Page 50 of Royal Rebel

“Do you?” She walks slowly toward me.

“Yeah.” I take a sip of my scotch, shaking the cubes of ice in it. “There are a million things I should be doing right now, and this isn’t one of them. My to-do list is a mile long.”

She has a seat next to me, I set the scotch down, almost sure I won’t be drinking it heavily now. “Mine is too, Tris. I have to contact the charities I’ve decided to work with, but I’d rather be here with you. When we get back to thepalace, there will be plenty of time for us to do what weshouldbe doing. Being here, we can do what wewantto do.”

There’s a spark in her brown eyes, one I’ve seen before and one that makes me sit slightly up and take notice. It’s a touch of desire and a handful of passion. It’s one she gives me when she’s feeling sure of herself and honest with what she wants. If asked what’s on her mind, I would say getting naked with me, and I’m all for that.

“Is that right, my queen?”

She laughs, throwing her head back, exposing her throat to me. “I’m not your queen yet.”

I scoot closer so we’re touching. “You’ve always been my queen.”

Her plump bottom lip goes between her teeth. “Have I?”

Realizing this might be one of the last times we can do something just for us, I take this opportunity for what it is. Leaning in, I cup her jaw in my hand. “Since I met you, Lia.”

The kiss is a slow seduction. One I’ve only ever had with her. I love the quick fall into passion, but taking our time is so much better. It allows me to savor her taste, feel her hands upon me, to mold her body into how I want it to be over me, or under mine. Our lips meet, our tongues mesh, we share breath as I ease her up and over my lap. Her thighs straddle me easily. This is where she belongs. In my arms, across my body.

We chase each other, not wanting to end the kiss. It isn’t until neither one of us can breathe that we break apart. We pant, glancing at one another. My hands immediately go to the hem of Amelia’s shirt, pulling it up and over. Off her body in one smooth motion. The bra she wears is something made of my wet dreams. Gray and black, with lace. It’s every damnthing I love about her femininity, but also leaves much to the imagination.

Reaching down, I push the lace edge of her bra down, exposing her to my gaze. The flesh puckers; even though I have the fire going the room is still slightly cool, evidenced by her reaction. When her nipples harden, my cock punches at the fly of my pants, begging to get out. The way my body reacts to her surprises me each and every time. She could lead me around by my cock and I would be perfectly happy.

My eyes flicker up to hers. I love the way hers are so expressive as she looks down at me. “You’re beautiful,” I whisper. The words seem so hollow, like they aren’t enough to explain how much she means to me.

“You’re handsome,” she whispers back.

Dipping my finger into my scotch, I do something I’ve wanted to do for a while. I lift it out, painting her nipple with the fluid, before leaning forward and taking it into my mouth. Lia moans deep in her throat, making a noise I’ve never heard before. One that makes me hard, and I want to hear again. Pulling my lips back from her peak, I shift my eyes up, whispering. “You like that?”

Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging me back to where I was. “Mmm hmmm,” she breathes, her chest heaving. “Do it again.” Her voice is soft, her eyes are closed. Almost as if she can’t make the demand while looking at me.

I’m nothing if not a follower of requests. I do the same thing again, this time she squirms against my lap, knocking against my hard-on. A groan is ripped from my throat, I want nothing more than to reach down, pull it out, and rub flesh against flesh, but this is about her. If anyone had to describe me before this moment, they would say I’m a selfish bastard. For her, though? For her, I’ll give everything. I’ll give it all tomake sure she feels good. Her feeling good is all I live for in this moment. Finally this only child has learned to share.

“Tristan.” Her voice is breathless, full of desire and passion.

“Lia?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

With all the strength I have, I put the glass of scotch down, wrap my arms around her, and turn us over on the couch before situating myself between her thighs. This. This right here. It’s my favorite place to be. In the cradle of her thighs I feel at home. A home like I’ve never known before. She welcomes me the way I need to be welcomed. With open arms and trust. It’s the trust no one else has been able to give me. Everyone thinks I’m after something, or watching what others are doing so I can report back to my father. That’s not it, though. It’s never been it. I’ve always been just me, and she accepts it. She accepts me for me, and that is the greatest love of all.

She’s thrusting into me, and I’m grinding into her. We’re fighting each other’s hands as we try to get rid of our clothing. It’s all some hazy, lazy dream sequence in my head as I finally seat myself home inside her. We both groan, my fingers tangle with hers lifting them up and over her head. We’re splayed out against each other, every single part of our bodies touching as we slip and slide. Sweat coating us, making it easier for us to glide.

I’m taking this all in, experiencing every moment, breathing her in as we thrust against each other. Some people are never lucky enough to have this kind of connection in their lives, and here I am. This woman was chosen for me, was destined to be mine from the beginning of time.How much luckier can I get? I don’t need to be lucky anymore, not with her at my side.

We’re not in a rush, and this time, it’s different. So much more different than it’s ever been before. I feel like so much of our lives is rushing toward a conclusion. The marriage, the monarchy. We haven’t had time to experience things on our own, we haven’t been able to enjoy as much as we should have been. This, this moment, as I grip her fingers with mine. This is ours.

No one else can touch it.

CHAPTER 30

AMELIA

My heart is pounding, my stomach is turning, and my hands are shaking. Even more than they were the day I met Tristan; if that’s even possible. At the time I hadn’t thought it was, but I’m proving myself wrong.

Tristan reaches over, grabbing my hand in his. “My palms are sweaty,” I whisper, hoping he doesn’t let go, but also kind of not wanting him to grab my hand. Aren’t sweaty palms gross?

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