Crown of Thornes : a modern day royal romance

by Delaney Foster

  The wind whipped in the trees outside as rain hammered against the windowpanes. The storm matched the turmoil in my soul—wild and chaotic, as if nature had reached inside me and pulled it out of my chest to unleash it on the world.

  “It’s storming out there. You can’t run to your room and hide. You have no place to go, and I have nowhere to be. There’s just here and now and we’re doing this.”

  She studied my face with the curiosity of a cat. “Remind me exactly what it is that we’re doing?”

  “Truth or Dare... Minus the dare. I have questions and I want answers.” I had a hard time taking my eyes off her tits. A blush crept over her skin, but she never moved to shield my view, as if she liked me looking at her that way. Fuck me.

  “Oh, you want answers?” She threw her head back in a laugh, and all my mouth wanted to do was bite the curve of her neck.

  “Why do you hate the king?” Even though the crown had practically been sitting on my head for the last week, my father was still the king.

  “I never said I hated him.”

  “You never said you didn’t.” I tucked her hair behind her ear, letting my fingertips dust the side of her face. This might be a self-serving recon mission, but I couldn’t keep myself from touching her. “I didn’t peg you for a liar.”

  “That’s because I’m not.”

  “Then answer the question.”

  She ran her tongue across her lips, then swallowed hard. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. I was beginning to think the silence would last forever.

  I loved the silence. After a lifetime of voices telling me how to speak, what to wear, who to like, I welcomed the silence. With Katie, I hated it.

  Just answer the fucking question. Call him a thief. Say he’s a liar. Tell me all the things your father taught you to say.

  Finally, she spoke. “My mama loves it here. She’s happy. She lost everything too, and this… this place, this job, it gives her something back.”

  She was worried about her mother? Like an admission would set off some kind of treason alert and they would be immediately evicted from the castle, carried out by the guards and their heads thrown on a block. This wasn’t the 1800’s and I wasn’t that cruel.

  If she knew the truth—that I only needed her honesty so I could fuck her without feeling guilty—she might reconsider answering me. I didn’t know which was worse, her logic or mine.

  “If I promised you that your mother would be fine, would you tell me the truth?”

  She made a fist, holding only her pinky in the air. I smirked to keep from smiling at how insanely adorable she looked trying to be serious about a promise made for fifth graders.

  “What the fuck is that?” I asked.

  “It’s a pinky. You want to promise?” She nodded toward her uplifted pinky. “Then promise.”

  I hooked my pinky around hers. My signature was days away from being sealed on the bottom of Acts of Parliament and Royal Decrees, and here I was making fucking pinky promises in the goddamn library.

  She held up a thumb. “Now stamp it.”

  I tipped my head back and laughed.

  She glared up at me.

  “Wait. You’re serious?”

  She cleared her throat, shifting her weight on her feet and lifting her chin. Holy shit she was serious. And intoxicating. “Stamp. It.”

  I stamped the fucking thumb.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  My arm wrapped around her waist and I pulled her against me, because no matter how close we were, it wasn’t close enough. “Now you tell me everything.”

  Her pulse throbbed in her throat. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why do you hate me?”

  “I don’t.”

  I didn’t even try to recognize how her confession made me feel, so I locked it away and decided to deal with it later. “But you hate my father?”

  More thunder pealed right outside the window. The sheer force of it rattled the glass, a warning from God that we were treading on sacred ground where secrets were meant to stay buried. She flinched but didn’t answer, which I had quickly learned with Katie, was an answer.

  One day this battle would end.

  One day I would make sure the only storm she was afraid of was me.

  A crack of lightning and thunder shattered the silence.

  “I stamped the fucking thumb, now answer the question.”

  She fisted her hands in the front of my shirt and squeezed her eyes shut, like she battled between pulling me closer and pushing me away.

  I clenched my jaw. “The question, Katie.”

  Say it. Show me who you really are.

  Her eyes snapped open. “Yes! Are you happy now? Yes, I hated him. Because if he’d gone a different way home or if he hadn’t used our property as his own personal shortcut… If he’d stayed home like any sane person would have, my father never would’ve gone out into the freezing rain to save him. And he’d still be here. He’d be alive. And neither one of us would be lonely.”

  If being caught in the storm made my dad crazy, then what did running out into the middle of it make hers? I almost explained that the king was only out there to help his people, that he wasn’t insane, that he wouldn’t have left his family if he had known what was coming. But the words would have fallen on deaf ears. Katie wasn’t looking for an explanation. She was looking for justification.

  Her words slammed into me. I knew she hated us. I always figured that her hatred had stemmed from Matteo’s and that his sacrifice was the icing on the cake. There was so much pain in her voice, so much resentment, and none of it had to do with her father’s threats. Because she didn’t know anything about them. She didn’t accuse my father of being anything other than careless.

  Two undeniable truths stood out in her moment of confession.

  She said “hated.” Past tense.

  She admitted she was lonely. And that she knew I was too.

  I kissed her because… fuck it. Fuck forbidden. Fuck a last name. Fuck a war. Fuck it all. My mouth crashed against hers as I slammed her against the bookshelf behind us, trapping her with my body, locking her feet between mine. She tasted like peppermint and heaven. Her lips parted, and I dove deeper inside, seeking, demanding, and consuming. I braced one hand on a wooden shelf, sending books tumbling to the floor, and the other hand on the curve of her ass. My fingers dug into her flesh knowing I’d leave a trail of bruises, and I fucking loved it. Her fists tightened in my shirt, making a wrinkled mess of expensive fabric. She moaned in my mouth, and I fell over the edge. We broke on a breath, and I leaned my forehead against hers.

  “I could get drunk on you.”

  We are royally fucked. Literally.

  She captured my face in her hands, looking up at me with those hypnotizing fucking eyes that screamed, more. I pressed my body to hers, my cock iron-hard against her stomach, and she gasped. Fuck, I could listen to that sound all day. I brought my mouth back down on hers, kissing, needing, wanting. It was vicious and violent, and… damn it all to fucking hell, I should stop and walk away right now, but I couldn’t get enough of it. If tasting her was sin, then I was damned, body and fucking soul. I was a prince, not a saint.

  I raked my fingers over her ass, pinching up the fabric of her thin sundress, then across the top of her thigh. I pulled back, biting her bottom lip and ending the kiss. My hand trailed between her legs, remembering the bare, slick skin of her cunt and impatient as fuck to get my hands all over it. “If I slipped my fingers inside, would I find you wet for me?”

  She brought her hands to my hair, her fingers tangling and tugging and pleading for more. “Yes.”

  God, she was beautiful like this. Magnificently, painfully beautiful—and mine.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  No. Not Your Highness.

  Not now.

  Right now, I was just Sutton and she was just Katie. No royal titles. No last names.

  I let go of th
e bookshelf and wrapped my fingers in her hair, forcing her head back and making her look at me. “Say my fucking name. I want to hear it.”

  I rocked into her in a rush of violent, desperate need. Jesus, my legs were shaking. My whole body trembled with the need to fuck. I was suddenly very aware that there were way too many clothes between us and not nearly enough time. I could spend a week alone with Katie and still not be done with all the things I wanted to do to her. I was rock hard, my dick straining against my pants with the need to be closer to her, to feel her bare.

  She threw her head back and closed her eyes. Her lips parted, the tiniest whimper slipping out and her breath came fast, so fast. “Sutton…”

  Fuck yes.

  A gust of air shot through the room when the library door flew open.

  “Katie? Are you in here? I just wanted to see—”

  Fucking Keaton.

  Katie dropped her hands from my hair as her wide eyes stared across the room. She pushed me away as if that made what he’d walked in on any less obvious.

  I massaged my temples against an impending headache and turned to face him. “Jesus Christ, what is it with you and timing?”

  His grin was filled with malice. “Oh, you know, just keeping an eye on the sheep. Watching out for wolves.”

  How fucking clever of him. Wrong story, motherfucker. I wasn’t the wolf. I was the lion. And this was my kingdom.

  I almost put an end to this shit show by grabbing Katie’s ass, pulling her against me, and finishing what I’d started. It was time for Captain Cockblock to get the message. She was mine.

  I wasn’t jealous. Jealousy implied that I wanted something that I didn’t have. Katie belonged to me now. That made me territorial. And I would fuck him up to protect what was mine.

  “I’m fine, Keaton. Thank you…” She trailed off, clearing her throat.

  “Clearly,” he said, his voice stone cold. “If you need anything, call me.”

  “I will,” she replied, and I wanted to smash her phone beneath my thousand-dollar shoe to make sure she would never call him ever again.

  He walked out, closing the door behind him, and she was in my face in a second. “Is that why you call me that? Little sheep? Because you’re the wolf in this story?”

  She had no fucking idea. I took a deep breath to calm the raging storm inside me, noticing the rain outside the window had finally started to ease up. I inched closer to her, tilting my head to one side. “All these books and you haven’t met the Big Bad Wolf?” She swallowed hard as a visible shiver racked her body. “He’s the one who hears you better.” I took a step closer. “He sees you better.” Closer. “He eats you better.” I grabbed her hip, gripping her hard, and she sucked in a breath. I ran my lips over the shell of her ear, closing my eyes and inhaling her sweet scent. “I’m going to devour you, little sheep. And you’re going to fucking love it.”

  I liked being the lion, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the hell out of being the wolf.

  Seventeen

  Logic no longer existed. At least not when Sutton was touching me. There was nothing but a craving, a longing to unbutton his expensive dress shirt and explore his body, to reach my hand inside his designer pants and feel the smooth steel of his erection in my palm.

  He said he would devour me, and I believed him. Which was why I had to go. I needed to leave before he swallowed me whole. The wind died down and the rain slowed to a lazy drizzle, and I headed for the door. No explanation. No apology. I just… left. Too many emotions emerging at once, unraveling knots that had been twisted up inside me for months, leaving me too open, too vulnerable. He frustrated me, terrified me, and undid me all at once, and I almost let him go too far.

  Sutton wanted to know why I hated the king. Why it mattered so much to him was anyone’s guess, but I told him anyway. I tore open the wound and let him watch me bleed. He didn’t know it yet, but next time it would be his turn to tell the truth.

  Keaton would probably never speak to me again, but I refused to chase him. This time I let him go. There was no explanation I could have offered him that would’ve made things any better.

  The memory of Sutton’s touch clung to my skin. I tried a hot shower and humming myself to sleep. Nothing soothed the burning ache. What would his thick thighs feel like stretched between mine? Would his bare chest glisten with sweat as he pumped into me? How would he feel naked and pressed against my breasts?

  Screw it. I fumbled in the drawer of my nightstand until I found the Magic Wand. With a twist of my wrist the vibrator came to life. My hand slid beneath the covers, between my breasts and across my stomach, then between my thighs. I slid my pajama bottoms over my hips and spread my legs wide, rubbing the tip of the wand back and forth on my swollen nub. No panties. I never slept with panties. Tingles sparked a blistering fire in my lower belly. I saw his face. Heard his voice. Felt him touching me.

  “I’m going to devour you, little sheep. And you’re going to fucking love it.”

  I slid the wand between my slick folds and moaned. The steady pulse did wicked things to my body. Another glide over my sensitive flesh then I slid it inside. Oh God.

  “If I slipped my fingers inside, would I find you wet for me?”

  “Yes,” I breathed even though no one was here to listen.

  My hips began their slow dance, rocking against the vibrator, greedy for more but never getting enough. My other hand clenched the sheets, squeezed my breasts, pinched my nipples. More. I wanted more, needed more.

  “No one is me, Katie. No one.”

  My breath burst out in loud pants as my core throbbed with intense need.

  “You can fight this all you want, little sheep. But I’m going to fuck you. With my fingers, with my mouth, with my cock. I want to fill you from the inside out, to bury myself so deep inside that all you feel is me.”

  Pleasure built up inside me like the rolling waves crashing against the shore outside my window. I closed my eyes and arched back, letting it take me over.

  “Say my fucking name.”

  I came with a cry. “Sutton.”

  Even after the waves consumed me, I still felt empty. I still wanted more. This time his words and his touch broke me in a completely different way than they had before. I didn’t know what was worse—the fear of drowning in him or dying of thirst.

  Sunlight streamed in through my bedroom window, making last night’s storm seem an eternity away. All night, I dreamed of Sutton and his filthy words and the way he kissed me like he was punishing me—punishing us both—for not having the strength to say no. I read somewhere that chocolate was a good substitute for sex. Maybe I just needed chocolate, and this whole fiery need would disappear. Unfortunately, that was the one thing I hadn’t thought of stocking my kitchen with.

  I walked through the South Garden toward the castle, watching the flowers open up to receive the morning sun and listening to the birds sing. The day’s warmth wiped away any lingering evidence of the fallen rain as though Mother Nature was sticking her tongue out at me and telling me there really was life after the storm.

  Madeline twirled around the castle kitchen in her usual chipper morning fashion. Her navy-blue dress swished as she went. Mrs. Fletcher whisked batter in a stainless-steel mixing bowl, stopping long enough to toss in a handful of blueberries. The kitchen smelled like a French café. Melted butter, fresh pastries, and coffee brewing. Much better than the tiny kitchen in my villa.

  I brushed past a humming Madeline to grab a bowl from one of the cabinets. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she sang.

  Who was she calling sleepyhead? It was seven a.m.

  “Don’t poke the bear before she’s had her coffee,” I replied as I grabbed a throwaway cup from one of the cabinets. God forbid a commoner drink from a royal coffee mug. I was lucky to even be drinking from the same pot.

  She faked a pout. “Aww, did you not get enough sleep last night?” She waggled her eyebrows then cracked a wide smile. “Someone keeping yo
u up too late?”

  The scent of a fresh brew wrapped around me as I poured my first cup of coffee. I cut her a sideways glance, then let the first sip warm my throat. I liked my coffee the way I liked my life—simple. No sugary syrups or milky creamers.

  Mrs. Fletcher looked up from pouring blueberry batter into a muffin pan. “Manners, Madeline. That’s not our business.” A knowing smile brightened her eyes.

  Oh geez. Were there no secrets in this place?

  I mentally laughed at the thought. There were tons of secrets in this place.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher.” I bumped Madeline’s hip with mine as I walked past her again. “And for the record, no one is keeping me up at night.”

  Madeline coughed the word bullshit then laughed.

  “Madeline Elaine,” Mrs. Fletcher warned as she slid the muffin pan into the industrial oven, saving me from having to preheat for my brownies.

  I set my coffee cup on the island and walked around to the cabinet where I pulled out a mixing bowl. “It’s okay,” I said, stacking butter, sugar, and flour into the bowl. “Madeline is still waiting for the prince to come dashing into the kitchen with a glass slipper in his hand.”

  Madeline lifted one shoulder in a shrug, continuing her task of kneading flour into dough. “What? If it can’t be me, it might as well be Katie.”

  I grabbed a sauté pan and clicked on a burner, then glanced at my braided leather sandals. “Well, I’m not missing a shoe so…”

  Madeline watched as I dumped a chunk of butter into the pan to be melted. “What in the world are you baking at seven o’clock in the morning?” she asked.

  “Brownies.” I grabbed some sugar and eggs. “Chocolate is a great substitute for all this sex I’m not having.” I shot her a wink then dumped the sugar into the bowl.