Washed Up Royal Page 11

  “By getting on your knees.”

  Shocked, I consider squashing his demand with a harsh, “Absolutely not.” But that newly born naughty girl inside me that wants to do wicked things to him tells me to do it, so I do. I have to say, I’ve never gotten on my knees for anyone.

  Princesses don’t kneel—they are kneeled before.

  The floor is hard beneath my knees but I couldn’t care less. Filled with a crazy passion for this man, I stare up at him and wait with greedy need. Every second passes so slow. I watch as his hands go to his slacks, as his fingers unbutton then unzip his fly, and as his palms move to free himself.

  Holy.

  Yes, I remember with clarity just how big and beautiful he is and I lick my lips at the sight.

  His body is a magnet for my hands. I’m itching to touch him and rediscover all the muscled lines and contours.

  Leaning forward I’m ready for this, ready to make this man fall apart, but he shakes his head and at me and I freeze, watching him and the way he gives a single long, stroke down his length.

  With his fashioned move, his dark eyes are on me. Intent. Watching. My mouth waters in anticipation of having him on my tongue and tasting him.

  The bite of anticipation is almost too much.

  It’s as if I can feel his very excitement. The full-blown desire of it racing through his body as his hand slides a bit further down to his head and he squeezes it lightly before gliding back up.

  When he takes a step forward, I know, even before he speaks, what he wants me to do. However, when he says, “Suck me,” I still feel that zing of shock of such a dirty demand being made of me.

  That shock subsides quickly and some kind of primal instinct takes its place. In haste, I yank his pants down and after he steps out of them, I push him back against the wall.

  Greedy.

  Hungry.

  Anxious.

  The wooden floor beneath my knees grinds into my skin as I pivot around, and yet I don’t care one bit. I even use one of them to nudge Adrien’s legs farther apart to give me room between his thighs.

  Finally in position, I go for it and take him in my hand. His groan is erotic and I can feel my nipples pebbling in response, my body becoming an instrument of pleasure.

  Oh, God. He’s pulsing against my palm, and I’m skimming my hand upward, barely brushing the tip of his cock, and I feel all powerful. I might be the one looking up at him, but he’s the one at my mercy.

  His hips surge forward, and I grip his shaft so I can keep him in place. With my lips so close to him, I glance up and he see him looking down. His gaze is dark and lustful, and I know he can’t wait for my touch.

  I move closer. Teasing. A smirk that is pure sex kicks up at the corner of his mouth, his jaw tight with the anticipation of how I’m going to rock his world. Even my legs are shaking thinking about it. Thinking about what I want to do to him. How I want to drive him crazy, wild.

  Maintaining the locked gaze we share, I open my mouth and let my hot breath seep out over his even hotter flesh. Then I take him inside my mouth but only a little, and when I slide him out, I use my teeth as I do.

  That groan.

  His groan.

  All male. Sex. And need.

  It fills the room.

  And that’s when he presses his palms flat to the wall and I know I’m driving him crazy. I take a moment to lick at his inner thigh. The skin is soft, and when I press my teeth to his flesh, I nip hard enough to cause him to cry out, “Fuck.”

  My heart thunders in my chest.

  That word never sounded so good.

  With my tongue, I lick up the underside of his cock until I get back to the tip. There, I swirl and lick before I take just that part of him into my mouth and close around it. Adrien lets out another long, tortured groan and closes his eyes.

  I bring him further into the hot heat of my mouth and this time when I do, his head bends forward.

  I’m driving him wild.

  Me.

  Further in and then out with my teeth, I develop a rhythm, and when I take him a little more than halfway in, his body shivers.

  Me.

  I’m doing this to him.

  Using my hands, I move them up and down his shaft in time with my mouth, and his hips surge forward in demand, seeking, needing.

  Teasing him, I flick my tongue over his soft flesh lightly. My hands continue to move. And when I take him even further, his thigh muscles start to quiver.

  Continuing slowly, my movements are meant to be teasing, to test, and I have to say, I am surprised how long he holds out. It isn’t until I lick him from his base to his tip, and then swirl my tongue around his mushroom head that he opens his eyes and I clearly see the alpha in him emerging.

  Looking down at me with that intense blue stare, he licks his lips. “More. I need more.”

  Unable to resist his sexy demand, I take him all the way to the back of my throat and then suck him hard. I can feel how wet I am for him. So wet, I think I’m dripping for him.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, and then slides his fingers into my hair, twisting and tangling them and taking control, and now I’m the one at his mercy.

  Tremors roll through my body.

  “Fuck,” he says once more. “Oh, fuck, I love the way your sweet mouth feels wrapped around…I’m…I’m going to come.”

  A warning, but I don’t move or let him pull out. Instead, I use both of my hands to grip his hips and keep him in place as his hips jerk. It isn’t long before he cries out again. The sound he makes is desperate, urgent, needy, and so erotic.

  Electric sparks tingle in my legs and the feeling travels all the way down to my curling toes.

  His fingers tighten in my hair to the point of pain, but I ignore it. Then he lifts on his toes, pushing into me until I feel dizzy.

  The last of his release pumps into my mouth as he shatters while I’m on my knees. So good. So amazing. So right. Soon, his grip on my hair eases and his cock slides from my mouth.

  His eyes are filled with such lust when he reaches down with gentle hands to help me to my feet. “I think you’ve made it up to me now,” he smirks, all sex-filled face and deliciously messy hair.

  “Good,” I tell him around my own pants, “But you know, you weren’t exactly forthcoming either.”

  “True. Looks like I have some making up to do as well,” he tells me, his words hoarse.

  Bending down, he grabs his wallet from his pants and grabs a pack of condoms, and then he kisses me, hard and fast.

  Stepping forward, he eases me back. Step by step we go until my knees hit the mattress and I tumble back.

  Oh, God, yes.

  I search for a breath as he climbs on top of me and plants his hands on either side of my head.

  Hovering over me, we’re nose to nose, and I swear I can hear the beat of my heart, the pound, pound, pound of it as he lowers himself.

  Heat blooms in my belly and breasts, that secret place between my legs. When he dips to take one of my nipples in his mouth, it feels so good I let out a rapturous cry.

  Now my moans are filling the room.

  Placing one of my hands to the back of his head, I feel his soft dark locks on the ends of my fingers. When he suckles my nipple, my fingers tighten. He moves to the other side, and I pull his hair a bit more.

  As if I’m inciting him, he goes lower, lower still. Oh, God, yes. He devours me, takes his time with me, and then devours me some more. What might have been ten minutes could have ten hours or ten seconds.

  “I want you,” I whisper, as I look down at his dark head.

  Nodding, he lifts a bit and reaches for the condoms he tossed on the bed and rips one free with his teeth.

  His jaw is tight when he grabs his already hard again cock at the base and rolls the condom down his shaft.

  Up on his knees now, he leans down with one arm and nudges the thick head of his penis into my opening with the other, just a little. His breaths go ragged and I reach for him for
more, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

  His eyes find mine. “Are you ready?”

  I suck in a breath. “Yes.”

  The word crackles and sparks between us, and then he fills me with one solid thrust. I cry out and my legs shake against his strong thighs. As he pulls all the way out and then plunges all the way back in, I cry out his name.

  Adrien.

  Adrien.

  Adrien.

  “Tori,” he murmurs back. “You feel so good. Fuck, you feel so good.”

  After years of sex with the same man, with neither of us ever feeling that special spark, I can’t believe the number of sensations zipping through me. I never knew anything could feel this good.

  His hips slam into mine and he finds a grueling rhythm. In and out. Again and again.

  He’s not gentle. Then again, he knows I’m not made of glass. Just like in Paris, he fucks me, hard and wild. I don’t use that word often but there’s no other way to describe what he’s doing to me—what we’re doing to each other. He fucks me. Fucks me and fucks me until we are both drenched with sweat.

  “I can feel how close you are.” His voice is rough, desperate even, and a bit muffled. “I want you to come.”

  A cry leaks from my throat. Sparks of pleasure radiate from where we are joined and they run up and down my belly and thighs, down to my toes curling in the sheets.

  The corded muscles on his back bunch beneath my hands as he drops to his elbows. Taking my head in his hands, his fingers twist in my hair.

  Adrien is looking at me like I’m the only woman in his world and I find myself wanting that to be true. For this union to be about more than our countries. For it to be about us.

  A Princess’s country always comes first.

  Dropping his forehead to mine, he picks up his pace, snapping his hips like pistons. That intensity billowing between us, wrapping us up, making us one.

  Thunder and lightning.

  Crazy.

  Wild.

  On a strangled groan, he clutches me by the shoulders and his body goes rigid as he jerks and shakes. Gulping for air, he collapses on me. His chest presses to mine and I can feel the thump-thump of his heart.

  We lay this way for the longest time. When he rolls to the side, he pulls me onto his firm chest and whispers, “Don’t leave me again.”

  I tilt my chin up. “I’m not going anywhere, it’s you I’m worried about. We have a lot of work to do before I can present you to Parliament.”

  Those rough knuckles trail over my chin and down my neck. “Work, huh. Sounds like fun.”

  My hand goes to his face and I smooth my fingertips down his sexy jaw. “Not this kind of work.”

  “Then what kind of work?”

  Scooting on top of his fine body, I lick around his luscious mouth with my tongue. “Just a little polishing.”

  “Fuck,” he groans and this time when he takes my lips, he is exquisitely tender and sweet. So very sweet.

  TWEET-TWEET

  A tapping sound stirs me from my sluggish dream-like state of mind. I can’t believe I went all in like I did but fuck—she’s everything I ever wanted but had no idea I needed.

  She’s the whole package.

  Sweet.

  Innocent.

  Lively.

  Fun.

  Sexy as fuck.

  And the good we can do together is something I can’t pass up. Let anyone else have.

  I never met a woman I actually enjoyed spending time with out of the bedroom, even though our time in the bedroom is phenomenal and I can’t get seem to get enough.

  In fact, I’m still vividly recalling last night when I force myself to crack an eyelid open.

  Long dark hair and soft flesh is the first thing I see. Tori’s back is burrowed into the front of my body as we both lay on our sides.

  Pale light filters in through the large window in front of her, and I stare at all of her perfect.

  She’s so delicate. Feminine. And so damn beautiful it makes my balls ache just thinking about her. Holy fuck, my cousin is right, I’m obsessed with this woman. I guess what he doesn’t know yet is the woman who’s occupied my mind for days is also the heir to the throne of Alexandria.

  Motherfucking jackpot.

  I kiss her shoulder. “Good morning,” I murmur, allowing my lips to linger over her silky flesh.

  “Good morning,” she replies, dipping her head as heat creeps over her cheeks.

  “Tori,” I murmur, wondering what the blush is about. “Turn around, I want to see you.”

  Flipping to her back, I can see immediately what the tapping sound was that woke me. She has her phone in both hands and she’s on Twitter. My Twitter page. “You caught me.”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t take you for the social media stalker-type.”

  Her thumbs tap the screen. “I’m not, it’s just I wanted to know more about you.”

  I slide my hand up her taut belly, over her arm and then up to tangle in her hair before brushing my fingers over the curve of her cheek. “You can just ask me.”

  She kisses my thumb near her mouth and then resumes her vigilance over her phone. “Okay. Google says you’re a professional sailor and businessman.”

  That is true enough.

  “And from your Twitter page it looks like you’re very good at both.”

  Pulling the sheet down, I expose her naked breasts and slide my fingertips down in their direction. “I’d like think I’m better than good.”

  Her shiver doesn’t go unnoticed. “Well, yes, then perhaps great is a better way to put it.”

  The statement rumbles through my chest and warmth seeps into my blood, traveling through my entire body. “I’m great at a lot of things,” I tease.

  The corners of her mouth quirk up but she remains focused. “Last year it appears you spent a great deal of time at sea.” Raising the phone, she shows me what’s she’s looking at.

  TWITTER

  Motorsports @MS 1Aug 2017

  Congrats 2 Rolex Cup Winner and our former Scirocco Cup guest driver on the win #AdrienLaurent

  Racing World @RacingWorld 27 July 2017

  Amazing skills #RacingTour #AdrienLaurent #TeamEastwood #boat

  GabreilleGreinerModel @GabbyGrei 9 July 2017

  Had a blast watching the departure given by the Princely family’s boat Le Pacha III of the #EastwoodGlobeSeries courtesy of the @yachtclubeastwood. All the best to all the skippers and particularly to you @AdrienLaurent.

  SashaRomeModel @SashaR 29 May 2017

  Kickoff to the season went splendidly, especially with you there @AdrienLaurent.

  “What’s the GC33?” Tori asks, still looking at the wall of tweets.

  I lean down, pressing my mouth between her breasts. “The GC33 is a catamaran that allows sailors to experience the fastest style of sailing, and the racing tour is a five regatta circuit restricted to GC33 catamarans only.”

  She arches into my kiss, seeking more of my mouth. “Is it the same boat you were on yesterday?”

  I look up. “No, but it’s similar. You saw me yesterday?”

  Her nod is sheepish. “I wasn’t certain it was you at the time.”

  “Fuck, you were on Spencer’s boat when I breezed by him, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, and as soon as I discovered that was you onboard I told him I couldn’t take the interview any further.”

  “Good thing,” I mumble, ducking my head down to lathe one of her nipples. “I’d hate to have to duel over you.”

  She laughs. “A duel, that’s so noble of you.”

  “I’m a lot of things, but noble I’m not so sure about.”

  Her eyes are back on the screen. “Who are Sasha and Gabrielle, the models, to you?” Her voice is tight when she speaks.

  I glance up again. “You’re jealous?”

  Her brows are raised waiting for an answer and her puckered lips turn me on.

  “My Sweet Thing has a green streak and although I find it cute, t
hey were mere moments in my life that have way since ended.”

  “Hmm…”

  Ignoring her little fit, I kiss a line down to her belly. A soft moan escapes her throat and she quivers beneath my lips but she’s still stiff.

  “What else do you want to know?” I ask, my lips staying put.

  “Do you think you will be able to put all of this aside?”

  Again, I glance up. “Do you mean stop being a playboy?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I do. As well as the fact that you won’t be able to spend most of your days at sea when you take the throne.”

  Moving back up to the pillow, I rest my head on my elbow and glance down at her. “If you’re asking me if I’m willing to give up women, the answer is yes, for you I am. If you’re asking me if I’m willing to give up sailing, the answer is no, but I will reduce my time at sea significantly, for you. Besides, I told you last night, King Rutherford has banned me from the Eastwood fleet.”

  “Yes, you did, and I’m sorry for you about that.”

  “Don’t be. I was sick of being his show pony anyway.”

  After a few moments of silence, she says, “I know you won’t hurt me,” and then lowers her phone. “I trust you, Adrien. I do, and I’m not just saying that. It’s just it’s going to be hard for the both of us, but possibly harder for you more than me since we’ll be in Alexandria and not Eastwood.”

  “I have never cared what the press has to say,” I reassure her, and then reach for her phone. Scrolling to the Alexandria Monarchy Page on Twitter because I already know she doesn’t have her own page, I search for what I’m looking for.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Why don’t you have a Twitter account?” I ask, while scanning.

  “Oh, my father wouldn’t allow it.”

  “You might want to have Rachel open one for you so you can speak to the people directly.”

  “Good idea.”

  Finding the photos of her all blonde, buttoned up, and prim and proper, I show them to her. “When you return to Alexandria, are you going as the princess your father created?” I then slide the sheet completely from her body, “or are you going as you?”