Page 33 of Royally Ruined

I’m the first person he’s touched in ages.The realization burned through my heart. But it didn’t turn me to ash; it set me aflame like a damn phoenix. Was it his scar, was it his family, or was there something unknown that had kept this man from letting anyone close to him?

Anyone ... until me.

His nose ground along my wet folds, his fingers circling my entrance. My focus faded until I was lying there, doing nothing but experiencing his skill. He didn’t ask if what he was doing was good; he could tell. I was shaking, biting my tongue around my soft whines.

He fluttered his fingers in me, then curled them to explore the textured slope of my inner roof. Purple exploded behind my eyes. “There,” he purred. “That’s what I was looking for.”

Knots formed in my arms from how hard I gripped the blankets. Pressure crested in me, centering on my lower belly, then flowing down farther. I felt the tingles in my clit, in my thighs, in my fucking ears.

Costello rolled his fingers inside me. His lips circled my swollen clit, kissing, nibbling, sending me up a wall. I was lost in the pleasure that spiked in waves. Maybe I was wrong; how could he be so good if he hadn’t been with anyone in a long while?

Rubbing me over and over, he slid in a third finger. “Too much,” I hissed, delirious with wicked pleasure and a little discomfort.

“Shh,” he soothed me. “If this is too much, there’s no way you’ll survive me when I fuck you.”

Sticky sweat collected in my navel. It coated my cheek where I pushed it into the bed, because I couldn’t watch him anymore. Costello had me close to coming, the heat so immense it was giving me vertigo.

“Think about it,” he whispered, his voice strained. He was coming apart and trying to hide it, I was sure. “Think about my cock filling you up.” Fingertips massaged my G-spot, his thumb making perfect circles on my clit. “It’ll be so much bigger than my fingers. The second you come, Scotch, I’m going to spread you open with it. So imagine that.”

It was easy to imagine. I’d tasted his cock, felt my jaw ache from the size. He was pumping in and out of me, caressing my insides, my outsides, confusing my world. One final kiss on my stiff clit did me in.

“Fuck—ah!” I squealed, spine arching, back cracking. Orgasmic waves made me shake—I choked him with my knees, legs unable to fall because my feet were tied. He clung to me as I shivered. Through the sounds of my own moans, I heard him lapping at me, refusing to let a single droplet of my juice escape his hunger.

He sat between my thighs, eyes bright but free of any sort of light. Energy danced in every tiny twitch of his muscles as he crouched. “Scotch,” he said, tasting each letter, still tastingme. His chin was glistening.

Suddenly self-conscious, I covered my face. Faster than a cobra he snapped at me; my arms were ripped away, his tone fierce and husky. “Don’t.”

I gaped up at him. “Don’t what?”

“Hide yourself. Especially not from me.” Costello’s fingers loosened, but they didn’t leave my wrists. “You’re beyond beautiful; that’s not something to be ashamed of.”

I flooded with pink heat. It surged up my throat, giving me enough strength to tug on his arms and guide him down on top of me. The bed shifted under our weight. “Why are you normally so quiet?” I asked, nuzzling his ear. “You’ve got such wonderful things to say. Lyrical.”

Reaching back, he untangled my panties from my ankles. A thimble-size drop of fear made me sit up—was he stopping us? Had I said something wrong? He caught the look on my face, his serious mouth curving up on one side. “I’m just giving you more movement. Relax.”

“More movement, like I’m going somewhere,” I chuckled.

Wordlessly he hooked his arms around my knees. A single flex of his body and he hoisted me farther up the bed, setting me on the pillows. His hands cradled my waist. It brought his carved torso closer to me, his chest brushing over mine.

My tendons argued, the stretch delicious as he forced my ankles and knees flat on the blankets. He tested me slowly; I was open to him, more than when he’d been buried in me up to his knuckles.

Costello was breathing unevenly. His slacks and shoes were gone, abandoned on the floor, his cock a gorgeous curve where it hung between us. The heat of it radiated over my sensitive, naked skin.

A dot of sweat moved down his temple. I knewIwas sweating, but to see him coming undone ... unraveling ... it melted my insides and made me feel soft all over.

His scar split his face in a fashion, the edges made longer by the shadows. Watching me closely, he said, “I don’t have a condom.”

I’d expected him to say something dirty or romantic; I bit back a laugh. “What guy doesn’t carry those these days?”

His eyes shot to the side; I’d been right. Costello was handsome and mysterious and rich with many things. There was no doubt women fancied him. But my silent soldier, my quiet Mafia prince, he didn’t let anyone near. Why carry condoms if you explicitly plan to avoid dropping your guard long enough to have sex?

With a firm palm, I made him look at me. Something shifted in his eyes, gone when I crushed my mouth on his and stole away his unsaid whispers. His lips didn’t resist, but he held back, allowing me to explore.

My tongue made a line over his bottom lip. I followed the top row of his teeth, traced his canines, and knew he could leave marks if he dared to. The idea made me rock my hips up, pushing his cock against his belly with the pressure.

Costello groaned into my mouth. The vibrations kept going until they coiled in my chest, taking hold behind my ribs and never letting go. Tugging him by his hair, I said into his ear, “It’s okay. Lucky for us both, I’m on the Depo shot.” I’d started taking birth control a long while back, just in case—just to be safe. Safety meant a lot to me.

It was paying off now.

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