“I know, Leah. But you can trust me.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my palm. A simple gesture, but one of the most intimate things anyone’s ever done to me. The softness of his lips, the reverence in his eyes… something is happening here. I feel it again in my stomach, the seismic shift of fate.
I swallow. “What happens now?”
“Now, you are safe. We will wait out the storm.”
Whether he means the snow storm outside, or some metaphorical mafia war, I don’t know.
I’m in over my head. This is nuts, but I don’t want to step away from Royal. Ever.
Do you believe in fate?
He touches my face with just the tips of his fingers, and brushes his lips over mine again. A light, feathery kiss. When he draws back, his eyes are twin pools of darkness.
“Bella,” he breathes, and kisses me again. “You taste so sweet.”
His touch turns my thoughts upside down. His lips are like a shot of Strega, warming me. I sway on my feet, gasping.Why would he kiss me? What would he see in me?I try to turn my head, and his fingers tighten on my chin. “No, open for me.” He tilts my head and I let him guide me into a deeper kiss.
My thoughts tumble out of my mind. Who cares why someone as beautiful as this man is kissing little ‘ol me? I’m going to enjoy the moment before he changes his mind.
I surge to my tiptoes and kiss him back. My breasts smash against his chest. I’m clumsy but eager, and Royal seems toenjoy it. He steadies me with hands on my hips, then angles his head, guiding the kiss so our mouths slant across each other, allowing his tongue to probe deeper. The move penetrates the very core of me.
When the kiss ends, I’m shaking, and wet. Royal’s hair is disheveled—I may have dug my fingers into it in the throes of the kiss, but he’s otherwise as put together as usual, while I’m shaky and flushed.
“Wow.” My voice is slurred; I sound drunk.
He chuckles and swipes a thumb over my lips. “I want to taste you, princess,” he says. “Will you allow me to do that?”
“Yes,” I say slowly.
He scoops me up—I love how easily he picks me up—and marches through a vast dining room, into a dark inner room lined with bookshelves and wood paneling, where he sets me down on an overstuffed armchair. Seating himself on the footstool, he draws off my ugly boots.
“Your feet are cold,” he tuts. His big hands swallow my foot, massaging, warming. My thoughts roll through a slow lazy loop. I can’t believe I’m in amansionwiththe most beautiful man I’ve ever metand he’s giving me afoot massage.Is this a dream?
He leans in to kiss me again and I meet his lips eagerly. His tongue sweeps inside my mouth and my pussy clenches. He’s taking more than just a taste.
When he breaks the kiss, we’re both panting. “You smell like gingerbread,” he murmurs. His knuckles brush the swell of my breasts and my back arches, my body begging for more.
“Mia ziamade them,” he continues, softly swirling his knuckles around my nipple. Even through the fabric of my sweater, the light touch makes me ache. “The cookies of my youth. She kept tubs of them on her stairs, and before guests left, she'd put together a tin to take with them.Biscotti,caramelle…”
Visions of cookies dance in my head as Royal pushes up my sweater along with my thin cameo shirt. My pink bralette barely holds back my breasts.
“Yes,” he breathes. “I need a taste.”
I shiver, and he pauses. “Are you cold?”
I shake my head. I'm not cold. Heat crackles under my skin.
He reaches for a remote beside me and points it at the fireplace in the corner. A click of the button, and the gas-fed flames dance over the white stones.
Royal returns to me, pulling off my top layers to bare my bralette. His hands skim along the sides of my breasts. His thumb circles my nipple and tugs the lace edge of my bralette down. He bends his dark head and his hot breath warms my areola. My head falls back. His tongue flicks my nipple, alternating with his finger too. There's a slight pinch as he sets his teeth around my nipple, and tugs. My whole body is rising and falling, riding the waves of sensation.
His hands find my hips and peel down my black leggings. The move pulls me down with it. My back’s on the seat chair, my hair spread out in a dark halo around my face. When I look down, Royal is kneeling between my legs. His long, elegant fingers tug but my leggings are stuck.
“Do you like these?” he asks.
I shake my head, trying to lift my bottom to help him. Instead of tugging again, he rips the seam. The fabric tears under his hands and he tosses the shreds away. My yoga pants were cheap, but damn. It’s the first time I’ve seen Royal anything but perfectly controlled.
Now my pussy is within his reach, protected only by a pair of panties with pink cupcakes on them. He studies it like I’m an espresso machine he’s about to take apart and put back together. Like he’s mapping out the ways to make me purr.
