Royally Screwed

Dinner’s going to have to wait.

Looking into her eyes, hearing the needy little puffs of breath that slip out between her glistening lips, I know for certain—we’ll never make it that long.

Then there’s a noise from the other room and Olivia jumps. Almost as if she’d been caught doing something naughty. She’s all too aware of the security team’s presence.

And that just won’t do.

“Logan,” I call, not taking my eyes off of her.

He pokes his head through the door. “Yes, Sir?”

“Go away.”

There’s a brief pause. And then, “Aye. Me and James and Tommy’ll be down in the lobby and by the lift—to be sure no one comes up.”

We wait, staring at each other…and when the elevator pings, proving that we are finally, perfectly, blessedly alone, it’s like the starting shot of a marathon.

We move at the same time—Olivia springs forward and I pull her into my arms. Hands grasping, legs wrapping, mouths clashing. She squeezes my waist with her thighs and my palms flex against the taut swell of her arse. My teeth nip at those gorgeous fucking lips, scraping gently, before covering her mouth in a searing, wet kiss.

Yes, yes, this is it. It’s everything I’ve been fantasizing about—only better.

Olivia’s mouth is hot and wet and tastes like sweet grapes against my tongue. She moans into my mouth—a sound I could easily get drunk on.

I move us to the kitchen table, knocking over a chair. I perch her on the end, both of us breathing hard and heavy.

“I want you,” I rasp. Just in case that isn’t clear.

Her eyes are bright and manic—caught up in the same tsunami of sensation that grips me.

She tears the gray flannel from her arms.

“Have me.”

Christ, this bold, daring girl—I adore her.

Olivia’s pale arms wrap around my neck as we clash back together, kissing and grasping. I pull her hips forward to the edge of the table, grinding my erection that’s hard as stone between her open, denim-covered legs. My hand dives through her soft hair, cupping the back of her head, holding her still so I can take and take from her mouth.

She moans again, sweet and long, and the sound pushes me right to the edge, making me shaky with want for her.

Then with her legs wrapped tight around my waist, she pushes against my shoulders, forcing me back, breaking our kiss. I catch her drift when she jerks at the hem of my shirt and I help her out—pulling it over my head. Her dark, enchanting blue eyes go wide as she takes in my bare torso, running smooth, petal-soft hands across my shoulders, over my chest, down through the grooves of my abdomen.

“Jesus,” she breathes out softly, “you are so fucking…hot.”

And I laugh. I can’t help it. Though I’ve heard such compliments before, there’s a wonder in her voice, an awe, that’s just too adorable. The chuckle still rumbles in my chest when I skim her tank top up and over her head. But I stop abruptly when I glimpse Olivia’s breasts, covered in nothing but innocent white lace.

Because they are seriously, beautifully perfect.

I lean back in, my hips circling and grinding, lips skimming over her delicate shoulder to her neck—pausing to suck hard over her pulse, making her gasp. My teeth scrape the shell of her ear.

“I want to kiss you, Olivia.”

She giggles, kneading my back. “You are kissing me.”

I slide my hand between us, between her legs, rubbing where she’s already hot and aching.

“Here. I want to kiss you here.”

She goes languid in my arms, her head lolling, so my mouth can roam free.

“Oh,” she moans on a breath, “oh, oh…kay.”

I’ve pictured fucking her on the coffee shop tables a dozen times, but this kitchen table isn’t cutting it. I need more room. And I want only softness and silk touching her back while I eat her.

In one move I scoop Olivia up and toss her over my shoulder, caveman style, heading for the bedroom. She squeals and laughs and squeezes my arse as I walk down the hall. I give hers a playful smack in return.

She lands in the center of the large bed with her eyes shining, her lips smiling, and her cheeks flushed. I stand at the edge of the bed and beckon her forward with my hand.

“Come here.”

She rises to her knees and comes closer, but ducks her head when I try to kiss her—trailing her lips over my chest instead, in a dozen soft, worshipful pecks that turn my blood to fire. I cup her face in my hands, guiding her up to meet me.

And then I kiss her, slowly. Deeply.

And the teasing play, the joking spirit that surrounded us, dissipates, replaced by something more powerful. Urgent and primal. Olivia’s mouth never leaves mine as my hands wander their way behind her back, releasing the clasp of her bra. I skim the straps down her arms and cup her soft, full breasts in my hands.

My thumbs drift back and forth over her nipples—hardening them to two dusty-rose peaks. She sucks on my neck and bites at my earlobe—getting rougher with desperation—and then I dip my head and my mouth takes the place of my thumbs.

I suck her in long, slow drags and quick flicks of my tongue. Olivia’s spine arches, trying to get closer, and her nails sink into the skin of my shoulder blades—leaving half-moons I’ll relish tomorrow. I move to her other breast, blowing first, taunting her just a bit, until she yanks my hair. My mouth suctions harder, bringing teeth into play, pressing against the tantalizing flesh.

When Olivia’s hips begin to move in searching, seeking circles and frenzied, grunting gasps come from her throat, I lift my head from her sweet tit and guide her onto her back.