His Royal Hotness

by Virna DePaul

  “Wait here,” he whispered.

  Molly squirmed on the bed, both nervous and desperately excited for what was to come. Straining her ears, she tried to pick up any clue she could as she heard Callum move across the room and slide something along the floor. Something was set down and then there was a rustle, as if wrapping paper was being pushed aside. There was a sound she couldn’t place, a sort of swishing.

  Then his strong hands slipped under her knees and behind her back and lifted her into the air. Unsettled, she reached out and clutched at his large biceps even though she had no doubt she was secure in his arms. Her mind whirled with all the possibilities of where he could be taking her and what he had in store for her.

  “I’m going to set you down.”

  Her toes felt the floor. She held onto Callum’s hand for support as she waited for what was to come.

  “Goddamn you’re going to make me forget what I’m doing,” he said.

  This brought a victorious grin to her face as she imagined him suffering with desire just as much as she was. She could sense him kneeling next to her.

  “You look amazing like this,” he continued, fumbling with something next to her. “Naked with my tie around your eyes. Fuck, I’m already getting hard. You have no idea how much I want to bite your juicy ass right now.”

  Molly laughed. “Why not bite it then? Have a taste of my forbidden fruit.”

  She grinned and gave a quick shake of her ass. This earned her a slap on the swell of her right cheek, and she purred.

  “Maybe just a nibble,” he muttered before Molly felt his teeth scrape along her inner thigh. Then he gave her wet pussy a slow drag with his tongue, making her knees go weak.

  “Fuck you taste good,” he groaned. “But we’re playing a different game right now.”

  He went silent, making her frown. She flinched when she felt something silky slide up her legs. Guiding each of her arms where he desired them to go, he continued whatever he was doing in silence. He gave a stifled moan as he laid the silk over her tits and grazed his fingers from her sternum to her stomach.

  She heard, barely audible, a whispered, “Damn.”

  His fingers were at the knot tied behind her head, and before he pulled it away, he added, “Don’t open your eyes until I tell you to.”

  The tie fell away, and she felt him move behind her. He dragged his fingers through her hair and then tilted up her chin with a guiding finger. She felt his kiss on her shoulder, and his breath against her hair when he spoke. “Okay. Open your eyes.”

  Molly opened her eyes and blinked in surprise when she saw her image reflected back from the full-length mirror in the corner of Callum’s room. She was wearing a dress—Callum’s gift to her.

  “Do you like it?” he whispered in her ear.

  “I—”

  In the front, the dress plunged almost to her navel, and the silk covering her breasts twisted to form the straps over her shoulder. The skirt flowed beautifully from her waist in soft silky layers that flowed like water with just the slightest motion of her hips. The structure of the dress was stunning. The open chest worked perfectly with the loose tangle of blonde curls that skimmed her shoulders. He must’ve had it designed this way, with the intention of her wearing her hair just like this, wild from the harsh winds of Scotland, teased by his fingers, soft from lying on his chest.

  But as beautiful and unique as it was, it wasn’t the design that left Molly quite speechless as Callum smiled at her in the full-length mirror. It was the colors printed onto the expensive silk.

  “Summer Sundown,” she whispered, still not believing what was right before her eyes, as real as her own breathing in her chest.

  Callum grinned. “William McTaggart.”

  She turned around and looked up at him, trying not to let the tears pooled in her eyes drip down her cheeks and onto this masterpiece she wore. Across her body was the stunning reason she’d climbed over that burgundy rope in the first place. McTaggart’s painting, Summer Sundown, was the start of it all. Those sublime strokes of color were on her body, and she felt like a living painting.

  “What is—I mean, how did you—wha—um—”

  Words were not working for her. She laughed. She had no idea what to ask, what to say.

  Callum raised his arm to twirl her around and she stumbled into his arms, still stunned.

  “If one of those questions was ‘Why did I have a dress made for you?’ then the answer is there is a ball in Kelso tonight, and I want you to attend as my guest.”

  “A ball…” she mumbled, dumbfounded.

  Less than an hour ago, she’d intended to tell Callum she needed to return to New York City on Wednesday. Real life tugged on her, and she had to leave this impossible dream behind her. A dream that included standing here in a custom gown about to attend a ball with a duke.

  “I don’t have, um…shoes.”

  He nodded towards the opened box where a pair of heels lay in the bottom. His hand slid down to her bare back as she stared at the shoes. He slowly dipped her down, and she clutched his arm.

  “If perhaps you were about to say ‘I can’t dance,’” he whispered, “I assure you that I can.”

  He twirled her about the room as effortlessly as a ballerina in a jewelry box.

  “But,” he went on, “if you were worried about what I might do to this pretty, pretty dress after the night has ended, just before I fuck you, well, I don’t have a single reassurance for you.”

  The dark flash in Callum’s eyes as he trailed his finger down the plunging neckline awoke Molly from her trance.

  This duke was no Prince Charming. He wasn’t the cartoon hero in a children’s movie who arrived on his white stallion to save the helpless princess. There was no glass shoe he’d slip onto her foot.

  He swore like a sailor and looked at her like a hunter and touched her like a sculptor and listened to her like a priest and commanded her like a general and fucked her like a man on death row.

  No, the Duke of Roxburghe was no Prince Charming.

  He was real.

  Everything about the past few days might be the thing of fairy tales or movies. But Callum was real. Imperfect and flawed and reckless and real.

  In her dress, Molly stepped closer to Callum and hooked her own finger in the front of his pants.

  “I suppose that’s just a risk I’ll have to take, Your Grace.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Callum

  That leg. That leg emerging from the car as he reached his hand to help her out. Cut in a slit up to her hip, her silk dress parted, and the expanse of flawless skin under the flash of cameras made him want to get on his knees right then and there, pressing his lips reverently to her flesh. He could have happily died right there at the end of that leg, oh dear God that leg.

  “Miss Rose,” he smiled, getting lost in the way her blue eyes seemed even bluer now that they were rimmed in dark smoky liner. “Welcome to Hartfield Manor.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  With her arm on his, he guided her past the saluting guards at the door. Inside, gold chandeliers glistened above a high room bookended with massive stone fireplaces whose flames burned high and merry. In the corner, a small orchestra played as the people of Kelso gathered to dance in the middle of the wide wooden floor. It wasn’t the most glamorous ballroom in the world, let alone Scotland, but with Molly beside him, it would be the happiest.

  A server walked by with a tray of champagne glasses, but Molly shook her head as Callum moved to grab two.

  “No?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  She grinned. “Where’s the Scotch?”

  “You’re a glutton for punishment,” he said with a smile, spotting the bar along a far wall.

  She leaned in close. “As long as you’re the one to mete out the punishment, Your Grace.”

  He held her arm tight and bent his head toward hers.

  “If you’re not careful,” he warned, “I’ll drag you out of here ove
r my shoulder with your ass in the air and bend you over the hood of my car to fuck you in the parking lot.”

  She blocked his path, discreetly brushing the exposed side of her tit against him. With her eyes on his, she jutted her chin defiantly. “Is that a threat or a promise, Your Grace?”

  “You are my guest,” he responded with a small bow. “Which would you prefer, Miss Rose?”

  Before Molly could answer, his mother called for him. He winked down at Molly before turning around. Isla seemed to glide forward in her black gown to kiss his cheek.

  “Callum, darling.” Her eyes fell on Molly and widened in surprise. “Miss Rose, that is quite a…look.”

  Her gaze swept over the deep décolletage and silk skirt, a subtle frown of disapproval crossing her face. Just then, however, a gentleman from the town council stepped in to ask Isla for a dance. She acquiesced and disappeared into the crowd of swirling men and women without another word. Molly watched her leave until she was twirling away on the opposite side of the room.

  “You should have defended your design,” she nudged Callum. “It’s a masterpiece.”

  He guided her to the bar and asked the bartender for his favorite brand of Scotch. “It’s a masterpiece, because you’re in it.”

  She rolled her eyes even as she accepted one of the glasses from him, but she couldn’t hide the pleasure she felt at his words. They started walking along the edge of the ballroom, watching couples and pairs join together for a waltz.

  “You’re more than what she sees you as, you know,” Molly said.

  Now it was Callum’s turn to roll his eyes.

  “My mother is still having a hard time dealing with…” He searched for the right words and found none of them. “…everything.”

  Her brows furrowed together and she gave him a stern look. In one swift move, he pulled her to the side.

  “You can’t rush your father into taking back his instruments, right?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  With a gulp, she stared at him. When she finally nodded, he looked out over the dancing crowd at his mother.

  “Well, I can’t rush my mother into taking me back, either.”

  The fight in Molly’s eyes disappeared, quickly replaced with sympathy. Her pinky barely grazed his wrist. She was painfully aware they were in public — and she was not who they thought she was.

  “Don’t say that,” she whispered.

  He wanted nothing more than to reach up and caress her cheek, but curious eyes from onlookers behind her stopped his hand, and he shoved his fingers into his pocket. After a quick toss to down his Scotch, he held out his hand for Molly.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked, sweeping into a low bow before her.

  “You’re avoiding reality.”

  He kept his head bent as he waited. From his periphery he could see Molly sigh and gulp down her Scotch.

  “To avoiding reality,” she toasted.

  Then she took his hand.

  * * *

  Everything around Callum swirled into color and noise and heat. He forgot about everyone else and had no idea who else had come to the ball that night. He couldn’t name names even if he tried.

  The only thing in focus was Molly and the only thing he felt was the silk of her dress as he spun her around and around and around.

  At last, it came time for the final dance. She curtsied, and when she looked up through her thick eyelashes he saw lust darkening her eyes. The last song meant the end of a magical evening together, but in a way he was glad. There’d been no kisses, no caresses, no nips or grabs between them. He certainly recognized the strain of her holding back, because he felt it himself.

  Every cell in his body yearned for her. He wanted her skin on his. He wanted her lips on his stomach, her nails across his chest, her curls against his cheek. Each restrained moment was a supreme effort.

  By the end of the last dance, he felt utterly exhausted and yet totally exhilarated.

  But they weren’t alone. Not yet.

  Callum still had to smile and shake hands and bid farewell to guests before he could watch that dress finally puddle to the floor. When they made their way towards the main entrance, he could practically smell the desire wafting off Molly in waves.

  But before they could reach the guards escorting everyone out, Callum stopped mid-step, his hand still on hers. Confused, Molly looked towards the line of cars pulling in to pick up their passengers.

  “Aren’t we going back to the castle?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I have a promise to uphold,” he said.

  A light of recognition burned in her blue eyes, fiery and hungry. After one quick darting glance around to make sure no one was looking, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She giggled and squirmed.

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

  He slapped her ass. “Wherever I want.”

  The arrangements were already made. The earlier suggestion had been planted in his mind, and Callum was a man who made the things he wanted happen. Especially when he wanted her as badly as he did. So, earlier that night, when Molly had excused herself to use the restroom, he’d secretly spoken with Mack.

  “You know,” he’d said, bumping shoulders with his friend, “you work too hard, Mack.”

  The gruff old man had frowned up at him, his red eyebrow knitting together. “Never have you said a truer thing, lad.”

  Callum had nodded. “You deserve a night off.”

  “A night off? Ain’t no such thing.” He’d shaken his head disbelievingly.

  “I don’t suppose you’d like to go see Georgette down at The Badger tonight,” Callum had urged. “She works Fridays, doesn’t she?”

  Mack had seen clearly then that his duke was surely up to something.

  “What do you want?” he’d asked, poking Callum in the side.

  “Just your keys and your silence.”

  Mack had tapped his chin. Callum had then spotted Molly returning, coming toward him through the crowd of dancing pairs. He’d held out his hand to his old friend. “Do we have a deal?”

  Mack had groaned. “Have fun, lad.”

  Callum had taken the keys and parked the car in the back of the manor where no one would spot he and Molly leaving together. Now, with one hand around Molly, Callum popped open the passenger door, plopping Molly down from his shoulder into the passenger’s seat, buckling her in with a wink.

  “I always deliver, love,” he said before making his way around to the driver’s side.

  Molly huffed next to him. He shifted the car into gear and, instead of pulling into the traffic leaving the manor, took a narrow gravel road leading up a hill.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked.

  “No. I am not.”

  Headlights illuminated the curving road ahead as they twisted round and round, higher and higher up the hill. Molly’s fingers crawled across the center console and up his thigh.

  “How about now?” she asked, pausing her fingers just below his crotch.

  Without looking at her, he grinned and kept his eyes focused on the road.

  “Don’t make me tie you up.” He undid his bowtie with one hand and let it hang loose around his neck as a warning, but that did nothing to stop her fingers from unhooking the button on his pants and dragging down his zipper.

  “You’ll have to gag me as well, Your Grace.”

  His dick twitched. A groan slipped from his lips and he squirmed in his seat to relieve the mounting pressure. Molly tugged at her seat belt and leaned over his lap. In the glow from the dashboard he could see the whites of his knuckles as he felt her hot tongue drag across the thin cotton holding back his growing erection.

  She licked him up and down his shaft until he was hard and his underwear was damp, clinging to his cock. He kept his eyes on the road and his fingers gripped on the wheel, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed Molly’s hands slip behind her back, as if announcing that she’d only be
touching him with her mouth, nothing else.

  Her mouth moved up to the elastic waistband of his underwear and her teeth scraped against the smooth skin of his lower abs, making him buck in the seat. She bit him playfully and he hissed. She held the elastic in her mouth. The top of the hill, with its pretty nighttime view of Kelso, was just around the next bend, but with her hot breath against his cock he wasn’t sure he’d make it. His eyes flashed again to her wrists that she held behind her back. She chuckled as his penis strained free.

  Slowly, so slowly it was cruel, she dragged down his underwear with her teeth. He started to sigh when the head of his cock slipped free, oozing precum against his stomach, but he punched the car’s ceiling when she let the elastic snap back down, just barely exposing the head.

  A string of “fucks” tumbled from his lips and he took the next turn as carefully as he could. It wasn’t easy, especially with her blowing teasing cold air against the soaked cotton. She nestled down even further and finally took the head into the tantalizing heat of her wet mouth. His foot jerked on the accelerator. It took everything in his power to not reach down, tug his underwear down to his knees, and thrust deep into her pretty little mouth. And she knew it. She fucking knew it.

  She lazily swirled her tongue around the head and lapped up the precum from his slit. He bit into his lower lip and feared he’d draw blood if she teased him any longer. Her tongue darted beneath his waistband, but she still didn’t release him. Callum would have a hard time explaining to Mack why there were nail marks in the leather steering wheel, but he couldn't stop himself as she sucked at the head again, like licking an ice cream cone at the beach.

  “Having a hard time staying still?” Between devilish kisses down the length of his shaft, she grinned up at him from underneath her dark eyelashes.

  He was grinding his hips and gritting his teeth together, his voice low and beastly.