“Shhh,” he hissed, his breath whiskey-sour against her ear. “Flatmates’ll murder me if they hear us.”
Allegra snorted. Flatmates. Back in Valenstadt, an entire palace wing was gathering dust while she tiptoed through a room that smelled of unwashed socks. But hey, she’d wanted to do normal twenty-something-year-old stuff, right?
Liam shoved the door closed with his heel and pressed her against the wall. The room was a chaotic mess. Laundry spilled across the floor, dumbbells, and protein tubs crowded the corners, a half-empty shaker leaned against a stack of books. Dim yellow light from a lamp cast shadows over an unmade bed.
“Ta-da,” Liam whisper-shouted, “we made it.”
Allegra squinted. Ta-da? What didwemake? But his mouth was on hers—sloppy and eager, one hand sliding under her top as if rehearsing the moment in the mirror for weeks, which, okay, was kind of hot.
She pushed up on her toes, her arm snaking around his back. Was she drunk? Oh, sure. But determined. Her shoes clattered to the floor, forgotten. A tiny voice in her head squeaked a protest:This is ridiculous. If the press find out…IGNORED.
“Aiee!” Liam hoisted her off the floor, twirled her, and landed her on the bed with a whump. He loomed over her, his shirtunbuttoned enough to reveal a patch of chest hair that was impressively manly or alarmingly Neanderthal.
Things progressed in a haze of flailing limbs and discarded clothing—his belt buckle smacking against the lamp, her panties tangled around one ankle, Liam muttering, “Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” like he’d just solved the mystery of the universe. Then he was on top of her, his body heavy, his mouth on her neck as she hooked her legs around his waist, heels digging into bare thighs.
“Liam,” she gasped, feeling his cock prod against her stomach. “Condom. Now.”
He fumbled with the drawer on the nightstand, wrestling with the condom packet. “Shit, wait, fuck,” he muttered, brow furrowed. She snatched it from him, and he shifted onto his side, watching with heavy-lidded anticipation as she tore it open and rolled it on. The moment she finished, his hands were back, pulling her toward him.
“Ready, Bella?”
“Ella,” she corrected, rolling her eyes. “Not Bella. Ella.”
He offered a sheepish shrug, notched his cock against her and shunted. And oh—it was… okay-ish. Definitely no swelling soundtrack. No fireworks behind her eyes. But given her brain was currently marinating in a vat of wine, maybecould be worsewas the best-case scenario.
Allegra clung to his shoulders, nails digging in as she tried to focus on the sensation and not the fact the room was spinning like a carnival ride. Liam, however, was having the time of his life. “Fuck, yeah,” he grunted, his accent thickening with every thrust, his hands gripping her until his knuckles turned white.
Allegra bit her lip to stifle a squeak—part pleasure, partyou need some encouragement—just as the bed let out an ominous creak. Liam froze. “Shite,” he hissed.
They both held their breath, listening.
Nothing.
Liam exhaled in relief. He grinned down at her, glassy-eyed. “Your turn, darlin’.” One second she was underneath. Next, she was astride him, knees burrowing into the mattress. Allegra rolled her hips experimentally. Okay, this could work. She found a rhythm, Liam’s head lolling against the pillows. “Fuck, this is hot,” he huffed, like they’d just invented sex itself.
She leaned forward, bracing her hands against his chest, her fingers splaying over the soft curls of hair. His skin was warm, slick with sweat, his heartbeat thudding beneath her palm. She could feel the way his breath shortened as she picked up the pace, her hips pumping into him. Faster. Harder. The bed creaked again in protest.
“Christ!” Liam roared, his entire body locked up beneath her, muscles tensing like a drawn bowstring. His fingers gouged into her hips, short nails biting hard. A guttural sound tore from his throat, and he arched off the bed, thighs trembling. Just as suddenly, he collapsed against the sheets, his entire body going slack.
“Liam?”
His eyes were closed. His mouth open, one cheek smashed into the pillow. His hands, which seconds ago had been gripping her like his life depended on it, now lay limp at his sides, one of them twitching. A soft, rhythmic snore escaped him.
“Hey. Liam.” She tapped his shoulder. Nothing. Not even a flinch. She poked him harder. “Liam, you dick.”
Silence. Except for the snoring.
She stared at him for a long second, then laughed. Short, incredulous, and edged with disbelief.
Figures.
***
Allegra cracked one eye open, slammed it shut, opened it again to confirm the horror, and whimpered. The ceiling: unknown. The room: unknown. Her state: throbbing skull, desert-dry mouth, and—her hand skimmed over her chest and stomach—not a scrap of clothing.
She rolled onto her side and banged into a shoulder. “Ow. Huh?”Oh, right. The cute Irish guy. Also nude, and sprawled across the bed, one arm dangling off the mattress, snuffling like he’d won the lottery of sleep. “Jesus,” she grunted, propping up on an elbow. Last night came back in flashes. Music. An alarming amount of rosé. And then, well,that.
She slid out of bed, wincing as her knees cracked. First mission: garbs. Her panties were located, clinging to the lamp like a desperate koala. She yanked them free and wiggled them on. Her bra stretched over the headboard. She pulled it up her arms and fastened the clasp. Shorts: easy, lying on a tub of protein powder. Her top was where her luck ran out.
