Noble Prince (Twisted Royals, #4)

by Sidney Bristol

  Owen stood in the sphere of light from her lamp, naked, his cock in one hand and the condom in the other. Her stomach knotted up, anticipation and anxiety warring with each other. A month ago, she’d have thought this scenario impossible, but Owen had proved that he wasn’t just a fair weather kind of guy. He wasn’t kidding when he said he intended to look out for them. He’d earned her trust with one good deed after another.

  He glanced up at her, his gaze snaring hers.

  Oh, dear...

  How was she supposed to do this, with him, and go on with her life?

  She didn’t know how, but right now, she wanted to focus on the moment.

  He planted a knee on the mattress, then the other. He kissed her knee, her thigh, his big body slowly covering hers, becoming her world.

  “Quinn?” He cupped her face.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?” The corners of his mouth quirked up.

  “You were about to ask if I’m serious, or something.”

  “How do you know that?” He dipped his head, kissing her chest, a nipple.

  “Because you have that look.” She dug her hand into his hair, holding him at her breast, and closed her eyes. He obliged her by suckling the stiff peak, his tongue stroking the sensitized flesh. “That—I’m a super patient, understanding guy, and I’m going to check in with you and make sure you really want me—and I do. Stop asking. I already have enough self-doubt, without you prompting me to question myself.”

  He chuckled, the vibrations rippling through her body.

  Owen shifted, placing one knee then the other between hers, wedging her thighs open.

  Thank goodness.

  She slid her hands down over his shoulders, losing herself in the sensation of skin on skin. His fingers caressed her folds again while his mouth laved attention on her breasts. In these moments, she was his focus. She could feel and do without second guessing herself.

  The blunt head of his cock pressed against her. She dug her heels into the mattress and lifted her hips.

  “Look at me,” Owen said.

  She parted her lids, but it did nothing to protect her from the need painted on his face. He leaned forward, flexing his hips. She gasped and tightened her grip on his shoulders, vision going hazy.

  This—these first few moments—that was what she loved the most. The joining of bodies, feeling the heat of a man inside of her. The connection.

  Owen thrust and dipped his head, their lips almost brushing. He stared into her eyes as he worked his way deeper inside of her. As though he, too, craved more than a joining of bodies and a few feel-good moments.

  He pressed his pelvis to hers. She squeezed him with not just her arms, but her vaginal muscles as well. He dropped his head, breaking the eye contact, burying his face against her neck. He kissed her skin and flexed his hips, not enough for a true thrust, but it did rub their bodies together in a smooth, sensual glide.

  She lifted her hips, moving with him. He cupped her ass, helping her find the right rhythm. She groaned, digging her nails into his skin.

  Owen lifted his head and watched her face.

  She could feel the flutter of her pulse in her throat.

  “Quinn, you feel so damn good. Fuck.” He muttered more words, most of them lost against her cheek, her lips, her throat.

  Owen levered up and spread his knees. He pulled back and thrust in earnest.

  Quinn gasped, little lights blossoming behind her eyelids.

  “That’s it,” Owen chanted.

  She moved with him, seeking more. Little tremors of pleasure snaked through her, driving conscious thought from her mind and creating a thing of need.

  “Come on, Quinn.”

  She groaned, her back arching off the mattress as pleasure rippled through her.

  “Yes,” Owen hissed.

  All too soon, he pulled out.

  She knew it was coming, it had to, but she still whimpered at the loss of his warmth, the press of his weight his touch.

  He grabbed her hand and pressed his cock against her palm. She wrapped her fingers around him, still hungry for the feel of him. He pumped his hips, his erection sliding through their fingers. Her orgasm-weary thoughts were sluggish. She wanted this to be good for him, too.

  She cupped his balls with her other hand while he continued to guide her grip with the other.

  Quinn peered up at him, watching their conjoined efforts, fascinated by the single-minded drive toward mutual gratification. She sat up, breaking his stare.

  Owen kissed her and released her hands. She twisted her palm around his cock until she could more easily pump him.

  “Quinn!” His voice was strained. He drove his hips forward and his cock twitched in her hand.

  She held still. He dropped his head to her shoulder, breathing heavily.

  “Did you...?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled and flopped on his side. He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each knuckle. “You came?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Good, I figured, but...” He grinned, a sleepy, sated sort of smile. “Was that okay?”

  “Yes.” She lay back down beside him.

  “I kept thinking about how good you felt, then when I pulled out, all I could think about was being back inside you.”

  “That was...surprisingly erotic.”

  “What? Jerking me off?”

  “Never mind”

  “Kidding. Hey, come over here.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

  She liked this part, too, though it wasn’t as familiar. She let him pull her close, wrapping herself in his warmth. He cupped her cheek, swiping his thumb across her chin while his gaze searched her face for something. What, she didn’t know. She was almost scared to find out.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Just checking.”

  “It was very good sex.” She must still be drunk on the endorphins. Usually, she wouldn’t be able to say a line like that without blushing.

  “Next time, I’d like to come inside of you, with a condom of course. Though you might not want a next time.” He mock-winced.

  More sex meant more of this. Being together. The vulnerability.

  Once was bad enough. More?

  She was setting herself up for a fall. Still, it’d not only felt good she’d orgasmed.

  “Maybe we can. I’ll have to check my schedule.” She lifted a shoulder.

  Owen frowned. Because of her flip response?

  “Quinn, talk to me.” He laced their fingers together.

  “What is there to say? We had sex. We could have more sex later.” She swallowed and tried to ignore the heat crawling up her neck.

  “Let’s be real honest, here.” Owen stared at her, his gaze sober, serious. “You aren’t the kind of girl who sleeps around, and not because I’ve been here enough to get to know that about you. It’s just—you. And it’s fair to say that I am not that kind of guy either. It’s fine for some people, more power to them, but that’s not you or me, is it?”

  Quinn swallowed.

  Busted.

  She blinked rapidly in an attempt to fight off the prickling sensation behind her eyes.

  “Hey, hey, hey.” Owen cupped her cheek and kissed the tip of her nose. “What I’m trying to say is—I like you. And I’m cocky enough to think, at this point, that you like me, too.”

  “Okay.” Her voice strained around the one word.

  “I have some old-fashioned ideas about what it means to kiss a girl.” He tugged on her hair until she’d look at him again. “Maybe I should have insisted we go slower, but I don’t regret being here with you.”

  She swallowed, words escaping her.

  Owen leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. He spoke between kisses.

  “This is where you should agree with me, tell me I’m amazing and that you want to be with me, too.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to
do.” Quinn prodded his shoulder with her finger.

  She did agree with him, but on principle, she couldn’t admit it. If she did, he’d steamroll right over her with those adorable smiles. She had to stand her ground, even if they both knew she was lying.

  Owen grinned at her, and damn him, she was so screwed, though she might like it.

  A shrill beeping sound broke the moment.

  Owen’s eyes went wide.

  Quinn sniffed.

  The oven...

  Owen rolled away from her, vaulted off the bed and sprinted out the door, buckass naked. She scrambled to her feet, not quite able to move as fast. She snagged her nightgown, tossing it on just in case she’d forgotten to close the blinds, and hustled into the kitchen.

  Owen pulled the charred egg rolls out of the oven and set them on the stove.

  “Oh, yuck.” She pressed her hand to her nose.

  The smell.

  “That’s it. I’m ordering take-out.” He tossed the potholder on the counter. “You pick the place, I’ll go grab it, and while I’m out, I’ll get condoms.”

  Quinn buried her face in her hands.

  This was really happening.

  Hansel took a bite of the apple and watched the figures moving on the screen. He’d gotten the cameras up just in time for the real action. Thank god those two had moved on from tea parties to screwing. It at least made for more interesting watching.

  The key, that was still a mystery though. Where did she keep the key?

  Killing them would be easy. It was the key that was the difficult part.

  He shifted, trying to find a way to sit that didn’t make his ass numb. The tree house was rustic, to say the least, but solid and dry on the inside. It made for the perfect, close-quarters perch.

  Owen would suspect out-of-place vehicles, so a van or car was out. Hansel couldn’t stand on the sidewalk, Owen would recognize him. The tree house provided a nice alternative, without having to be inside the house with them. Not that Hansel couldn’t do it. The attic wasn’t that cluttered. He could hunker down there, but this way he could come and go as he pleased.

  How would he do it? The job.

  What would cause Owen the most pain?

  He clearly cared for this woman.

  The old lady wanted her gone. Fine. That’d be easy enough to accomplish. But he’d draw it out. Make Owen sweat.

  The woman would die, and Hansel would make sure Owen knew it was his fault. He’d taken away Hansel’s brother, now Hansel would take away someone Owen cared about.

  What would his first move be?

  He’d familiarized himself with their routine. They led ordinary, predictable lives.

  Where did she feel safest? How could he make her fear for her life when the average person would go about their day?

  11.

  Owen stared at the sunbeams on the ceiling. His eyes had popped open at ungodly o’clock and he hadn’t been able to convince himself to go back to sleep. It might have something to do with the curvy woman tucked in close to his side, snoozing away. It was awfully hard to think nice, soothing, go-the-hell-back-to-bed thoughts when her breasts stroked his skin with every breath she took. After last night, he figured it was best to let her sleep.

  There were worse ways to pass the time.

  He turned his head and kissed her brow.

  He didn’t know which Quinn he’d get once she was vertical and had coffee. He’d like to think they’d continue forward, that she believed him when he said he was serious about this spark between them. One thing he kept forgetting, Quinn wasn’t nearly as old as she pretended to be. She wore the mask of parent and guardian so well it was hard to see the still very young woman under it all. With all she’d been through, it would be no surprise if she kept retreated back into the safe parameters that’d worked for her this long. If life had beaten him down the way it had her, he’d be loath to put himself out there, too.

  He’d convince her. Over time if he had to. She was worth coaxing out of her shell.

  Quinn muttered something in her sleep and squeezed his waist. He held still, not yet ready for the spell to break.

  She’d let him into her safe space last night. Every other time he’d been here, or whenever they passed in the hall, she’d shut her bedroom door before he could see inside. Looking around, he could see glimpses from every chapter of her life. The measuring rod where someone had calculated her growth from nothing more than an ankle biter to the woman she was today. Framed pictures she’d drawn in crayon. Photographs of a teenage girl with a shy smile. Polaroids of Quinn and Kierra, a few with Chloe and Delilah. This was her life, in all its phases. She’d been forced to grow up too fast, with no time to really explore being an adult and find herself.

  He wanted to...prop up her world. Give her moments to be carefree again. Remember that she didn’t always have to be Mom. That she could smile and laugh, too. She deserved that. Selfishly, he wanted to be the one to make her happy, to enjoy the uninhibited side of her.

  For now, he’d take what she offered, even if that meant taking two steps back.

  Quinn rolled over in her sleep, taking most of the sheet with her. Owen smothered a chuckle.

  Perhaps it was for the best.

  When she woke up, she might not want company. Besides, he wasn’t going back to sleep at this rate.

  Owen sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He felt the Lego blocks with his toes. The morning light coming in allowed him to make out a clear enough path around the bed. He went slowly, feeling his way, but only stepped on one Lego. Minor miracle.

  His clothes were still in a pile near the foot of the bed. He scooped those up, feeling for his phone, and made his exit. Quinn didn’t stir once.

  In the hall he continued his careful escape, zigzagging down to the master room so as to avoid all the squeaky boards. Once behind the bedroom door he breathed a small sigh of relief.

  Maybe he could get to the crawlspace before Quinn woke up?

  Or perhaps he should get to work, asking those questions she said he could?

  There was time to do both, if he timed it right.

  He pulled out his phone to check the charge.

  A text caught his eye.

  It was from Zach Fakhoury.

  To say that Owen and Zach kept to their respective corners was an understatement.

  Zach had secrets. Owen wasn’t sure how Zach continued to be at the center of every crazy shit storm that came their way, but he was. Owen had asked Ian and only received a shrug. Jaxon knew Zach the best, and even he ignored Owen’s questions.

  Call me.

  Owen frowned at the text.

  What would they have to talk about?

  When Jaxon had started hanging around Zach, Owen had looked into the guy.

  Either Zach had simply sprung to life as a twenty-year-old man, or he had a past so redacted Owen couldn’t find a shred of evidence about who he was or where he was from. A job this thorough was either through the government, or illegal. He’d sat on the information, unsure of what the right course of action was.

  No matter how much Zach set off Owen’s gut instinct, to Owen’s knowledge he’d never done anything wrong. And that was the kicker.

  Owen hit the button before he could over think the question. He pressed the phone to his ear and paced the room.

  “Morning,” Zach drawled.

  “You sure? You don’t sound awake.”

  “More like, I haven’t been to sleep yet.”

  “Something going on?” Owen had let himself get pretty tied up in the stuff going on with Quinn and Kierra.

  “You tell me, man. You’re getting it from all sides right now.”

  Owen didn’t reply. He was all too aware of just how bad it was for himself right now.

  “Look, I’ve got some stuff you might be interested in...”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Information about the people who called off the SWAT unit from the Swan Palace.”
>
  “How...?” Owen paced the room.

  “I was helping Jaxon and the others at the time. It’s...”

  “What are you into?”

  “Nothing, just trying to help you out.”

  “Why look into this? Why call me with it? Why stay up all night working on it?”

  “It’s a long story.” Zach’s voice was grim.

  “Well, tell me. I’m suspended. I have time.” No, Owen didn’t, but he also wanted to know. About the SWAT unit, about the dirty cops, about who—or what—Zach really was.

  “I have Yuri Gabor’s client list. You want it? I’ll give you a copy.”

  “How did you get a copy of Yuri Gabor’s client list?” Owen stopped, his whole body going cold.

  Yuri Gabor was the product of the Russian mob. He was a Ukrainian gangster who’d risen to prominence, outgrown his handlers, and become a man who made the wildest fantasies happen. It didn’t matter what it was, so long as the price was paid.

  “I’m your fairy godmother giving you a present. Do you want it or don’t you?” Zach asked.

  “How does having it help me, if I can’t explain how I got it? What are you hiding, Zach?”

  Zach blew out a breath.

  Owen gritted his teeth.

  “Fuck it. I can’t tell you the specifics, but when I was eighteen I made a deal with Gabor’s friend, Ogden. He got me and my sister to America, where we were granted asylum. Telling you more puts my sister at risk.”

  “Shit.” Owen sat down.

  “I’m giving a copy of everything to the FBI guy, Rusty. Not sure what he’ll be able to do with it, but I can guess.”

  “There’s no way to explain me having it. Give it to Rusty.” Owen hated this, but in order to clean the house of dirty cops, they’d have to do one better than the guys trying to hide their underhanded dealings. If Owen took that into his own hands, he wouldn’t be the cop he wanted to be. “How do you find out this stuff, anyway?”

  “If you don’t want the list, you don’t want to know how I got it,” Zach said.

  “Right.” Owen bit back a sigh.

  “Look, I know you probably don’t like me much, but I do try to do the right thing.”

  “Yeah.” Owen had never gotten a bad vibe off Zach, just a secretive one. “Does Jax know everything? About you?”