“No questions,” he reminds me, kneeling in front of me and peeling off my shirt.
“Are we still pretending we’re not breaking our rules for each other?”
“First we fuck,” he says, unhooking my bra and pulling it off, tossing it aside before wrapping his arms around me and laying me down, fitting his body on top of mine. “Then we talk.”
He rubs his nose over mine, smiling down at me. I don’t forget the question, but I don’t fight him for an answer. He’s told me lots of stuff already. By now I know that pushing him only makes him clam up, so I shed the rest of my clothes and help with his. The best way is to let him tell me what he wants, when he wants. He tells me things every time, personal stuff about his sister and his family. It’s not anything I can use, but I relish each reveal as he gives them to me, doling them out like tiny gifts he’s trusting me with day by day, pieces of himself. I collect them like treasures, filling in one blank space at a time in the giant mystery that is Royal Dolce.
But now, I just let myself have him, the pleasure, the pain, the panic-inducing sensation of falling that happens when we’re together and I know my body is not the only thing getting royally fucked. Before Royal, I never let go, never lived in the moment. I remember how strange it felt on Halloween, the first time I did it, when he took me for a ride in his racecar. Now, I do it every time we’re together, losing myself to the moment, to him. It’s freeing and terrifying and addictive, like everything about him.
When we’re both satisfied, we collapse into a sweaty pile, our limbs tangled, my hair in both our mouths, the blanket askew under us, so Royal’s halfway lying on the dirt and rocks. I hold onto him, not wanting to pull apart too soon. I like the way he feels inside me, even after we’ve both cum. I lay my head on his chest, listening to the loud hammering of his heart, relishing how alive he is.
“That was… Stupendous, as always,” I say at last, pressing my lips to his chest, trying not to look at his sister’s eyes that stare up at me from the tattoo that covers one of his entire massive pecs.
“Stupendous, huh?” Royal says, turning his face to tug a lock of my hair from his mouth.
“I’ve used up all the other good words the last few times,” I say. “I’m trying to stay fresh here.”
“I don’t think you need to come up with fresh words for sex,” he says. “It’s sex. Everyone knows how good it feels.”
“Not everyone,” I say, gathering my hair over one shoulder so it’s out of our faces. “And not everyone knows how this feels.”
Royal cocks a brow, his hands settling on my hips. “And what’s this?”
“More than sex,” I say. “And you know it.”
For a second, I search his dark eyes, hoping he’ll admit something, that he’ll be as vulnerable as I’m being. But after a moment, he sits up, gently lifting me off him. “Let me fix the blanket,” he says, turning to lay it out again before settling onto it.
There’s not a trace of self-consciousness in him as he lays there without a stitch of clothes on his glorious body. I swallow hard, trying not to salivate when I take him in, every inch of his body long and thick and chiseled with muscle like a sculpture of the perfect man.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head?” he asks, snagging my hand and pulling me back to him. I settle onto him, stretching my little body along his big one.
“I was just admiring your perfection,” I say lightly. “Physically, anyway. Your head’s another story.”
He cracks a little smile. “Makes it easy to do this, hard to do more.”
He doesn’t deny it, though. He’s so comfortable in his skin, so confident. I’m not usually insecure about my body, but I know it’s not what most guys would call perfect. Next to him, it’s hard not to feel inadequate.
“Do you want more?” I ask.
He’s quiet a long moment. “Nah,” he says at last. “You’re pretty fucking perfect for this, too, Cherry. I don’t need more.”
“Not even in the boobs department?” I ask, raising my brows and smiling to hide my insecurity, knowing I’m opening myself up to be cut down.
He chuckles and lifts a hand to stroke my nipple. It hardens obediently against the pad of his thumb, and he closes his eyes and rocks his hips up against mine. “Not even anywhere,” he says. “Every single thing about you makes me fucking insane, Harper Apple.”
“Ditto,” I say, kissing his chest again. I know it’s good that he doesn’t want more. I’m not sure I could say no if he did. I’m already gone. I let myself fall, and there’s no going back. The only way out is through the pain that I know is inevitable. But each time we’re together, I put it off a little longer. It’s too good to waste, to end things so I don’t get hurt worse. I’m already going to be eviscerated by it. I might as well enjoy what comes before that as much as I can.
Royal pulls the edges of the blanket up, closing them around us, so we’re wrapped in a blanket burrito. It’s a warmer day, but it’s still winter, and the evening air carries a damp chill. “So, you gonna tell me why this is your hookup spot now?” I ask, cuddling against his broad chest.
“No questions.”
For a minute, we don’t speak. I listen to his heartbeat under my ear, then lay a palm on his chest and rest my chin on the back of my hand. “I lost my virginity under a bridge,” I say. “Not this one. It was in town.”
Royal’s muscles twitch under me. “Maverick?” he grinds out, like the name is physically painful to utter.
“Nah,” I say. “Just some asshole. He told the whole team I was easy, and pretty soon, everyone in school thought I was a slut, even though I’d only done it once. That’s what happens when you’re a girl who gives it up before high school.”
“How old were you?”