Page 32 of Royally Ruined

It was a reminder of our predicament. Costello half bent and slid the weapon under the bed. He didn’t want to think about the gun. Didn’t want me to think about it, either.

“Wait,” I said, inching forward as he began to unbutton his vest. His questioning stare melted when I began plucking at the hard little disks. Every button I freed sent a ripple between my thighs.

The vest drifted to the carpet. Next I peeled his long-sleeved shirt away. It came apart down the middle, a butterfly opening its wings. I’d seen him naked from the waist up before. It wasn’t any less breathtaking the second time. In that old motel I’d been teased by the vision of him—denied access. But not now, not anymore.

Costello hadn’t moved. He still didn’t, as if he was curious to see what I would do next. My hand shook when I rested it on his chest. His ribs shifted with an intake of air—so sudden and raspy. The first he’d taken; he’d been holding his breath as I’d been holding mine.

His heart beat a drum line under my palm.

“Wow,” I whispered.

“Are you shocked I have a heart?”

My eyes flashed upward. “No. Just that it’s beating as fast as mine.”

The corners of his mouth tightened, and his fingers did the same when they closed on mine. “Go on,” he urged. “Take off my belt.”

Slipping the leather through the loops, I worked it free from his hips. The front of his pants was tented from his erection. The sight of it stole the last of the saliva from my mouth. This was the reality of his desires: he wanted me, and there was no way for him to disguise it.

I touched the zipper and he groaned. “Hurry,” he said, all husky. “You have no idea how challenging it is to stand here and wait.”

He was wrong. I knew how hard it was because I was suffering just the same way.

Heat spread up my back, then down toward my belly—beyond. Rolling my hips became a compulsion. Under my palm, his cock flexed through the cloth.He’s huge, Christ.I was one big heartbeat as I pulled his pants and boxers down his slim hips.

His length bounced into the light, defying gravity as it bobbed heavily. Goose bumps moved up my arms. Wrapping his girth in my fingers, I squeezed lightly; Costello groaned. His cock flexed in my hand, massive and warm and impatient as any of us.

I enveloped him with my lips. All the taste buds on my tongue were shocked awake. Costello tasted the way I’d hoped: sweet, tangy, unforgettable. His musk made me dizzy. So did trying to get him deeper in my throat.

Then his fingertips brushed my jaw. I glanced up, saw he was watching me like I was the most fascinating thing in our whole corner of the universe. He massaged my cheeks, my jugular, the bit of muscle just behind my ears. Every time he sighed it swam through his skin and into me.

Such tenderness left me floating in a pool of seduction. How could a man with so many scars be so caring? But I knew there was still fire hidden in him; it peeked through behind his pale blue eyes. It turned them into steaming salt water, scalding me until I shrank under his hard touch while his shaft buried itself in my mouth.

Costello coiled his grip in my hair and tugged, forcing me away. “Enough,” he said. I gasped for air, spots in my eyes. I’d been so swept up in tasting him that I’d forgotten to let my lungs do their job. “If you keep that up, I’ll finish in your mouth. That’s not where I want to do it.”

Wiping at my numb lips, I tried to focus on him. It was a chore with his shiny, thick cock hanging near my cheek. “Everything feels so hot,” I whispered. I ran a palm down my stomach, hovering over the joining of my thighs; I pushed them together and thrilled at the pressure. “I can’t keep waiting. Why are you going so slow, are you scared I’ll run if you just do what you want?”

Costello’s hand fell away from me. “That’s what you think. That I’m going slow out of fear.”

“I’m not scared of you, Costello. And I’m not going to run. Just let go, it’s okay.”

He knelt in front of me at the foot of the bed. He cupped my knees, and his long fingers trailed over my skin. When he got to my hip, to the fabric of my cotton panties, he stopped. “It’s funny. You think, after going this far, that I’d let you run. As if it’s even possible.” Kissing my knee, he lifted my tiny hairs in a prickle. His eyes were black beneath his eyelashes. “Scotch ... I warned you. Your chance to run was before we came in here.”

My blood rippled faster. I clutched the blankets, but that wasn’t enough to keep me from being yanked against his face. “Costello!” I gasped. He’d spread my legs, settling between them while he buried his palms in my ass.

“I need to eat you out,” he growled against the front of my soaked panties. “I have to know how you taste.” Expertly he slid my underwear down my legs, lifting my calves over his head. When they tangled at my ankles, he wrapped them tighter, trapping my feet by his ears.

Gliding forward, he parted his lips an inch from my pulsing clit. Heat burst through my body. Tensing up, I held my breath and watched as he studied my pussy. Two fingers spread me open, outlining either side of my folds.

I was hypersensitive and he’d barely touched me. Not how I wanted him to.

The room was blue, the color of shadowed snow. I’d adjusted to the dark; focusing on him and all his sharp corners was easy. I saw how he parted my lower lips with his thumbs. Sinfully good trembles rocked through my muscles. “Ah,” I breathed out, curling and uncurling my toes. One foot bent inward, my legs trying to pull away from where he’d locked them around his shoulders. All I managed to do was feel his thick hair tickle over the bottom of my heel.

“You’re so warm,” he whispered. I jumped at the feel of the air passing through his lips. His voice became a baritone, heavy with lust. “I can’t wait anymore. I’m done trying to.”

I thought he meant waiting to taste me, but the way his words cracked in his throat ... I wondered if he meant something else. How long had Costello waited to touch me?Not just me,I thought with growing disbelief.How long has it been since he’s allowed himself to be with anyone?

Quickly I saw his actions in a new light. His tremors, his stone-cold intensity, all making me think he was teasing me with his patience. But now the feverish need in how he traced his tongue over my slit, how he gripped my thighs like a vise ... they were the clues to solve this mystery, to solve Costello Badd himself.

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