by Ella James
“No. I don’t.” He wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest before he throws me on his big bed. “I want to fuck my girlfriend.”
I land on my back and bounce, then pull myself up, hands over my knees. “Bryce, I’m tired. I was up all night talking to Maggie about Benjamin.”
His eyes go weird. At first, I think it’s something to do with Maggie, but as he crawls toward me, taking my arms in big hands, I forget about them. “All the better.” Bryce squeezes my wrists.
“What do you mean, all the better?” I try to tug away from him, but Bryce won’t let me go. He does this sometimes. Like he’s playing around, but it’s just…weird.
I pull a little harder. “Bryce, that hurts! Lay down with me and I’ll jerk you off if you’re so horny.”
“I don’t need that, Lucy. I’ve got my own hands.”
My heart is pounding as I pull against his grip. “I’ve got a mouth.” My voice is shaking. His eyes are still weird. Like…over-focused. “Bryce…this isn’t funny. Let my arms go.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“Let go!”
He laughs as I kick at him. “You never give it to me when I want it. You’re a tease.”
“No I’m not. You’re freaking me out.”
He pulls me closer. “I’m your boyfriend, Lucy…”
His hands are on my arms. He smells like sweat and soap. I come to in a rush of awareness and sensation, finding Man Bun right in front of me. His face is kind. Concerned. His hazel eyes are caring. Gentle. My eyes roll down his thick chest.
I press my back against the wall. That tattoo on his chest… The one with the bird. The crown.
I suck back a deep breath as my body starts to hum. “Are— You’re…” I blink up at his face. Familiar face. My mind is still muddled. Am I going crazy?
His lips quirk as a smile plays at their corners. “Who am I?”
“Prince Liam?”
The smile on his lightly bearded face is as radiant as I’d imagined—maybe more. “You found me out,” he murmurs.
I blink at him. Prince Liam. But it’s weird, because his hair is lighter. Longer. And he has that scruffy beard.
“You’re—” I swallow hard, to soothe my tight throat. “What did you do to your hair?” I hear myself say in a cracking voice.
He laughs. “You don’t like it?”
His hand rubs over it, revealing his thick bicep and the hair under his arm.
“It’s long,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” He smiles, and it’s that smile. The rueful, sweet, shy smile. The one I always figured I’d imagined when I saw it online. “I grew it out when I was traveling.”
I nod mutely. Prince Liam’s world tour. I can feel my gaze drawn down his body like a magnet. I don’t let it go there, so I don’t look—not really—but I see the darkness of his boxer-briefs. They’re charcoal-black. Crown Jewels.
I keep on nodding as my face burns.
“Lucy?”
I manage a shaky breath as full awareness pours over me. I blink around the room. It’s empty now, just him and me.
His hand cups my elbow, drawing my attention to the thickness of his forearm. “Hey… You okay?”
My eyes rise up to his. I nod. How bad was I freaking out when I first burst in here? My cheeks sting as I realize how embarrassed I should be. I walked in on a threesome. Interrupted them with my hysterics.
Tears prickle my eyes. I blink quickly on a deep breath. “Fine.” I give another sharp nod.
He nods slowly back at me. His eyes on mine are grave, as if he knows.
“Okay.” He walks over to the bed and grabs a pair of jeans. I can’t help watching as he pulls them on. Dear Lord, his body is amazing. I try not to look there, but my eyes don’t obey. I see his bulge. The crown jewels. I think I was wrong. About the size of things. He is well-hung. He’s probably a grower, too.
I distract my battered mind with dirty thoughts while he plucks his shirt off the footboard and pulls it over his head. He turns mostly away from me, grabbing a thin, pink slip of fabric off the bed and stuffing it into a pocket. Oh my God, he’s pocketing a thong.
Embarrassment washes over me, heavy and suffocating.
That he saw me freaking out.
That I broke down at all.
He flashes me a kind smile as he angles himself toward the door. “I’ll give you a minute. Looks like the party moved, anyway.”
He lingers just a moment before opening the door. It seems like maybe he’s going to apologize—but why? What does he have to be ashamed of? Finally he tilts his head a little. With his eyes on mine until the last second, he steps into the hall.
The door clicks shut behind him.
When I’m sure he isn’t coming back, I turn the door’s lock.
* * *
Liam
I relax the hand that’s fisting Carolina’s hair and drag my fingertips over her scalp. Something more gentle. She’s sucking my cock; I figure it’s the least I can do.
I must be going fucking crazy because her lips are like a goddamned glove, but I can’t come. It’s not all the whiskey or the coke, either. That shit never seems to faze me.
I let her suck me back into her hot, tight throat and flex my legs, groaning while Suzie bites my nipple.
Fuck. My balls are tight, my dick is throbbing…
I keep seeing her.
I blow my breath out as Suzie’s tongue traces my navel. God, this feels so fucking good, but…
Carolina’s soft hand cups my balls, and I know right then it won’t happen.
With another groan, I push up on my elbows and reach down toward their heads. Two pairs of made-up eyes rise to mine.
My friends are easily distracted by the suggestion that we stop and do a few more lines of coke. I leave the baggie on the dresser in the guest room, telling them I’ll be back.
Buttoning my jeans in the dim hall, I look down toward the door of Dec’s room—the one I’ve been using. I’m still pretty hard. I run my hand over my bare abs, trying to think about the one thing I know will kill a boner: the reason that I’m doing all this blow and living one long hangover. It only takes a few seconds to work.
She’s not in there, I tell myself. Not anymore. But I won’t rest until I check.
For reasons I can’t explain, I’m quiet and careful as I twist the doorknob, silent as I push the door open. I hear her before I see her: little sniffles interspersed with soft, sad sounds: the aftermath of tears.
I find her curled up in the bed, facing a wall of shelves, her back to me. Something hot pours through my chest. My first thought is I should go, just leave her be, but I’m in motion, stepping toward her, my tight, buzzing body prickling with agitated heat.
“Lucy?”
She moves so fast, I’m startled by it: one moment lying on her side, the next upright, arms out, sheets falling to her hips. Even with the haze over my mind, I notice that her face is very pale—just like before. It makes her lips look red, her eyes look dark.
Her pretty, dark hair hangs around her face. My cock stirs.
Asshole.
Despite my body’s readiness, I feel unsure. It’s an unusual sensation. I just stand there, staring at her. That’s what I’m doing when she puts a hand over her eyes, flops back down, and hides her face in my pillow.
I see her shoulders shake. That’s the only reason I don’t go. That’s what I tell myself.
I’ve never been one to leave a woman. Not if she has some sort of need. And Lucy Rhodes needs…something.
I hesitate a moment more before I step over to the bed. My gaze trails down my bare chest. I must reek of alcohol and sex, but still…
I touch her shoulder. Her body curls up—I see it through the covers—and I exhale slowly.
Should I go?
What can I offer her?
For once, a woman doesn’t want my cock, or worse yet, my blow. This woman doesn’t want me here. But I can’t leave. It’s my bed, after all—my
room while I’m at Dec’s. I can’t just leave her crying.
“Luce?” I try. I’m such an asshole. Like we’re friends.
Her shoulders shake again, and I can’t stop myself leaning over the bed. I watch my hand come to her dark hair. Fuck, I’ve always loved a woman’s hair. How fucking soft… I sift through her silky tresses, my body still except my fingers, feeling for some motion from her. If she tenses up, I tell myself, I’ll go.
But…Lucy doesn’t. If anything, I think I feel her settle as I play through her thick, shiny locks and rub her scalp. She doesn’t have to know it’s a move I perfected for the women sucking my cock. I’ve never asked them how they like it, but it must be nice, because I feel her muscles slacken. Feel her sink a little deeper into the downy mattress.
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to bother yeh.” I don’t know why I say the words. I don’t know why they come out so damn Scottish. I did most of my schooling in the states, then London for a bit before I left uni. But I’m from Gael, still. I suppose we do sound Scottish…
I can feel her shoulders sink with her low exhalation.
So it eased her.
Maybe so.
I hope so.
I stroke her hair away from her face and am rewarded by the peek of her delicate ear. It’s so tiny, so…pretty, if an ear can be so. It’s a struggle not to kiss her there, to kiss her milky throat. I’m hard again, and feeling like a bastard.
Beautiful…
I want to say the word, but hold it in. She doesn’t care right now. Whatever’s happened, being gorgeous isn’t on her mind.
And yet she is. She’s just as lovely as she was on my flatscreen, back when I used to jerk off to her in her bathing suit by her family’s pool.
I try to make up for it now by being gentle with her hair. She doesn’t move, not for a long time underneath my hand. I feel a bit of pride. I’ve got her quiet. Maybe she’s feeling better now. Her name is on my tongue—I’m going to ask her what’s upset her—when I hear a little snort.
I stand still and listen, feel the movement of her breathing.
And there it is again: another tiny snore.
Lucy Rhodes just fell asleep in my bed.
FOUR
Lucy
After Prince Liam left, I curled up on the bed. I pulled the thick, crimson duvet over myself, so no one stumbling into the room would see my gown if it rides up, revealing my black thong. So if Bryce followed me up here, there’d be some small barrier between us—this time.
Then I just lay there, my heart pounding so fast I could feel it in my throbbing eyes, my hands shaking so much I balled them up and tucked them against my chest. I couldn’t get my breath—at all. It was worse than when the prince and his women gawked at me. So much worse being alone.
And right then, as if God himself was watching over me, I felt something hard against my temple. My shaky hands fumbled in the silk sheets, picking out a bottle of…scotch? I couldn’t read the label. Wasn’t even sure the language. I twisted the top off and confirmed my guess. Then I took a few long swigs.
I wasn’t usually one to drink my blues away, but it helped me feel more steady. Steady and calm enough to crawl up to the pillows, press my cheek into the cold silk, and cry.
Everything is warm and bleary now. Even my fear…
I should go downstairs, but I can’t seem to get my tears to stop falling. I sift back through the blankets, find the scotch, have a little more. It feels like fire singing my throat and stomach. But I like it. I feel better. Just a little better. I curl up, my last thought heralded with a little smile—Prince Liam, of all people. He was nice, I think numbly.
And so when I wake up, at first I think I’m dreaming. Him here in the room with me—alone. I’m staring at his chest. His arms are thicker than I thought they would be. And his hair… He’s got long, lighter hair. A scruffy beard. He looks swarthy, like a pirate. Like a traveler.
Humiliation chills my lust. That he saw me so freaked out. That anybody saw me. I can’t look at him. Knowing that he used to watch me on TV makes it that much worse. I’m not that girl. And that’s the real reason, the reason that I’ve stayed away. I moved to Colorado. Because I’m not, I’ll never be that girl again. I can’t go back. They think they know me but they don’t. My mind whirls. I’m still fuzzy from the scotch.
I don’t feel fear when he sinks down beside me on the mattress. His hand touches my hair. My heart beats hard, but there’s no fear. His voice is soft. His voice is beautiful. And I don’t care. I just don’t care—about anything.
Tears drip from my eyes as his hand strokes. He’s gentle, oh so gentle, and he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know about me. What he’s getting into, even being in this room with me. I’m not a normal girl, not anymore. And he’s a prince.
I’m drunk. With that thought, I slip off.
* * *
I awaken in darkness.
The room is pitch black, and someone’s arm is locked around me. For a blind, horrific second, fear grips my heart, so hard and painful that I gasp.
And then I smell him. I’m not sure exactly where I am right at his moment. But I smell aftershave and soap, a little bit of sunscreen and a little bit of sweat, and my body knows it’s him.
Prince Liam.
Liam, prince of the Isle of Gael, is lying in this bed behind me. A few careful, quiet breaths and I’m pretty sure…he’s sleeping.
Holy Hello Kitty. Prince Liam is sleeping next to me. My body flushes, bliss and horror.
How’d we get here? What the hell is going on? And then I feel his fingers in my hair. His hand is in my hair—right now! He fell asleep rubbing my hair.
My eyes fly to the windows: dark. What time is it? My clutch is somewhere in this room. I’m not sure where.
I shut my eyes and try to keep my breathing even as I run the night’s events back through my mind. Downstairs, talking to the Playmate. Bryce. My body jerks at the memory, and I can feel Prince Liam’s body rock a little bit against mine. Big and wide and hard. He’s bowed around me like a shield.
Heat blooms in between my legs.
I freaked out, and he saw me. I embarrassed myself, walked in on some kind of threesome.
Why did he come back?
It’s his room, you moron. I’m probably in his guest room. I draw a deep breath in and feel his sturdy arm tighten around me. I feel his face against my neck, the roughness of his scruffy beard. Warmth spreads through me. Then he stirs some more and makes a low sound in his throat. And then I feel his mouth against my neck. His lips—
He’s kissing me.
I don’t mean to make a sound, but then I feel him press himself against my backside. Terror bubbles in me.
“Stop!”
I pull away, and he’s awake. His eyes, I see them in the dark. They’re wide. He pushes up on his arm and holds his big hand up.
I watch him rub his eyes. He looks around. He looks confused.
“You fell asleep,” I offer.
He blinks at me as if he didn’t understand my words. Then he reaches for me. He takes my hand and cradles it in his two hands. He looks into my eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asks me, voice low, words rolling with that Scottish-sounding accent of his.
“I’m fine.”
He shakes his head slowly, at least I think I see him do that. Then he’s simply staring at me. With those hazel eyes.
Dear God, he’s gorgeous.
His hand traces mine. Then he lies back down and pulls me down beside him. He wraps me up against his body, and I notice he’s not pushing his dick against me anymore.
“You smell good,” he murmurs. “You have pretty hair.”
“Are you drunk?”
I think I see his lips twitch. “I don’t get drunk.”
I turn around to face him. He pushes some hair off my forehead. Then he kisses me. It’s so gentle, so careful, I can’t help responding. He tastes like cinnamon, like liquor. His mouth explores mine, his tongue gliding
past my own, his big hand in my hair again.
He kisses me until I can’t breathe, and then he pulls away. “Tá tú álainn.”
I frown.
He smiles, that gentle, gorgeous smile. “Gaelic.” He tips his forehead to mine. He says something else I don’t understand, then kisses the side of my mouth, his lips feathering gently over mine.
I feel his knee move, as if he’s shifting his hips, and I can’t help pulling him closer for another kiss.
I touch his shoulders as I kiss him, and I can feel his body tense under my hands. His tongue glides back into my mouth, and he moans.
Holy shit. I kiss him deeper and his body rocks against mine. His hands are on my head; he pulls me closer, till we’re pressed together, chest to hips.
He says something low and very soft, something that sounds like, “On all that is holy…”
Then his hand is on my shoulder, squeezing. His hand is squeezing, then he’s grasping my breast.
I grind myself against him, gasping between kisses. My body burns with heat and fear. My heart riots. Adrenaline almost overcomes me at the feel of his hard body up against mine, his chest pumping, his breath warm. I’m losing it when his hand leaves my breast and slides around my hip to cradle me against his body.
God, I’ve never been handled this way, as if…I’m everything. He’s rough then gentle, firm then tender, desperate all the while. I can feel the warmth of his breath, can hear the pattern of his ragged inhalations.
His scratchy cheek presses against mine, and I can feel his body heat. He leans away, his chest still pumping. I put my hand between his pecs. I can’t help it. He’s so…perfect. My fingertips wander to the seal above his heart, the royal tattoo he got when he was younger.
I trace my finger down his chest, and the prince’s abs harden. “Christ.” That was a flinch, I think.
I swear to God, I can feel the heat pulse in between my legs. Something overtakes me, something big and brash and heady: power.
I rub my fingertip over the hair that trails down toward his pants, and that’s when I see his stiff erection.
