The Sinful King
By New York Times Bestselling Author
Claire Contreras
Copyright © 2020 by The Wicked Pen/Claire Contreras
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For Liz & Jenn
This is a fairytale. Just go with it.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Claire Contreras
Prologue
Past
“You probably shouldn’t be here.”
I jumped slightly at the gruff voice behind me and turned to watch the man walk over until he was standing beside me on the balcony, overlooking the beach before us. Not that we could see anything in the dark, but the sound of the waves was enough. I tried to make out his face before I answered him, but couldn’t with the mask he had on. If I had to judge it based on what I could see, I’d say he was classically good-looking, with a strong jaw, straight nose, pouty lips, and thick dark hair that was brushed back.
“It’s the princes’ party.” I cleared my throat. “Everyone’s here.”
“Everyone’s inside, partaking in the debauchery. You’re out here, drinking water.” His lips twisted as he took in the glass water bottle in my hand.
“Why are you out here?”
“I got bored.”
“Bored of the debauchery?”
“Bored of all of it. The party, the people, the pretending, the masks.”
“So take off your mask.” I shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t think they’ll kick you out for that. Or you can just leave.”
“Are you leaving?”
“I’m here with a friend.” I sighed heavily and looked over my shoulder and spotted Etienne dancing with some woman. They looked like they were doing more than just dancing, so I looked away quickly. “We practice the whole no man left behind thing, so I have to wait until he’s finished.”
“He?”
“My friend, Etienne.”
“Etienne.” The man beside me nodded once. “I believe I met him.”
“He loves a party.”
“Where are you from?”
“That’s a complicated answer.” I looked up at him again. It was difficult to see what color his eyes were. They were definitely dark though.
“I like complicated.”
“Okay. I was born here in Marbella. It’s my mother’s hometown. My father is French. They met in university. I grew up in the States—in Connecticut, where I went to school and stayed with my aunt and uncle—while my parents traveled back and forth between there, here, and France. My grandmother is dying, so my mother spends most of her time here, and my father works in Paris, so he’s over there.” I bit my lip when I finished talking, unsure if he’d been able to keep up with all of that or even cared to. I wasn’t even sure why I’d actually explained all of it at all. I guess because he asked and I was as bored as he said he was.
“Where do you live now?”
“I’ve been living here for the last two months, but I go back to the States tomorrow.”
“What for?”
“School. I was accepted into the University of North Carolina, so I’ll be there for four years, and then . . . I don’t know. I’m thinking I’ll settle in London.”
“What’s your ultimate goal?”
“I want to start an event-planning company. It’s my mother’s dream, and I really think we can do something great together. We’ll see though.” I smiled as I thought about it. “I’m studying Hospitality Management and landed a part-time position in event planning at a hotel near the school, so I’m hoping to learn as much as I can.”
“I didn’t realize you needed a degree to plan events.”
“You don’t.”
“So, why bother?”
“My parents.” I shrugged. “They both went to college. It feels weird for me not to go after they spent all that money on boarding school.”
“It seems weird for you to spend more of their money going if you already know what you want to do and don’t need a degree to do it.”
“Starting up a business requires money, and time, and a lot of dedication, which I’d gladly give, except I have no money for it, and time and dedication are great, but you have to have money to back it up.” I shook my head. “What do you do?”
“I work for the government.”
“Ew. Like the cabinet?”
He chuckled. “What’s wrong with the cabinet?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’ve heard mixed things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I’ll admit the things I’ve heard are biased, being that my father works for a newspaper that’s extremely critical of the Crown and the way they built the cabinet. I mean, the king handpicks his subjects. It’s a bit . . . communistic.”
“Ah, your father is one of those.” His lips formed a small smile. “I bet he has a lot of strong opinions about the way things should be run.”
“He does. I mean, I guess everyone does, right?”
“It seems like the critics have more opinions than those in office. You’d think if they want something to change, really change, they’d run.”
“Is that why you ran?”
“Partly.”
“Well, then, I’m sure you’re doing a good job.”
He chuckled. He had a nice chuckle. Our eyes met again, and this time, I found myself standing a little closer to him. His smile turned serious after a moment of looking at me, and I felt my own expression mirror his. Suddenly, I was hyperaware of him—his height, his large hands resting beside mine, seemingly inching closer, the way he smelled, like delicious cologne and something else—and when he parted his lips slightly, the hint of tequila on his breath.
“Where do you live?” he asked quietly.
“Right over there.” I pointed at the villa beside the one we were in.
His eyes widened slightly. “You’re joking.”
“Not joking.” I laughed. “Why would I be joking?”
“I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“Do you come around here often?” I asked.
He must know the princes. I’d never been home to experience these parti
es, but I’d heard enough rumors about them. The princes were a staple here every summer. It was their escape from the paparazzi and whatever else they were supposed to be doing. Etienne knew one of them. It was the reason we’d been invited to attend. The parties were notorious for being invite-only. Cellphones were taken at the door. Costumes were provided. Masks were always in place. Even though I’d spent little time inside, the debauchery the man beside me mentioned earlier wasn’t exaggerated. In the hour I’d been inside, I’d seen drugs passed around and taken, drinks constantly being poured and refilled, and a lot more than just dancing going on. Plus, the DJ was famous and outside of here we would have had to pay top dollar to see him spin. It wasn’t my crowd. I’d partied through high school and it had been fun until it wasn’t, so now I measured myself whenever I went places. I drank more water than alcohol and said no to every pill passed my way. I’d learned a hard lesson a year ago and wasn’t willing to go through that again.
“Often enough,” he said, ripping me from my thoughts.
“Etienne does as well. He’s friends with Prince Aramis.”
“Me too.” He grinned. “He’s great. Big on parties.”
“I’ve heard Prince Elias is even bigger on parties.”
“Really? I’m quite certain it’s the opposite.”
“Who knows?” I shrugged. “Where do you stay when you’re in town?”
“Who says I’m not from here?”
“No one is from here.” I laughed. “I mean, I am, and even I’m hesitant to claim that after being away so long. Besides, your French accent is too thick for you to be from here.”
“I live in Paris,” he said, smiling. “But, like you, my mother is from Spain. Barcelona to be exact.”
“And your father is French?”
“Yes.”
“Funny coincidence.”
“I’m not sure I believe in coincidences. We seem to have a lot in common.”
“Like being bored at the biggest party of the summer?”
“Maybe you should offer your party-planning services to the princes. They’d pay you well and if you think you can throw a better party . . . ”
“Not likely.” I looked back inside. “This is the ‘it’ DJ right now, and honestly, it is a great party. I’m just not feeling like myself tonight I guess.”
“And you have a flight tomorrow.”
“And that.”
“Spend the night with me.” He set a hand over mine.
My heart slammed into my chest. No one had ever asked me to have sex with them like that. Or like anything, for that matter. In my group of friends, I was the only eighteen-year-old going off to college who was still a virgin. I had no reason for it either. It just hadn’t happened for me.
“I understand if you don’t want to,” he said, taking his hand back.
I looked into his eyes again, the eyes I could barely see, from underneath a mask I was grateful for right now. I’d never thought about who I’d lose my virginity to. I was vehemently against having a serious boyfriend during college, so at this point, I kind of figured it would be some frat boy in North Carolina and I was okay with that option. Looking at this man right now, whom I didn’t even know the name of, I knew deep in my core I wanted it to be him.
“I want to.” I slid my hand over his and squeezed.
He took my hand in his and led me down the stairs on the side of the house, and then down another set. The villa was three stories, with windows that faced the view of the ocean behind. My father and his brother had built these villas with the full intention of renting them out to tourists. Instead, their renters had been royals, actors, models, and celebrities from all around the world. Our own house had never been rented out. When my parents weren’t there, they had it locked, regardless of how much money was offered for it. I was familiar with the layout and I knew he was leading me to the first floor, where there was a bedroom—the only bedroom away from the chaos upstairs. The only bedroom in which we’d have ultimate privacy. My pulse quickened as we reached the back door and he pulled out a key to open the room from the outside.
“I stay here when I’m in town,” he explained. “Most of us do, unless you sign up too late and you’re forced to stay in one of the other villas.”
“I think it’s cute that they travel with their friends.”
“I think it says a lot about their state of loneliness,” he said.
“I guess I’ve never thought about that.”
He closed the door behind us. The room was dark, and when he walked over to the other door and pushed the button to black out the windows, it was darker still and I found myself blinking rapidly to adjust to it. He pressed another button and a light came on, but even that was extremely dim, just enough for us not to bump into anything, but not enough to actually see clearly. I was grateful for it. He walked over to me, his shoes tapping against the hardwood as he did, and I braced myself for . . . something. Instead, he stood right in front of me and brought a hand up to my face, cupping my jaw as he looked at me.
“You’re nervous.”
“I am.” I swallowed. “I don’t normally do this.”
“That’s okay.” His lips formed a slow smile. “We’ll take it slow.”
“Should . . . should I take my mask off?” I whispered.
“Do you want to?”
“Are you going to take yours off?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.” I let out a shuddering breath. “I think we should.”
He didn’t hesitate. His mask came off immediately, and even though I couldn’t fully see him, I could fully appreciate his gorgeousness. He must have been a model. Or an actor. Or something. My rapid thought process reminded me of something.
“I don’t even know your name.”
“I don’t know yours.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” I felt my eyebrows pull in.
“You’re leaving to another country tomorrow. Does it make a difference? Will it stop you from doing this?”
“No.” I pulled the mask over my head and tossed it aside.
“You’re beautiful.” The tips of his fingers caressed my cheek, my lips.
“You can barely see me.”
“And yet, I know you’re beautiful.” He brought his lips to mine then and kissed me.
My breath hitched. I brought my hands up to his face and kissed him back, parting my lips to make way for his tongue to dance with mine as my entire body came alive. His kiss was electric, his touch an awakening as his hands made their way down my body, unzipping my dress and letting it pool at our feet. He touched my naked breasts and explored my hips, stopping at the elastic of my panties. I undid his bow tie and unbuttoned the white dress shirt he had on, my fingers fumbling on a few. When I reached his belt and undid it, I paused, breathing heavily as he broke the kiss.
“You okay?” The tip of his nose touched mine.
“Better than okay.”
“We can stop any time you’d like.”
“I don’t want to stop.” I continued working on his pants until they met the same fate as my dress, and then we stood there, chest to chest, in the middle of a darkened room, with only our underwear on. “Do you want to stop?”
“Never.”
Our lips met again. This time, with more ardor. My hands quickly pulled down his boxer briefs and began exploring the large, hard instrument in front of me. He was slower, more methodical, as he deepened the kiss and slid his hand into my panties, exploring, quickly finding the root of my incessant throbbing. I cried out against his mouth, and cried out again shortly after when he brought me to climax again. He growled his acceptance and pushed me gently onto the bed. His lips became more frantic as he kissed his way down my body, licking and tugging my nipples into his mouth before moving further south. He yanked my panties down and replaced his hand with his lips. It was a sensation unlike anything I’d felt before. With each lick, I felt like I might die. Like my heart might give out on me at any moment. I
t was too much, yet not enough. When I stated that, he smiled against my skin and took it as ammunition to keep going until my hips buckled and I shouted out jumbled words that didn’t even make sense into the void of the room.
I heard the rip of a condom as I was coming to, but still breathing heavily, and then he was pushing himself inside of me, ever so slowly. He gasped as he filled me completely and planted his hands on either side of my head.
“So tight.” He wheezed out the words as he moved out slowly. “So fucking tight.”
I bit hard on my lip to not yell. It didn’t feel as good as his tongue, but I didn’t dare say that. I’d read enough articles and heard enough stories from friends to know that your first time wasn’t magical, no matter how gorgeous the guy or how incredible his body was. My nails dug into his sides, and then his back as he found a steady rhythm. He squeezed his eyes shut as if he was the one in physical pain, and his forehead settled on mine.
“What’s your name?” he panted.
“I thought . . . it didn’t . . . matter.” I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts, finding my own rhythm in this.
“I want to know.”
“Adeline.”
“Adeline. Adeline. Adeline.” He used it as a chant with each thrust, as if he needed to remember who it was he was fucking, and when he flipped us over so I was on top, I made sure to make it so he’d remember this chant tomorrow when I was far away from this place and he was attending another one of these parties.
The Sinful King: By New York Times Bestselling Author Page 1
