Royally Matched
Page 51

And yet, it still manages to make my heart pound against my ribs like an animal in a cage.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, when she pulls back just a little.
“I’m distracting you.” She looks up at me uncertainly. From behind those ridiculously prim little glasses with those big, dark eyes that could bring me to my knees. “Is it working?”
My tongue traces my lower lip—tasting her.
And craving more.
“I’m not sure. Keep trying—I’ll let you know.”
She smiles quick and relieved . . . and then she reaches back up, wraps her arms about my neck, and kisses me.
Her two lips envelop my lower one, then the upper, all eager, pleasing sweetness. And it’s good—I don’t think any kiss has ever felt so good. I could do this for days.
My hands find Sarah’s lower back and I pull her in close, tight against me. Then, gently, I open my mouth and she mirrors my movement, opening for me. And it’s like my blood has turned to gasoline, and the touch of our tongues is the spark.
I delve deeper, harder—more demanding—taking the lead, but she meets me every step of the way. I cup her head in my hands, holding her still while I plunge and devour. A beautiful moan seeps from her lips and I devour that too. I can’t catch my breath and my heart does its best to break through my ribs.
But then I squeeze my eyes tight, and stop . . . panting against Sarah’s neck.
“Sarah, maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe we should just—”
“I’m sick of being afraid, Henry. And I’m so tired of being alive . . . but not really living. I want this; I’ve wanted it for a long time. I want . . . you.” It’s only then that hesitation dims her eyes. “Do you want me too?”
I grip her arms. “More than I’ve wanted anything or anyone in my entire life.”
Sarah takes my hands in hers, lifts them and presses my palms to her breasts. They’re soft and full and absolutely perfect.
“Show me.”
Beneath her robe, her bedclothes are paper thin. I trace my thumbs across her nipples, feeling them harden and peak. I want to suck on them until she’s mindless. I want to lick every inch of her skin and watch her flush with desire. I want to feel her fingers squeeze my arse and her nails rake my back.
There’s so much I know—deviant, filthy, lovely moves. And I want to teach her every damn one.
I wrap my arms around Sarah and lift her right off her feet. With a groan, my mouth is back to hers. Her small hands cup my jaw as I carry her toward the bed. I stop against a wall on the way, knocking a frame sideways, lifting her leg in one hand and wrapping it around my hip so I can thrust against her.
Her head tilts and her back arches, and she writhes beautifully against me.
And it’s the damnedest thing. Here I am, pressed up against Sarah’s softness, hard as stone and hot as fire, but the thought that floods my mind is . . . my brother.
Nicholas.
I didn’t understand before, not really. How he stood up there that day and upended both our lives. How he changed everything . . . gave in . . . gave it all up.
But now . . . now it makes sense.
Because I would give up a crown for her. I would give up my name, my title—I would trade my country, forfeit my birthright, lie, kill, cheat, and steal, for this.
For her.
A chuckle rumbles in my throat at my own cluelessness. How stupid I was.
But now I know. And nothing will ever be the same.
Sarah draws back when she feels me laugh. “What is it? Am I doing something wrong?”
I caress her face and brush back her hair.
“No, you’re perfect. It’s all so fucking perfect.”
Nicholas was right. I’ll have to tell him one day soon that he was right.
Love is stronger.
When I get us to the bed, we fall upon it, rolling and thrusting and insane. My hands are everywhere. Pushing up her top, pulling at her pants, kissing her warm skin the moment it’s revealed. Sarah gasps and pulls at my clothes too, beautiful and wild, not a trace of shy innocence in sight. She lifts her arms and her shirt is gone.
And her breasts. Oh, perfect, pale, full breasts, with dark pink nipples that beg for attention. I’m happy to oblige. I kiss my way around the gorgeous globes, nibbling and sucking, and Sarah’s hands bury in my hair, yanking in the best, neediest way.
When I close my lips over one nipple, she gasps—high-pitched and loud—then it tapers off to a long whimper. I flick my tongue, suckling hard until her hips are lifting, seeking friction. It’s crazy and fast, desperate and rough . . . but we can’t seem to slow down.
Sarah pushes on my shoulder, rolling us over so she’s on top, straddling me. She moves on instinct, perfectly positioned on my cock, rolling her hips. She lifts my shirt off, her hands roaming and her lips kissing across my chest. She licks the groove in the center of my abdomen, over and over again—she really seems to like that part. Her hair falls all around my torso, tickling like silk feathers.
And I want to take my time, I want to know every freckle on her skin . . . but first I have to make her come. The desire is like a runaway train, unstoppable and raging.
I roll us back over so that Sarah’s beneath me. Then I lift up onto my knees and enjoy the sight of her on her back, knees open, lust and yearning making her eyes shimmer. Holding her gaze, I deliberately unbutton my trousers. Her eyes drop as I yank them off without leaving the bed, but I keep my black briefs on.
Too much temptation if they were off and as hot as she is, I don’t think she’s ready to take things quite that far. She reaches for me, pressing her hand on the thick, hard outline of my cock beneath the fabric, and my eyes roll back in my head.