea being that the prince would feel guilty watching an innocent boy receive his punishment.
Obviously the forefathers knew fuck-all about children.
"Whipping boy?" Martin pipes up, raising his hand. "I volunteer as tribute."
I laugh. "Whipping boys haven't been used for a few hundred years--how old do you think I am?"
"You'll be twenty-eight on October twentieth," Ellie replies.
Yes--she's definitely been a busy-researching-bee.
"So," she starts, leaning back. "What are your intentions with my sister, Prince Nicholas?"
If she only knew.
"I want to spend time with Olivia. Get to know her."
"My intentions are all good ones, I promise."
Very good. Orgasmic. The XXX-rated kind.
Ellie's innocent-looking eyes narrow, reading me, like she's a visual lie detector.
"You probably know a lot of people--rich people, famous people. Liv is good people. The best. She's given up her whole life to keep this place going--for me and my dad. She deserves to have fun--a good time--a hot fling with a former bad-boy prince who can talk dirty to her in five languages. I'm hoping you can give her that."
I know where she's coming from. I understand that protectiveness--the wish for happiness and joy for someone you care about so much your chest aches. It's what I feel for Henry every day.
At least, on the days he doesn't make me want to strangle him.
"That makes two of us, then," I tell her plainly.
"Good." With a rap to the table and a nod, little Ellie stands. She retrieves a pie server from a neighboring table and taps each of my shoulders with it.
Like she's knighting me.
"I approve you, Prince Nicholas. Carry on."
I try very hard not to laugh at her. And fail.
"Thank you, Miss Hammond."
And then she leans over me. "But just in case you get any ideas...if you hurt my sister--" she tips her head toward Logan by the door "--delicious-looking security guards or not, I'll find a way to shave your eyebrows off."
And I actually believe she'd pull it off.
Ellie straightens up, grinning evilly.
"You feel me, Nicholas?"
I nod. "Loud and clear, Ellie."
That's when Olivia walks into the room. And just when I was sure my balls couldn't get any achier, she proves me wrong.
Her navy-blue tank top, beneath a light gray flannel, highlights her creamy skin, and tight dark jeans tucked into knee-high brown boots accentuate those long, slender legs. Her black hair is down, almost to the curve of her gorgeous arse, and simple silver and pearl earrings peek out between the glorious glossy waves.
"Hey." She smiles, making the room a little bit brighter and my cock a lot harder. "I didn't know you were here already. Were you waiting long?"
"It's all good, Livvy," Ellie says. "Marty and I kept him company."
Marty stands, wiggling his mobile. "Before you go, can I get a selfie? You know--for the spank bank?"
"Oh God." Olivia groans, covering her eyes.
Then she tries to get me off the hook.
"Nicholas doesn't like taking pictures, Marty."
I hold up my hand. "No, it's all right. A photo is fine." Then I lower my voice so only she can hear me. "But I'm going to need a deposit from you in my spank bank tonight."
She giggles, while Ellie watches us carefully, with something like approval in her eyes.
The ride to the hotel is pure, unadulterated torture--and an exercise in restraint. Our small talk is comfortable and benign, but our looks are intense and heated. I catch Olivia checking out the perpetual bulge in my trousers no fewer than three times. And I don't even bother trying to pretend that I'm not staring at her tits. Her scent--that clean, freshly shampooed, warm honey scent--fills the space of the limousine, making my nostrils flare, trying to absorb every trace of it.
Logan and Tommy flank us on the way through the lobby, with James taking the rear position. It's busier than it was last night--crowded with visitors on their way to dinner or a Broadway show--and we're the recipient of more than a few double takes. Once we arrive in the suite, the lads scatter. I've given David the evening off so that we have some privacy, and I guide Olivia into the kitchen.
Over a glass of white wine, she tells me about her day, about the poor, bedraggled young mother and her brood of five hell-raisers who visited the coffee shop. I convey the boredom of the Art Commission of New York charity luncheon--which is really just an excuse for politicians to hear themselves talk.
I take a chopping knife from the wood block on the counter, and the unpleasant, piercing sound that results from sliding it against the sharpening stone momentarily halts our conversation. Olivia comes up behind me, peeking over my shoulder as I slice the salmon and chop the celery into match-sized sticks.
"Where did you learn to do that?" she asks with a smile in her voice.
I look over my shoulder to catch her rolling her pretty eyes--because I suspect she already knew the answer.
Then she picks up a knife herself, stands next to me, and makes quick work of three carrots, chopping them just as well, if not better, than me.
Then she shrugs coyly. "Manhattan."
We both chuckle as she rests the knife on the counter and I wash my hands. As I dry them on a clean towel, I lean back against the sink--watching her.
Olivia runs her hand along the counter, observing the dishes of spices and rice, shrimp and salmon. She dips her finger into a small bowl of black soy sauce and seems to move in slow motion when she raises that finger to her mouth, and wraps those gorgeous fucking lips around it.
I've never come in my trousers, but I'm dangerously close.
A groan is trapped in my throat, because I want to be that finger--more than I want to breathe. Our eyes meet and hold. And the air is thick between us--filled with magnetic particles that draw us toward one another.
Dinner's going to have to wait.
Looking into her eyes, hearing the needy little puffs of breath that slip out between her glistening lips, I know for certain--we'll never make it that long.
Then there's a noise from the other room and Olivia jumps. Almost as if she'd been caught doing something naughty. She's all too aware of the security team's presence.
And that just won't do.
"Logan," I call, not taking my eyes off of her.
He pokes his head through the door. "Yes, Sir?"
There's a brief pause. And then, "Aye. Me and James and Tommy'll be down in the lobby and by the lift--to be sure no one comes up."
We wait, staring at each other...and when the elevator pings, proving that we are finally, perfectly, blessedly alone, it's like the starting shot of a marathon.
We move at the same time--Olivia springs forward and I pull her into my arms. Hands grasping, legs wrapping, mouths clashing. She squeezes my waist with her thighs and my palms flex against the taut swell of her arse. My teeth nip at those gorgeous fucking lips, scraping gently, before covering her mouth in a searing, wet kiss.
Yes, yes, this is it. It's everything I've been fantasizing about--only better.
Olivia's mouth is hot and wet and tastes like sweet grapes against my tongue. She moans into my mouth--a sound I could easily get drunk on.
I move us to the kitchen table, knocking over a chair. I perch her on the end, both of us breathing hard and heavy.
Her eyes are bright and manic--caught up in the same tsunami of sensation that grips me.
She tears the gray flannel from her arms.
Christ, this bold, daring girl--I adore her.
Olivia's pale arms wrap around my neck as we clash back together, kissing and grasping. I pull her hips forward to the edge of the table, grinding my erection that's hard as stone between her open, denim-covered legs. My hand dives through her soft hair, cupping the back of her head, holding her still so I can take and take from her mouth.
She moans again, sweet and long, and the sound pushes me right to the edge, making me shaky with want for her.
Then with her legs wrapped tight around my waist, she pushes against my shoulders, forcing me back, breaking our kiss. I catch her drift when she jerks at the hem of my shirt and I help her out--pulling it over my head. Her dark, enchanting blue eyes go wide as she takes in my bare torso, running smooth, petal-soft hands across my shoulders, over my chest, down through the grooves of my abdomen.
"Jesus," she breathes out softly, "you are so fucking...hot."
And I laugh. I can't help it. Though I've heard such compliments before, there's a wonder in her voice, an awe, that's just too adorable. The chuckle still rumbles in my chest when I skim her tank top up and over her head. But I stop abruptly when I glimpse Olivia's breasts, covered in nothing but innocent white lace.
Because they are seriously, beautifully perfect.
I lean back in, my hips circling and grinding, lips skimming over her delicate shoulder to her neck--pausing to suck hard over her pulse, making her gasp. My teeth scrape the shell of her ear.
"I want to kiss you, Olivia."
She giggles, kneading my back. "You are kissing me."
I slide my hand between us, between her legs, rubbing where she's already hot and aching.
"Here. I want to kiss you here."
She goes languid in my arms, her head lolling, so my mouth can roam free.
"Oh," she moans on a breath, "oh, oh...kay."
I've pictured fucking her on the coffee shop tables a dozen times, but this kitchen table isn't cutting it. I need more room. And I want only softness and silk touching her back while I eat her.
In one move I scoop Olivia up and toss her over my shoulder, caveman style, heading for the bedroom. She squeals and laughs and squeezes my arse as I walk down the hall. I give hers a playful smack in return.
She lands in the center of the large bed with her eyes shining, her lips smiling, and her cheeks flushed. I stand at the edge of the bed and beckon her forward with my hand.
She rises to her knees and comes closer, but ducks her head when I try to kiss her--trailing her lips over my chest instead, in a dozen soft, worshipful pecks that turn my blood to fire. I cup her face in my hands, guiding her up to meet me.
And then I kiss her, slowly. Deeply.
And the teasing play, the joking spirit that surrounded us, dissipates, replaced by something more powerful. Urgent and primal. Olivia's mouth never leaves mine as my hands wander their way behind her back, releasing the clasp of her bra. I skim the straps down her arms and cup her soft, full breasts in my hands.
My thumbs drift back and forth over her nipples--hardening them to two dusty-rose peaks. She sucks on my neck and bites at my earlobe--getting rougher with desperation--and then I dip my head and my mouth takes the place of my thumbs.
I suck her in long, slow drags and quick flicks of my tongue. Olivia's spine arches, trying to get closer, and her nails sink into the skin of my shoulder blades--leaving half-moons I'll relish tomorrow. I move to her other breast, blowing first, taunting her just a bit, until she yanks my hair. My mouth suctions harder, bringing teeth into play, pressing against the tantalizing flesh.
When Olivia's hips begin to move in searching, seeking circles and frenzied, grunting gasps come from her throat, I lift my head from her sweet tit and guide her onto her back.
She looks into my eyes and I'm lost. Wrecked. Owned. There's no thought, no desire--except to please her. Make her see stars and touch heaven.
Deft fingers open her jeans, peeling them down her legs as I straighten up.
I take a moment to enjoy the view--Olivia's flushed, heated skin almost bare in the middle of my bed. The way her pitch-black hair lies against the stunning, flawless flesh of her breasts. Her flat stomach, sculpted, and the way the thin straps of her pastel-pink underwear cling to dainty hips.
The triangle of fabric between her legs is lace--see-through. It shows a trim, pretty little bush of soft black curls. It's different--most of the women I've been with do their damnedest to have their vag imitate Mr. Bigglesworth, Dr. Evil's hairless cat.
I've yet to discover a thing about Olivia that I don't like--but this, I like very, very much.
I feel her eyes on me as I lick my lips and slide the pink lace down her legs--giving me an unobstructed view.
"Christ, you're a beauty," I groan. With a smirk, I crawl onto the bed, hovering over her. "Pretty enough to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner--and still want more for dessert."
I raise her ankle to my shoulder--then I move upward slowly, kissing and sucking on the skin of her calf, behind her knee, to her taut inner thigh. Her breath hitches when I place her foot back on the bed and my palms against her thighs, spreading her wide. I lick two fingertips and run them through her cleft, rubbing, searching.
Olivia's eyes drift closed. "Nicholas."
Yeah, that's the spot.
My fingers circle Olivia's pretty clit--pink and swollen--and I drop down to my stomach. I kiss her thigh, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.
"Say my name again," I murmur.
Olivia's chest rises and falls quickly. "Nicholas."
She pants and gasps as my mouth moves closer.
Still rubbing with my fingers, my nose brushes those soft curls, every bit as fragrant and sweet as the rest of her. Maybe more.
"Nicholas," she moans, her voice raw and pleading.
Music to my fucking ears.
Then I give her what we're both aching for.
My mouth moves over her pussy, enveloping it in a heated kiss, and my tongue slides between those plump lips. With a loud whimper her hips rise, but I hold her steady. Focused and unrelenting in my need to make her climax.
Christ, her taste. The slick feel of her against my tongue. It's magnificent.
Enough to make my hips thrust against the bed, searching for relief.
I move my mouth to Olivia's clit, sucking hard while two fingers thrust, then pump, inside her. Oh, she's tight. And hot. And so wet it may drive me mad.
But she's so snug, I'm really going to need to take care with her.
The thought is chased from my mind when Olivia's back curves, her neck arches, and her mouth opens to whimper my name. And she comes. Stunningly. Fantastically. On my tongue, against my mouth, writhing with the sheer bliss of it.
When Olivia goes limp against the bed, I practically pounce on her. She doesn't seem to mind. In fact, after just a few minutes of kissing and humping, she pushes me back, rolling us over, to kiss her way down my chest.
She makes quick work of my trousers, tossing them on the floor. And she stares at me, with a secret smile on her lips--long enough for me to ask, "What?"
Olivia gives a tiny shrug. "The Internet was wrong. They said you wear Calvin Klein underwear."
They were very wrong--I don't wear underwear at all.
"Don't believe everything you read."
When she wraps her hand around my aching cock, it feels so damn good, I have no words--my eyes roll closed and my head digs into the pillow behind me. Olivia strokes me skillfully--once, twice--but that's all I allow.
It's all I can stand. If she keeps going, I'll fucking embarrass myself.
I jerk up, wrapping my arms around her, rolling her back un
"Just a sec, love."
I rip open the condom with my teeth and Olivia's hands mix with mine, fumbling to roll it on as quickly as possible.
And then I'm there, over her, staring into those stunning dark blue eyes that caught me from the first moment. I breathe deep, silently begging for control, and then I press the head of my cock inside her. Gently and just the tip.
Olivia's mouth opens with the pleasure of it. And my heart pounds so fast and hard, I think I might be dying.
What a perfect bloody way to go.
She presses her palm to my cheek, reaching up for a kiss, drawing me in. Slowly, I slide inside her--the beautiful muscles fitting so snug and wet around me--stretching to make room. When our pelvises meet, when my heavy balls rest against Olivia's arse, I wait. Swallowing hard against a sandpaper throat.
Her eyes are closed, her lashes fanning out like tiny threads of black silk.
"Are you all right?" I pant.
Please, please say yes. Please let me move. Let me thrust and pump and fuck.
And then she does the simplest, most miraculous thing. She opens her eyes--and it feels like she's ripping my heart out--taking it for her own.
Definitely my favorite word.
I feel her squeeze around me--her hips pulsing upward, testing the feel.
"Oh God," she moans. "Move, Nicholas. I want to feel you. All of you. Now."
And those words are now my second favorite.
Keeping my weight on my arms, I pull back and thrust in slowly, with a guttural groan. Because it feels just that fucking fantastic. Indescribable. Olivia's arms wind around my neck and my hands slide beneath her shoulder blades, cradling her head as I ride her in even, steady strokes. Our panting breaths mingle, we kiss and taste, and the pleasure rises, tightens with every movement.
Until it peaks.
My hips move without thought, grinding and pounding hard now, rushing to catch the orgasm that's barreling down on us both. And then my mind goes white, blank--suspended in that perfect moment of deep, carnal pleasure. Olivia's there with me. She bites my shoulder but I don't feel it. All I feel is where we're connected, where I'm powerfully pulsing inside her, giving everything I have, over and over again.
Royally Screwed by Emma Chase / Romance & Love / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes