Royally Arranged (Bad Boy Royals Book 3)

by Nora Flite

  “Oh!” I moaned, a ripple running through me when Thorne slid fully into place. My ears were ringing; distantly I heard seabirds, which seemed impossible in the garden. Was I losing my mind from pleasure? Was it the weight of him on my chest, keeping my lungs from doing their job?

  He leaned forward, holding my hips to move me how he wanted. Withdrawing with the patience of a saint, he lingered with just the head of his cock inside of me. He pistoned forward, his hard muscles grinding over my sensitive nipples. The sensation was maddening. I was becoming delirious, wanting nothing more than to chase the orgasm that he’d built in me while eating me out.

  Reaching between us, he kissed my temple, then my mouth. Agile fingers found my clit, strumming it as he maintained his pace. “Talk to me,” he demanded. “I want to know how this feels.”

  “Wonderful!” I cried out, rewarded by a hot tingle because I’d done as he’d commanded me to. “It’s amazing, Thorne! Please, let me come, I need to come so badly!”

  He chuckled darkly along my jaw. “I know you do.”

  He was teasing me, but with every shift of his prick inside of me, I sensed his composure slipping. It started small, a bit of yarn dangling in the air. Then it snagged on something solid—something shaped like me. I was making this man come undone.

  His breath turned ragged in my ears. One hand petted my clit, the other hooked my knee, spreading me open to him, keeping nothing from his reach.

  The pressure in my center expanded. I was going to be crushed by the weight of my own slick need. “Your pussy is burning up,” he said. “I can’t take it anymore.”

  Swooning, I closed my eyes—his hand spanked my hip. Shocked, I stared at his serious, thunderstorm eyes. “I said not to look away. Watch me while I make you come, Nova.”

  His cock jerked, I was sandwiched between pleasure and pain. Between wanting to obey, and my body desperately trying to shut down so my orgasm could consume me freely.

  I was hovering on the edge. So close, right fucking there. “Come,” he growled, clutching my cheeks, daring me to break our eye lock. But I didn’t. I’d never let him down.

  “Ah!” I squealed, my body one big knot. I milked him, tingles rocking from behind my eyes, flowing into him, both of us shuddering in bliss. He looked away before I did, teeth flashing in a snarl as he came. I was still coming as he finished, the warmth, the swell of his body making me think the condom wouldn’t be enough.

  Linked together, we relaxed into each other’s nooks and crannies. The grass under me wasn’t cool anymore. Nothing around me was.

  Wincing, Thorne braced himself, pulling free so he could dispose of the used condom. He wrapped it in the foil and put it in his pocket to throw out later. Being so empty so suddenly left me carved out and wanting. I hated it; it was a relief when he returned to kiss me, his arms winding around my waist. “I have to know,” he said, his fingers clinging to the hair at my nape possessively. “How do I stack up against other guys? Better or amazingly better?”

  And here it is. Just be honest. “I wouldn’t know,” I whispered.

  His laugh came out a bit choked. “What do you . . .”

  I untangled myself from his grip. Writhing thorns of anxiousness filled me. But somehow my voice was calm. “You’re my first. At everything, actually.”

  Thorne’s jaw dropped open. His raw shock was too much; the vines inside me strangled my lungs. He ruffled his hair in dismay. “Then, the night in the cemetery, you were a virgin. And I didn’t even realize. I fucked you without a hint of gentleness. If I’d been better . . . if I’d cared more . . . I should have noticed. I should have fucking realized!”

  He was spiraling, flushed with shame, remembering what we’d done in a tainted light. My hands steadied on his. “Thorne, stop rewriting history. I can see it all over your face.” Pulling myself into his lap, I swung my legs over his thighs. “You’re worried about what you did. Don’t be, okay?” Red heat swam up to my cheeks. “Thanks to you, my first time was better than I ever dreamed it could be.”

  I hoped he could sense how earnest I was being. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t think it mattered.”

  “Of course it matters!”

  “Why?” I challenged. “Would you have not slept with me if you knew?”

  “I—well, no. I don’t think I could have walked away at that point.”

  “Would you have treated me like I was made of glass? Because I’m not some brittle teacup, Thorne. And if you dare to remember our first night together as something awful, I’ll be really pissed off.”

  He went quiet. Sitting beside me, looking at the grass between his shoes, he said, “I did wonder. You come off as so confident, this youthful eagerness to do things. At the same time, I glimpsed some of your inexperience. But to imagine that you’d be a virgin . . .”

  I glared at him, daring him to ruin what I’d just told him not to.

  Looking me in the eye, he gripped my chin. “I’m the first man to taste your lips?” My blood raced; I nodded in answer. “Maybe my luck is finally turning around after all.”

  Relieved that the tension was resolved, I threw my arms around his neck. My mouth traveled his collarbone, kissing his ink, imagining that the swirls of black tasted like real smoke. When I’d made it from one side of his body to the next, I changed course. Thorne curled a fist in my hair, his tongue wrestling gently with mine.

  Just like him, I was happy he was my first.

  I also hoped he’d be my last.

  - CHAPTER EIGHTEEN -

  HAWTHORNE

  Sipping my coffee, I wandered the long hallways of the castle. I’d been sleeping here for over a week, and the residents still hadn’t warmed up to me, to put it politely.

  For example: This morning, when I’d gone to find a cup of something hot in the kitchen, the maids were in the middle of putting away the breakfast spread. They took one look at me and frowned. “Did you want something?” one of them had asked.

  I’d eyeballed the plastic-wrapped tray of scrambled eggs that a maid was shoving into the refrigerator. She gave me a wary glance. Before I could say anything, she piped up. “Everything is being put away on schedule—sir.” She added the last part after a long second. “If you had been here this morning at breakfast time . . .”

  Quickly I threw my hands up, giving a nervous laugh. “I get it, I get it, I’m a terrible person who doesn’t follow the schedule.”

  The girls looked at each other, talking with their expressions. I knew they were debating whether or not they could get away without pulling the food out and serving it to me after they’d already done so much work cleaning up the kitchen. I had a feeling that if I pushed them they would do it. After all, whether they liked it or not, I was going to be their new king.

  But I’ve never been a bully.

  “I’m not hungry,” I’d lied. “But I noticed that there’s still coffee sitting on the counter over there. Would it be all right if I got a cup of that?” The girls deflated, relieved that I hadn’t asked more of them.

  Now I sipped my coffee that didn’t have enough sugar or cream in it, but I’d been too eager to get out of the kitchen to ask for them to add more, and kept walking down the hall. As I passed a long section of windows that faced the outside of the house, I saw a row of men wearing the blue-and-red uniform of the royal guard. On their shoulders were small embroidered crowns that I’d missed the first time I’d seen them.

  They were doing marching drills, creating stiff patterns as they walked across the gravel. Intrigued, and not knowing what else to do with myself, I walked until I found the door that led to where they were. Standing at a distance, I sipped my coffee and counted the men. They were sixteen of them, all wearing the exact same outfit, the exact same shiny boots, and the exact same rifles strapped to their backs. Each of them kept his hair cropped tight near his ears.

  There was someone shouting instructions to them. Looking across the field, I recognized Glen. He was strut
ting back and forth with his arms folded at his lower back. Every time he yelled, the men would act. I’d never seen anything like this before. It was quite a show.

  Suddenly Glen’s eyes fell on me from across the distance. I remembered the conversation I’d overheard him having with my father when we’d first arrived at the castle.

  Clutching my coffee cup tight, I debated turning and going back inside before he could reach me. But he was a big man who took long strides, and he was on me before the guards had pivoted to begin their next routine.

  “Hawthorne,” he said, lifting two fingers to his forehead in a salute.

  I saluted back, but it was impossible to hide the mocking laziness of it. “You know, some people just drink coffee to wake up in the morning.” I showed him my cup. “We don’t all need to yell at a bunch of men to get ourselves going.”

  Glen laughed, looking back at the group as they marched crisscross over the gravel, their rifles switching arms. “I don’t drink coffee, never liked the stuff.”

  “More for me,” I said, shrugging.

  Glen considered me with his eyebrows smoothing in a friendly way. “We haven’t gotten to talk much, you and I.”

  “There’s a lot going on,” I said, deflecting. “Besides, I’m not planning to take your place at running the royal guard, or joining, no offense. What would we even talk about?”

  “I’m not so two-dimensional that all I can talk about is being the head of the guards,” he said, his laughter a low rumble. “In fact,” he said, his voice going quieter, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me anything about your father.”

  Hairs rose on my neck. “Why would I ask you about him?”

  “Because he and I were childhood friends. Because this is the first time you’ve been in this country, the first time meeting me. It just seemed . . . Well, I think I would ask if I were you.”

  “But you’re not me.” I regretted saying it the second it came out of my mouth.

  Glen didn’t look put out. Crossing his arms, he took a step closer. He was so big that my head only came up to his shoulder. He was bulkier than my father, who was the biggest man I’d known until now. What did they feed the people in this country? “Hawthorne, I know that you must be going through a lot. The pressure you’re under, I can’t even imagine. But there are people here who are more than happy to help. People who believe in you.”

  “People like my father?”

  “Of course. Your father chose you to be the king.”

  “He didn’t choose me,” I said, staring at my coffee cup. “I was just the only option he had left.” I poured out the last of the dregs—bitter grounds that no one would ever touch.

  “Don’t say that. Your father believes in you.”

  “That’s not what he said last week,” I mumbled. Glen looked surprised. “Yeah. I heard you guys talking about me in the rose garden. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. In fact, I almost stepped out to talk to you both. It seemed a good time to get whatever information I could on this country, it felt like the right thing to do if I was going to wear the crown like everyone keeps asking me to. But then, well.” I shrugged, trying to take the sting out of the memory. “Dad doesn’t think I’m fit for the job. It’s not really surprising. The guy never thought I was fit for much.”

  Glen was staring at me, thick eyebrows furrowed into tight knots. I stared back at him, noticing the thin scar on the left side of his jaw that his beard mostly hid. The massive calluses on his loosely curled fingers. This was a man who took his job seriously, and I felt the weight of his judgment as he watched me. I regretted telling him that I’d overheard their conversation. I regretted coming outside to watch the guards.

  Both of his hands came down on my shoulders, holding me in place. “Your father is a hard man,” he said. “But he wasn’t always this way.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not sure if you would believe me, but it’s like I said when we first met. You remind me a lot of him.”

  That gave me the strength to break away. I took three steps back, lifting my head high. “Now you’re fucking with me. Or maybe it’s been so long since you’ve seen my dad that you remember him differently.”

  He held his hands in the air, hovering where I’d been. Slowly they fell to his sides. “I have to get back to the guards. They need to be ready for the coronation.” He started back, pausing to speak over his shoulder. “Your family is arriving today. You’ll be too busy to speak to me like this for some time, I think—but if you ever want to, I’ll be here.”

  I watched him go, unsure how to respond. I forgot everyone would be landing at the airport today. They’d have almost no time to settle in before they had to watch me marry a woman none of them knew. One I still didn’t really know.

  Nova and I had spent some weeks together now, but the situation was so dire that it was like a sheet of paper was constantly passing between us whenever we got too close. I could see her shadow, I could hear her voice, and sometimes I could even feel her touch. But there was something that I couldn’t quite name that was keeping us from reaching forward into a real relationship.

  Maybe it was the fact that this wasn’t ever supposed to have happened. If my uncle hadn’t died, there’d be no marriage. I might have never come to Torino at all. Ever.

  At least Nova was fun to be around. She knew this country, she’d shown me many things as we wandered. She even spoke fluent French, which blew my mind.

  I wondered if my siblings would like her.

  And then I wondered if it mattered.

  At five on the dot, my siblings arrived in two separate white Rolls-Royces. Both vehicles rolled up, bumper to bumper, stopping at the top of the long driveway. Drake and a few servants hurried over to open the doors, more men setting to the task of unloading the luggage from the trunks.

  “Thorne!” Francesca squealed, leaping out the door, giving Drake a fright. She was wearing a short orange skirt and a black feathery top, her gold heels wrapping up her calves in a way that made me wonder how long it had taken her to get them off on the way through airport security.

  In one arm was her huge Gucci purse. In the other was Mic, because of course she’d brought that little monster. The white dog growled, eyeing me as my sister drew close for a fierce hug. “How was the flight?” I asked.

  She stuck out her tongue. “I wish we could have taken the private jet. Do you know what our plane had to watch? Gossip Girl season two!”

  I blinked. “Do you . . . not like that show?”

  “Oh, I love it. But what if someone hadn’t seen the first season? Do they expect them to start in the middle? I mean, come on!”

  Unsure how to respond, I waved over her head. Kain waved back, busy helping his wife, Sammy, out of the car. Her loose peasant top couldn’t hide her round belly. If I remembered right, based on how my mother had screamed and cried happily for a day straight when she got the news, Sammy was six months along.

  I’d teased Kain about not waiting until the ring was on her finger to knock her up. But he’d just smirked, not offended in the least.

  He held her hand as they came over. Kain’s hug was quick. “Brother, you look good.”

  “Thanks,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “Speaking of.” Wrapping Sammy in my arms, I carefully avoided her belly. “You look amazing, Sammy. How are you feeling?”

  “Good now. I haven’t had morning sickness in a month. However, the flight was awful. Hours of waddling the aisle over and over thanks to this little guy or girl smushing my bladder.” She put her hands on her stomach, rubbing it fondly in spite of her disgusted face.

  Costello approached our growing group. He was dressed in dark jeans and a dark blue shirt that I was sure he’d regret soon in this sunny heat. “Hawthorne,” he said, giving me a partial smile. “Good to see you in one piece.”

  I whipped a hand over my scalp. “The country hasn’t beheaded me yet. Maybe they’re waiting until tomorrow night when the crown i
s actually on.”

  My older brother’s smile crumpled into a hard frown.

  “Thorne!” Scotch shouted, grabbing me in a hug tighter than everyone else’s.

  “Hey!” Laughing, I hugged her back. “Easy, you’ll make your boyfriend jealous.”

  Costello crinkled his eyebrows, his long scar shifting with the motion. But he said nothing.

  “By the way,” she whispered, her mouth near my ear as we kept embracing, “I don’t want you worrying about the mess with Gina. I’ve talked to her, and she swears she’ll agree to a deal soon with her lawyers.”

  I stared, not comprehending. “Oh. Right, the club.” I’d managed to forget entirely about the Dirty Dolls. It was off-putting to me that I’d actually let that drama slip my mind. The club had been such a huge part of my life; to simply forget about it, when just weeks ago I’d been sulking on its roped-off doorstep . . . It was like forgetting it was your own birthday until everyone jumped out and said, “Surprise!”

  Looking back at the cars, I asked, “No Lula, huh?”

  Frannie buried her face in Mic’s fur. “I tried to talk her into it, but . . .”

  “It’s fine. Really.” I waved it off, giving her a light push toward the castle. “Go, get inside and swoon over the crystal toilets and stuff.”

  “Whaaat?” she gasped. “Real crystal? Seriously?”

  “Yup. Next to the diamond-crusted toothbrushes.”

  Fran scowled at me before she jumped up the steps. Watching her go, I tucked my thumbs in my pockets. My smile was solid, no one could have guessed I was trying to pretend that my older sister’s absence had any effect on me.

  Lulabelle’s issues with our family were well known. Ten years ago she’d been injured in an attack orchestrated by some men working for the Valentines. They’d been trying to strong-arm Costello into giving them a huge sum of cash. Lula had tried to help him out of the situation. Instead she’d ended up as bait to lure my brother into a trap.