Royal Rogue

by Jessica Peterson

  I took the sleeve. In for a penny, in for a pound. If she wanted me to fuck her like she said she did—

  “C’mon, Jane. We’re going to need more than one.”

  “Awfully presumptuous of you,” she said, teasing.

  Her lips tugged into a grin. They were bright pink. Made me wonder what color pink she was between her legs. Electric, if I had to guess, like the pink in the painting.

  I drew a ragged breath through my nose.

  I turned to her. Jane looked so damn good tonight. She’d looked gorgeous at the Ascot, too, in her designer dress and heels. She’d looked great last night as well. But tonight—tonight she looked transcendent. No makeup. Ripped jeans and a tank top. Her hair was tucked behind her bare shoulder, and a simple gold chain hung around her neck.

  Live in your lie. If I was going in, might as well jump in with both feet.

  I shoved the hesitation from my thoughts. Shoved the creeping guilt aside. The doubt.

  An entirely new tidal wave of want rushed into its place. I wanted this to be real. Not a job. Not a con. I wanted this to be really happening—a guy and a girl hitting it off. Having a good time. Falling into bed together.

  I wanted to focus on her. Her pussy. Her cries when she came. Not on that fucking painting.

  My hands were shaking again. I curled them into fists.

  “You okay?” she asked, gaze softening.

  I didn’t have to lie here. I didn’t want to.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” I said.

  Her eyes searched mine. They were lit up from the inside, glowing in the low light of the room. “And you’re fucking shameless.”

  “You’re the one who asked me to stay.”

  Jane’s chest was rising and falling now. She was breathless.

  “And now I’m the one asking you fuck me as well as you kissed me.” Her eyes were wet. A little pleading again. “Please, Charlie.”

  At least I could give her this. I could fuck her well and fuck her right. Fuck her the way I would if I really could make her mine.

  I stepped forward, stepped into her. Desire ripped through me at the press of her body against mine. She was so soft, her tits round and high, the perfect handful.

  “Princess, I’m only going to stop when you’re too sore to keep going.”

  She bit her lip. My dick screamed, and I pressed that into her, too.

  Condoms still in hand, I tipped her chin up and took her gasp into my mouth. Her lips were generous and knowledgeable and sweet from the wine. I used my tongue to open her to me, tilting my head to deepen the angle. She raised her arms and looped them around my neck, digging her fingers into my hair.

  She was gentle. But there was an edge to her gentleness. A desperation. Like she’d been starving for this. Waiting too long.

  I drew a sharp breath. Counted to three in an effort to stay calm. But then she was arching into me, asking for more, and my control snapped. I kissed her hard, putting my hands on her face, sliding them down to her neck, her waist, her ass.

  She let out a little moan.

  I saw red.

  She began backing up toward the bed, pulling me with her. My entire being lit up like a struck match.

  I ducked my head and pressed a wet, messy kiss to the hollow underneath her ear. She moaned again, the sound raw.

  Real.

  Now I was digging my teeth into her neck, her rapid-fire heartbeat pulsing against my tongue.

  Her hands clawed at my chest, nails digging into the skin underneath.

  I grabbed the hem of her shirt and, breaking the kiss, tugged it over her head. Dropping it to the floor, I looked at her. She was wearing a pale pink bra. The cups were sheer lace; I could see the dusky circles of her nipples, the hardened points pressing against the barely-there fabric.

  One of them was pierced. A simple silver barbell.

  Lust hit me head on like a fucking Mack truck, mowing me down.

  I reached out. Took the delicious weight of her tit in my hand and thumbed the piercing. Her eyes went hazy; she arched her back, pressing the nipple into my palm.

  “A princess with a nipple piercing.” I shook my head. Looked up. Looked her in the eye. “This also part of you figuring yourself out? Like the whiskey?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed. “Got it done last year.”

  I suddenly felt dizzy. “I like it.”

  “I love it,” she replied.

  I stared at her. Who the fuck was this girl? Swagger one minute, vulnerability the next. Then swagger again.

  I wanted her. I wanted her so badly I ached.

  “What else do you have to show me?” I said.

  I wanted to take my time with her, I did. But I was going fucking crazy inside my head. I needed to get into my body.

  Into hers.

  One of her hands snaked down to the fly of her jeans. When they fell to the floor, she stepped out of them. Her panties were black. A stark, deliciously disheveled contrast to her bra.

  She began backing toward the bed, crooking her finger. “Why don’t you come find out?”

  No. No games. Not right now.

  I grabbed her by the arm—a little rough, a lot impatient—and she came crashing into me, a breathless laugh on her lips.

  I crushed my mouth to hers and lifted her with a grunt so she straddled my hips. One, two, three giant steps, and I was throwing her onto the bed.

  She was smiling, smiling and writhing as I climbed on top of her, settling my knees on either side of hers. Hooking my finger into her panties, I tugged them down her milky white thighs.

  My mouth watered at the sight of the well-groomed landing strip of dark blonde hair between her legs.

  I lifted my knee and used it to part those legs. Still not wide enough. I grabbed her knee and bent her leg, guiding it to her chest and a little off to the side.

  Now her pussy was spread wide open. Pink, red. Swollen. She was so wet I could see it.

  So. Fucking. Wet.

  “How long?” I said, resting my weight on one hand beside her torso. Breathing hard.

  Her chest was rising and falling, rising and falling. “How long what?”

  I reached down and drew the pad of my first finger up the length of her cunt, front to back, one firm, slow motion. Oh, God, she was soft here. The idea that I would be sinking inside that softness, burying myself in it—it made me feel like I was strung out for a drug I hadn’t even tried yet.

  “Have you been like this?” I asked, and then I put that same finger to her mouth.

  She blinked. Then, like the fucking wicked minx she was, she licked her lip, tasting herself. The tip of her tongue, wet and warm, met with my finger.

  My vision blurred. My cock surged.

  “Since I met you,” she breathed. Her eyes were wide open. Honest.

  Her perfume—floral cut with dark musk—mingled with the salty-sweet scent of her pussy.

  Ducking my head, I kissed my way down her belly to her pubic bone. Then I pressed my tongue to her clit before I gathered it in my lips. I gave it a soft, slow suck. A lick. Another suck. Immediately she bucked her hips, her hand digging into my hair, pulling it.

  “Charlie,” she moaned.

  I kept sucking. With my free hand, I reached down again. Sunk two fingers inside her, thrusting in time to my lips.

  She was rolling her hips against me now. Her pussy fluttered around my fingers.

  Too soon. The longer I made her wait, the better her orgasm would be.

  And I wanted it to be good for her. The best she’d had.

  Live in your lie.

  I pulled my fingers out of her and moved down.

  Down.

  “Can I touch you here?” I said softly.

  Jane’s eyes fluttered shut. She nodded. But when my middle finger met with her asshole, she sucked in a breath and pulled away a little.

  I went still, looking up from between her legs. “Not okay?”

  Her hand was still in my hair. She o
pened her eyes looked down at me, breathing hard.

  “No, no, it’s fine. I just…”

  I narrowed my eyes, the realization dawning. “You’ve never done this before.”

  “No.” She swallowed. “You have, though.”

  “Yes.” I pressed a kiss to her hipbone, my eyes never leaving hers. “I understand if you don’t want to do it. But if you do—Jane, I’m totally fucking game.”

  Her face fell a little.

  “Why?” she asked, her gaze softening. Not with lust, but with something else. Something that was painful. “So you can say you were the first bloke to fuck Princess Jane in the ass?”

  I went still. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. Jane had been burned before, that much was clear. She’d trusted someone, and they’d hurt her. Used her. Maybe that was why all those billionaires in the Queen’s box had turned her stomach. How many scumbags had fucked Jane just to say they had?

  How many guys had straight up fucked her over? I was fucking her over. I knew that. But I was only doing it because I had to. Those tools—the ones like her ex—they’d done it just because they could.

  I had no right to be angry. None whatsoever. But the man who was living inside his lie right now—he was downright ragey about it.

  Jane deserved better. I wanted to be the one to give that to her. The better. The best. I wanted to give that to her without having to take it away. But I couldn’t, and that made me even angrier.

  Her breath caught. I looked down to see that I was holding her ankle. Squeezing it, hard.

  “Shit,” I growled, dropping my hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  I looked at her. “No, it’s not. It’s not all right you’d think that. I want you to try this because I think you’ll like it. Because I want to experience it with you, Jane. Not because I want bragging rights or whatever. I’d never—”

  “I know.”

  The words pierced my heart like a needle.

  She trusted me.

  Not only that. She was allowing me to see her vulnerability. She was gifting it to me.

  Like an asshole—like an idiot—I wanted more. More truth and authenticity. They didn’t exist in my universe. Only desperation did.

  It was like seeing the stars for the first time. I couldn’t stop staring.

  “I know you’d never do that,” she continued. “I guess I just wanted to see what you’d say.”

  I looked down at her. “How do you know I wouldn’t use you?”

  “Because.” Jane’s eyes narrowed a little bit. “You’re different.”

  My heart and my cock pulsed in tandem.

  Not the way you think I am.

  I shoved the thought from my head. Willed myself back into the fantasy that this was real.

  But it was, wasn’t it? It felt so much more real than anything else I’d known lately.

  “Can I show you?” My eyes moved to her asshole. “Exactly how different I am?”

  Jane’s eyes flickered with heat. “Show me everything, Charlie.”

  I pressed my finger to the pucker of her anus again. This time she pressed against me, too, her breath catching.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jane

  Charlie’s blue eyes, electric in the soft light of the lamp beside my bed, were on my face as his finger slid a bit further into my ass. The sensation was…sharp. In a good way. Instinctively I clenched around him. Even though it stung, I wanted more. I wanted to push boundaries. Do something dirty I’d never done before. Why not give anal a try when I had a hot, down-to-earth, open minded guy to try it with?

  I didn’t know much about Charlie. Maybe I was being an idiot to trust him with my body. But hey, it wasn’t like I was handing over my heart. And he was different from men I’d been with in the past. In almost every way imaginable. The impulse to surrender to his eyes and his smile and his genuine interest in me was impossible to resist. I wanted to get swept away in him, if only for tonight. In the way he made me feel—like I deserved to be adored, not because of what I was or where I came from, but because I was human. Flesh and blood, just like him.

  He made me feel important and sexy and interesting. He liked me for me.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this meant I needed to watch myself with him. But I was too wrapped up in his heat, his hands, to go back now.

  Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow I’d go back to keeping my distance. Tonight, though—tonight, I’d keep him close.

  “Talk to me,” Charlie said. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

  I nodded, my hair catching on the coverlet. “It’s okay. It feels…tight.”

  “That’s the point. Where’s your lube?”

  “Dresser,” I panted. “In the box of condoms, I think.”

  It took him all of five seconds to find it. I stopped him just as he was about to climb back onto the bed.

  “Your clothes,” I said. “Take them off.”

  His full lips twitched. “Is that an order, Highness?”

  “It is.” Bloody hell, he was cute when he smirked. “Start with your shirt.”

  He inclined his head, just a little, and began working at the buttons of his plaid shirt. “As you wish.”

  I smiled at the reference. “So you’re the Wesley in this scenario. Not the Humperdink.”

  “I’ll be whoever you want me to be,” he said, dropping the lube on the bed before he began shrugging out of his shirt. “Although I’m partial to the Dread Pirate Roberts. You don’t happen to have a black mask lying around, do you?” He pretended to look around my room.

  My laugh caught in my throat when his shirt fell to the floor. The man looked like something out of a movie. My eyes trailed over the thick, rounded muscles of his shoulders and arms. His broad chest was smattered with dark curly hair. Hair that narrowed to a trail that made me quite happy indeed. It was like a lewd little arrow pointing straight to his groin, veins popping against the taut skin of his flat belly.

  I looked back up at his face. His hair stuck up every which way from me pulling it.

  My pulse beat hard inside my skin. I fisted the coverlet in my fingers, holding on for dear life.

  “Your jeans, too,” I said.

  That gave him pause.

  “Jane, if I take everything off now, my dick’s gonna brush up against you. And if that happens, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. I want to go slow.”

  Slow sounded like purgatory with Charlie.

  “And I want you to take off your jeans. Now.”

  The blue in his eyes flickered with heat.

  “As you wish,” he repeated. Then he toed out of his shoes. Shucked off his jeans and boxers.

  My heart tripped to a stop inside my chest. His cock jutted proudly—obscenely—from between his legs. He was hugely swollen, on the large end of perfectly sized. The heaviness between my legs throbbed, even as a bolt of apprehension moved through me.

  “You’re going to put that…” I swallowed.

  “Don’t worry, Highness.” He picked up the lube and coated the first two fingers on his right hand with it. Goosebumps broke out on my legs and arms. “We’ll get you warmed up first.”

  Charlie climbed back on top of me. My toes curled—literally curled—at the feel of his bare skin against mine. He was warm. Big.

  And that cock.

  My God.

  His hand was between my legs again. He pressed both fingertips to my clit, making my eyes roll to the back of my head. I could feel my orgasm gathering, tightening. Swirling those fingertips in my arousal, he dipped down and slid one finger—the middle—into my ass, the motion smooth and quick.

  My eyes snapped shut. I made a strangled sound. The sharpness, the pressure, the pain was almost too much to take. The beat between my legs got louder. More demanding. This was so dirty. And so hot.

  Had I ever been so turned on in my life?

  Had I ever been with someone as confident and curious as Charlie?
r />   “Keep talking to me, honey,” Charlie said.

  Honey. I shouldn’t have liked it when he called me that.

  But I did. If anyone else had said it, it’d be cheesy. But coming from Charlie, it sounded real. A little pained.

  I was hurting him. Holding back was hurting us both. Did liking the pain make me a sadist? It just…it turned me on.

  This guy was turning me inside out.

  I closed my eyes.

  “More,” I said, rolling my hips.

  He began to thrust his finger, gently at first, in and out, in and out, stretching me.

  “More.”

  Pulling his finger out, he pressed a second finger—both fingertips—against my entrance.

  “Look at me,” he said. Gravel in his voice.

  “Why?”

  “Your eyes—I need to see it in your eyes.”

  My heart clenched. No one had asked to look at me like this—connect with me like this—since…I couldn’t remember when.

  I opened my eyes. Charlie’s were focused on my face. Focused but a little hazy around the edges. He was paying such close attention to me I had to resist the urge to squirm. He was watching me. Gauging my reaction.

  Getting off on it, judging from the size of his erection.

  More, I silently pleaded.

  He put his left hand on my belly and splayed his fingers, holding me down.

  Yes. Oh my God yes.

  He began pushing the fingers of his other hand inside me.

  Tears pricked my eyes. It was too bloody much. And still my heart beat strongly inside my chest and between my legs. More. More.

  More.

  I resisted the urge to buck away from his fingers, to crawl toward the headboard. The discomfort was intense. But more than discomfort, I felt curiosity. I wanted him to keep pushing me.

  I wanted to be pushed. Wrong? Maybe. But who cared when it felt so fucking good?

  Charlie kept pushing his fingers. I felt his second knuckle surge inside me. I grabbed onto his forearm, the left one, my eyes never leaving his.

  Slowly, slowly, he sunk inside me. Then he began to thrust his fingers—again, slowly—and I winced.

  “Don’t stop,” I said before he asked. “I’m good, Charlie.”