His voice is soft, laced with so much emotion I can’t begin to untangle it. All I know is that it breaks my heart. That he said please, and that he was sorry he hurt me. Maybe it will never mean what I want, but it means something. When he pulls at my hand, I relent. He leads me back to his room without a word, pushes the door closed with his foot, and locks it behind us. The light from the bathroom spills out into the room, and when our eyes meet, he steps forward, sliding a hand under my ear to cradle my head. “Harper, I…”
A loud thud comes from downstairs, maybe the front door slamming, and his gaze flicks in that direction before returning to mine.
“What?” I whisper, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs. I need him to give me something, just once, after what just happened. I need him to give me a reason to stay.
“I—I’ll get something to clean you up,” he says. “Get undressed.”
He turns and ducks into the bathroom, leaving me standing there with my mind spinning. I hear the water running, and a second later, he reappears with a cloth balled in his hand. He takes my hand and leads me to the bed, pulling back the blankets and pushing me gently onto the cool, white sheets. I don’t protest. I feel numb, and my limbs are shaking as he pushes me back on the bed and lifts my legs onto it. I don’t know how I’m going to endure sex right now, but I can’t seem to formulate the right thing to say. If I open my mouth, I’ll cry.
He pulls off my jeans, dropping them to the floor. My legs shake harder, but he doesn’t give me a blanket. He kneels and spreads my knees, pressing the warm washcloth between them. I suck in a breath, the water stinging the torn and tender flesh. He cleans me up, then looks at the cloth. “Are you sure you’ve had sex before?”
“If what we just did was it, then yes, I’ve done it before,” I say, defensive at being interrogated for his fuck up.
“Like that?” he asks, his gaze falling on mine.
“More or less,” I say, shrugging and looking away.
“How many times?”
“A few,” I say. I could ask him the same, but I’m not that stupid. I know I don’t want the answer.
“Do you always bleed?” he asks, setting the washcloth on the bedside table.
“No,” I say, scooting up to sit against the pillows and watch him. God, he’s beautiful, every inch of his body chiseled to perfection as if carved out of marble by one of the great artists. I focus on the sight of his godlike body so I don’t have to think about the fact that I’m bare from the waist down while he’s still wearing pants. “A couple times, when I wasn’t ready, or it had been a long time since… The last time.”
He moves forward and reaches for my shirt. “Do you ever cum?”
“No,” I admit, letting him pull off my shirt. “I mean, yeah, but not during.”
He nods, reaching behind me and unhooking my bra with no more effort than I’d put in. “From oral?”
I swallow hard, dropping my gaze to the front of his pants. He’s got me naked on the bed, and he’s not even hard. Maybe I was wrong about having the same effect on him. My own heart is racing in my chest, and pressure builds between my legs in anticipation and fear while his eyes move down my body. My nipples harden under his gaze, and hunger builds as he continues to drink me in with his eyes, lingering on the tattoos on my thigh.
“I haven’t… I’ve only given it,” I say. I don’t want to tell him the truth, that having someone so close to my center makes me more vulnerable than I want to be. So I deflect. “I take care of myself.”
“Tonight, I’m going to take care of you,” he says, sliding down the bed in one smooth motion.
“Royal, wait,” I protest, but he’s between my legs, pushing them wider. I don’t want him down there, seeing me, smelling me. He hates the way I smell, and even though I showered earlier, I’m still self-conscious. No one’s ever been down there, looking at my cunt spread open like a sacrifice. I squirm, but he slides his arms under my legs, wrapping them around my thighs from below. He grips me right in the crease of my hips, spreading my thighs at the very top. He lifts his gaze to mine, and there’s nothing empty in his eyes now. They’re brimming with heat, with desire.
“I thought you didn’t eat pussy,” I whisper, my thighs shaking in his hands.
“This isn’t pussy,” he says. “It’s you.”
He drops lower, and I grab his shoulders, suddenly more terrified of this vulnerability than of an angry Royal. I’d rather him fuck me again, no matter how much it hurts, than have him make me vulnerable like this.
“You don’t have to—” My voice catches, breaking off as a shock of pure, erotic bliss rocks through me when his mouth touches me. His warm, wet tongue slowly strokes my clit, and all reason leaves me. All that’s left is the painfully exquisite sensation of his skilled, hungry mouth against my bare flesh.
My fingers tangle in his hair, and with whatever bit of brainpower that remains to me, I try to pull him away because it’s too intimate, too much, and this is Royal Fucking Dolce, my enemy to the death.
“Just relax,” he murmurs, kissing me gently. “Let me make you as crazy as you make me.”
Without waiting for an answer, he dips lower again, letting out a sound that’s half sigh, half moan as his tongue slips between my lips, toward my entrance.
“Don’t,” I breathe, but I barely hear the sound because I’m melting, weakening, as his lips and tongue and breath combine forces, overwhelming me. I drop my head back on the pillows, gripping his hair as if it can anchor me to this world even as his mouth moves against me like magic. He explores me slowly at first, tasting and sucking, his teeth nibbling gently at me, his tongue stroking me until I can’t breathe, and my hips start jerking involuntarily against his mouth.
He grips my thighs harder, his fingers cutting into my flesh, holding me still while his tongue moves faster. I let out a soft cry when his rough tongue breaches my opening, rasping against the raw, broken skin. But his mouth is wet, and I’m wet, and soon the burning sensation is too entwined with the swirling pleasure to tell where one ends and the other begins.
“Royal,” I gasp. “Stop, it’s too much, I can’t—”