Royal Rebel: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Flings With Kings)

by Jessica Peterson

  Royal Rebel

  A Flings With Kings Novel

  Jessica Peterson

  Peterson Paperbacks

  Contents

  Also by Jessica Peterson

  1. Aly

  2. Rob

  3. Aly

  4. Aly

  5. Aly

  6. Rob

  7. Rob

  8. Rob

  9. Aly

  10. Rob

  11. Aly

  12. Aly

  13. Aly

  14. Rob

  15. Aly

  16. Aly

  17. Rob

  18. Rob

  19. Aly

  20. Aly

  21. Rob

  22. Aly

  23. Rob

  24. Rob

  25. Aly

  26. Rob

  27. Aly

  28. Aly

  29. Rob

  30. Aly

  31. Aly

  32. Aly

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  Also by Jessica Peterson

  Royal Ruin Excerpt

  1. Emily

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Jessica Peterson

  THE FLINGS WITH KINGS SERIES

  Royal. Ridiculously Hot. Totally Off Limits…

  Available for FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

  Royal Ruin (Flings With Kings #1)

  THE STUDY ABROAD SERIES

  Studying Abroad Just Got a Whole Lot Sexier…

  A Series of Sexy Interconnected Standalone Romances

  Read Them All for FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

  Spanish Lessons (Study Abroad #1)

  Lessons in Gravity (Study Abroad #2)

  Lessons in Letting Go (Study Abroad #3)

  Lessons in Losing It (Study Abroad #4)

  Published by Peterson Paperbacks, LLC

  Copyright 2018 by Peterson Paperbacks, LLC

  Cover by Elizabeth Bank of Selestiele Designs

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at jessicapauthor@jessicapeterson.com.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  www.jessicapeterson.com

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter One

  Aly

  September

  London

  The rules I’d set for our hook ups were straightforward: no talking. No kissing. No expectations.

  It was hate sex in its purest form. And it was good.

  Until it wasn’t anymore.

  I had been hooking up with Robert for a while now—five or so months. We’d met back in March. His older brother Kit had been dating my best friend and former boss Emily at the time. I’d been at the apartment she shared with Kit at Primrose Palace. Thanks to better-than-expected traffic, I’d arrived half an hour early for our scheduled budget meeting (we’d yet to lease an office space at that point). Em was on her way home from a fitting, so I’d headed to the kitchen. I was helping myself to some tea when Rob had walked in, wearing jeans and a hoodie.

  I’d just stared at him. I was in the same room. As Prince Robert. The dashing, naughty younger brother of the future King of England. His handsome face was always splashed across the front pages of tabloids and gossip magazines. He was infamous for his partying. His womanizing, too.

  Robert had been even handsomer in person. Tall. A smidge beefier than ripped. Smoldering blue eyes. The hoodie had been unzipped a little, revealing a broad expanse of chest and wiry dark blond hair. He’d smelled even better—freshly showered boy, soapy and clean.

  My mouth had watered.

  Rob’s lips had twitched into a cocky smirk when he’d caught me staring.

  “Just came to rummage through my brother’s fridge,” he’d said, tilting his head toward the behemoth Sub-Zero that occupied a far corner. His eyes had moved over my pencil skirt and blouse, a slow, intentional perusal. My skin grew hot. “He’s usually got something good to eat. Although I daresay I’ve never stumbled upon something quite so delicious before.”

  It’d been a terrible line. A shameless one.

  And still I’d ended up naked underneath him five minutes later, right there on the counter. I wasn’t proud of it. But hey, Rob was hot. He was a prince. And moving to a new country and starting a big project—as Emily’s right hand woman, I’d followed her from Atlanta to London—meant I’d barely had time to meet people, much less get laid. I was starved for sex.

  Hooking up with a gorgeous guy with a gorgeous British accent had seemed like a good idea at the time. And damn was Rob’s cock huge. Huge.

  Even better, he’d known how to use it.

  My post-orgasm glow didn’t last long, however. At our meeting later that afternoon, Emily had informed me I’d be working with Prince Robert going forward. His family’s foundation had hired our firm, EP Designs, to design the interiors for the England School For the Arts it was building. Up until then, Em—our CEO—had been the point person on that project. I’d been more in the background, doing site visits, drawing up budgets, researching vendors, that sort of thing. But with other big projects in the pipeline that required her attention, she’d asked me to step up my involvement.

  Rob and I had butted heads from the beginning. I took my job seriously. The “royal rebel”, as he was known, did not. As the Queen of England’s grandson, Rob technically was a patron of The Prince’s Foundation. In practice, however, he was more of a pain in the ass. He showed up to some meetings but totally blew off others. He’d use his natural charisma to get everyone excited about something, only to end up dropping the ball. He’d come up short on a big donation he was sure he’d get, or he’d completely space on putting in a call to this minister or that trust. Rob was all talk and no action. It put us behind schedule before we’d even begun.

  Not only was the guy cocky. He was careless, too.

  It wasn’t long before I’d started to dislike him. A lot. Hate was a strong word. But my feelings for him came pretty damn close. The School For the Arts was the biggest project EP Designs had ever landed. Our reputation—and our future as a new firm here in the UK—hung in the balance. I had to get it right. Rob wasn’t helping.

  He was, however, helping me orgasm. I’d sworn our hook up would be a one time thing. But the more I hated him, the more attracted to him I seemed to become. It was the strangest thing.

  Well. Maybe not so strange, considering that big, beautiful dick of his. I kinda liked how sex with him was a little painful. There’d been something lewdly delicious about it. And living in a foreign country with no friends or family around meant I was lonely. Loneliness led to a lot of weak moments.

  “I don’t like you,” I’d told him during a particularly weak moment after a meeting. “But I loved the way you fucked me.”

  He’d smirked. Twirled his key fob around his finger. “Black Range Rover. Level two. I’ll be waiting.” Then he’d turned and disappeared into the elevator.

  I’d ended up on all fours in the backseat of his car in the parking garage, biting back a cry as he thrust into me from behind. The sex had been just as good as I’d remembered. There was a desperation in the
way he touched me. Took me.

  A rawness I could not resist.

  Now, five months later, we’d settled into a routine of hooking up once or twice a week. The School For the Arts project was wrapping up. The install had gone swimmingly a few days ago; to my surprise, Rob had actually stepped up to the plate and helped out. Didn’t mean I wasn’t relieved that I wouldn’t have to work with him anymore.

  I wondered—hoped—if not working with him would put the kibosh on the weird, hateful attraction we shared.

  Tonight, though—tonight that attraction hit me head on.

  Rob’s breath was hot on my neck as we tumbled down the stairs at the pub into the tiny bathroom. It smelled like beer inside, cut with an astringent edge of disinfectant.

  He hadn’t even closed the door all the way when he grabbed me by the hip and pressed his enormous erection into my ass.

  The heat between my legs throbbed. I threw him a glare over my shoulder.

  “You an exhibitionist now?”

  He reached for the door again, holding it open. His lips curled into a grin so cocky I wanted to slap him. Slap him, then fuck his brains out.

  “Only if you want me to be, love.”

  “And have the whole pub see me with you? I couldn’t live with the shame.”

  Rob had texted me on my way home from work, saying he’d be at his favorite pub, the Rose and Thorn, if I wanted to stop by.

  No please. No buttering up. Just a blatant, if coded, wanna fuck?

  I hated how much it’d turned me on. I hated myself even more for blowing off a date to be here. Yeah, the guy I was sorta-kinda seeing—we’d connected on Bumble—didn’t give me butterflies. But we had a decent time together. There was still a chance we’d hit it off.

  There was zero chance I’d ever hit it off with Rob. He was the epitome of the irresponsible and immature fuckboy. There was a reason they called him the rebel royal. And still I’d showed up at the Rose and Thorn.

  I blamed it on the orgasms. Rob was a connoisseur. The excitement of having sex in random places didn’t hurt, either. I didn’t want to take him back to my apartment, and he never offered to bring me back to his. So we usually ended up in bathrooms and backseats.

  Rob was not the type of guy I was looking for. I’d had my fair share of hook-ups and flings in the nearly ten years since I’d graduated college. But now I wanted more. I wanted something real. Meaningful. Lasting. Something that didn’t end in a hungover walk of shame. I’d grown up on a steady diet of Disney movies and romantic comedies (and maybe a sparkly vampire or two). As cheesy as it sounded, I believed in that fairy tale. The one where two people who are meant to be find each other and fall head over heels in love and build their forever together, despite the obstacles blocking their path.

  I wanted that happy ending so much it hurt.

  I’d always had a plan for my life. And I was making part of that plan happen—the part where I build a career in design. A week ago, I’d received a huge promotion. Emily was giving up her career in design now that she was Kit’s fiancée and a full time royal. Which meant I’d just become CEO and owner of EP Designs. It’d been unexpected, and the transition was more than a little overwhelming. Still, it was an incredible opportunity, and I was proud of how far I’d come from my early days as an intern.

  But I’d come up short on the other part of my plan—finding the guy I’d spend forever with. I’d always assumed that if I were patient, it would happen. I’d meet him through mutual friends, or at a brewery, or maybe on a blind date. Secretly I hoped we’d have this adorkable meet cute, like the one in French Kiss where Kevin Kline’s scruffy Frenchman distracts Meg Ryan’s uptight-yet-cute Canadian during takeoff so she won’t be nervous.

  But my meet-cute hadn’t happened yet. Not for lack of trying. I was on every dating app that existed, trying to find The One. But while I waited for my prince charming to show up, I figured there was no harm in coming—a lot—with a playboy prince in the meantime.

  Rob’s blue eyes narrowed in amusement. He closed the door. Turned to lock it. I leaned my back against the tiled wall, admiring the view as he turned around again.

  He was wearing a sharply cut suit. A suit he looked hot as hell in. He was tall and broad in all the right places. And he had the face. You know, that square-jawed, slightly scruffy, perfectly proportioned male face you only see in movies and magazines. He was sexiness personified. I could practically smell the pheromones coming off his skin. Taste them.

  The heat low in my abdomen pulsed. I was already wet.

  “If you don’t want to be seen with me,” Rob said, putting a hand on his belt buckle, “then why are you looking at me like that?”

  I licked my lips. “Like what?”

  “Like I’m the hottest damn thing you’ve ever set eyes on.” He unbuckled the belt. Strode forward, leading with his hips. All confidence and cockiness.

  I rolled my eyes. And then I hooked a finger in his belt loop and pulled him to me, placing a finger on his lips. “How about no more talking? Your lines are painful.”

  He fell forward, putting a hand on the wall beside my head. He hovered over me.

  “Don’t pretend they don’t work on you,” he said, and opened his mouth to bite down on my finger. My breath caught. “You came, didn’t you? I texted you. And now ten minutes later, you’re here.”

  I unzipped his pants and reached inside his tight little briefs. Wrapping my hand around his dick, I gave it a hard squeeze. He winced.

  “Had a long day at work. I need a little stress relief, that’s all.”

  Rob’s grin deepened knowingly. “I’m happy to help you with that,” he said, putting his other hand on my thigh. He began gathering my skirt in his fist, pulling it up. “Let’s see just how much relief you need.”

  My body lit up with anticipation. Rob knew how to touch me, I’d give him that. His hand moved up, trailing fire in its wake. Moved between my thighs.

  “No knickers.” He cupped me, his voice going deep. “Good girl.”

  “I’m a—” my breath hitched when he parted me with his first two fingers, “—fast learner.”

  He pressed the heel of his hand just where I liked it. Just where he knew I needed it. I was so wet he slipped. I rolled my hips against him, already losing control. Already needing to come so bad I could hardly see straight.

  “Oh, sweetheart, my lines are definitely working,” he said.

  I gritted my teeth. “Don’t call me that.”

  He dipped his head, leaning in. Sensation ripped through me when he put his mouth on my neck. He nipped with his teeth, stroked with his tongue. My head fell back against the wall. God damn him, this felt good.

  He smelled good, too. Like expensive cologne and boy and sex.

  “What shall I call you, then?” he murmured against my skin.

  Ignoring the question, I gave his dick a slow pull. Then I reached into his pocket and dug out the condom I knew I’d find there. He always had condoms on him; he had this hidden little pocket sewn into all his blazers for them.

  I opened the package. Held him by the root and quickly rolled it onto his length. He made a rumbly, masculine noise in the back of his throat. Then he put one hand on the back of my neck and the other on my hip. He spun me around roughly, pressing his enormous body against mine. Pressing me into the wall, his front to my back.

  The throb between my legs was unbearable.

  He hitched my leg over his forearm, bending it at the knee. He put that hand on the wall and trapped me against him. Splayed me wide open, the inside of my thigh flush against the wall. He took his dick in his other hand and dragged the tip down my slit, front to back, stopping to give a quick little nudge to my asshole before moving toward my sex again. He hiked my leg a little higher, settling himself at my entrance.

  Then he grabbed my hair and wrapped it around his fist and surged inside me.

  I bit back a cry. I never stopped being thrilled by how big his dick was. Big enough and thick en
ough to hurt. I felt painfully, deliciously full. Rob was breathing hard. He didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. He began to pound into me from behind, so hard and so fast I felt it in every corner of my being. I was already close.

  He must’ve sensed it, because he dropped my hair and reached around. He circled my clit with the pad of his middle finger.

  My knee—the one that held me up—buckled. Rob used his weight to hold me steady as he circled, and circled. Need coiled inside me, so tight and so hot I couldn’t stand it.

  He pressed his finger, hard, against my clit. It sent me over the edge. My orgasm ricocheted between my legs, pulsing around Rob, pulsing in my chest and my lungs and my ears. Rob sucked a breath through his teeth.

  “That’s hot,” he grunted. “You’re so tight. So. Bloody. Tight.”

  He increased his speed as the shockwaves of my orgasm receded. My cheek was scraping against the tile, so I turned my head. Opened my eyes. And looked right into the grubby mirror above the sink.

  I watched, unable to blink, as Rob moved against me. His neck was bent, and he stared at my ass. He was really moving now. Taking his pleasure without another thought. His hands were—I don’t know where his hands were, but they weren’t on me. I was clearly just a warm body to him. Another girl on another night at another pub.

  He did not give a fuck.