He scowls at me, suspicion clouding his eyes that a moment ago were so full of wanting, ofme.
Now I’m the one who wants to kill whoever’s interrupting.
Royal swings his legs off the bed and stands, grabbing my gun and tucking it into the back of his pants. Then he turns back. “Stay here,” he says, his eyes softening as he leans down to kiss me. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move a muscle. I want to imagine you lying here all wet and ready for me to devour when I get back.”
“Then hurry,” I whisper, grabbing the front of his shirt and kissing him hard.
“And don’t you dare touch yourself, my dirty little whore,” he says, gripping my hand and staring down at me, his dominating command pinning me flat. “Your cum is mine tonight,bella mia. I’m going to drink every drop, so don’t even think about wasting it while I’m gone. If I come back and you’ve moved, you won’t get fucked until I get back from New York. Got it?”
I nod, and he kisses me quickly before standing and leaving the room.
I squeeze my knees together, cursing his bossy ass. I hear the door open and close, and then the muffled shouting of the guy outside. There’s a short silence, and then an engine starts up.
Royal better have fucking sent him away, because I’m not lying here all night waiting for him to come back. I wait about five minutes before I yell for him. Then a sick feeling grips me. What if the guy had a gun, too? What if he shot Royal?
I lurch up from the bed and run to the front door. There’s no sign of Royal outside, which is a relief, since part of me expected to see his body lying there. Still, they could have dragged him away, thrown him in their truck…
His car is still parked outside.
I run back to my room and call him, my heart hammering.
“Are you where I left you?” he asks without bothering to say hello.
“Yes,” I say, sinking back onto the bed.
“Good,” he says. “This will take a few minutes, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep my dessert warm.”
He hangs up before I can say anything. Well, at least I know the asshole’s okay. I imagine him sitting in the car with whoever came knocking, saying those words to me, and I squeeze my knees together. I’m so aroused it fucking hurts. If guys get blue balls, I’ve got blue clit.
I go check the front door to make sure it’s locked, then turn off the light and crawl into bed to wait.
I wake to the sensation of my skirt being pushed up.
“Royal?” I mumble in the dark. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, and I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping. My mind is groggy and slow. His fingers hook into my panties, pulling them down my thighs. He tosses them aside and pushes my knees open, spreading my lips with his fingers and blowing gently on my warm flesh. I shiver, and he chuckles and leans in, licking my clit with soft little strokes.
I moan sleepily and let my knees fall open, letting him have me. I can hear the wet sounds of his tongue lapping at me, coaxing me higher, until I’m gasping for breath. He slides a finger into me, pushing against just the right spot as his tongue slows, languidly stroking me from my entrance to my clit. When he pumps his fingers, I can hear how wet I am, the only sound in the darkness. He moans, sucking gently at my clit, and I bury my hands in his hair, his name falling from my lips as I rush over the edge.
He moans and licks me a few more times until the pulses going through me subside. Then he slides his finger out and collapses beside me, pulling me into his arms.
“Where’d you go?” I ask, snuggling into his chest.
“I had some business to take care of before I leave for New York,” he says.
“What kind of business?”
“The kind that makes sure you’ll be safe staying here since you can’t be at my house with my father while I’m gone.”
“What time is it?” I ask, throwing my leg over his hip. “Do we have time for more?”
“It’s almost morning,” he says, sliding his hand over my ass, his fingers moving down my crack before finding my slippery opening. “I have to get to the airport, but I can water this thirsty little cunt one more time before I go.”
I moan and rock against him. “Turn on the light,” I say.
I want to see my beautiful man while he fucks me, to see my own face staring back at me from the tattoo that says he loves me more than words ever could. He switches on the lamp before rolling back, flipping me onto my back and sliding on top of me. His face is bruised, and I see traces of blood on his split lip and inside his nose, and I know he fought. He’s wearing only an undershirt instead of the dress shirt he wore before he left, and there are flecks of blood on that, too.
I don’t ask questions. I know I’m fucking a dangerous man, that I’m letting him inside my body and soul. But it’s too late for me. He’s already a part of me, the part that beats in my chest for him, that swells like a wave in the ocean he delivered to me on that beach, that fills me with a warmth that makes tears wet my lashes.
As he moves inside me, our eyes locked together as he claims me one powerful motion at a time, I think maybe this will be the night I can tell him. That maybe he’ll say it.