Savage Queen: A Royalty Crew U of J Spin-Off Novel (The Royalty Crew Book 1)

by Alley Ciz

  “Oh…that’s where you’re wrong.” He chuckles, every single self-preservation instinct inside me screaming for me to run like they are watching a horror movie and I’m the dumbass walking up the stairs instead of fleeing out the front door.

  Nostrils flaring, I hold my ground, the pressure inside my chest continuing to grow with each millimeter his fingers travel south.

  He groans, lashes lowering when he discovers my bare skin. As in completely bare, no undergarment to be found. His next groan rumbles through me at the discovery, his grip on my ass bruising, fingertips creeping inward to follow the line of my crack.

  “Fuck, Princess.” Lower and lower he travels. “You were naked under here all night?”

  He buries his face against the curve of my throat, my body arching into him, rubbing the hard-on digging into my stomach. This is so fucked, but I can’t help myself.

  “Panty lines didn’t really go with this look.”

  “Panty lines,” he growls, teeth raking down my neck.

  What the hell is happening?

  What am I doing?

  Why am I angling my head to grant him better access?

  Shut up and just go with it. I think I need to start taking applications for a new best friend because it is most definitely Tessa’s influence that’s to blame for these traitorous thoughts.

  But do I stop him as he continues to travel south? No. Nor do I protest when he brushes my entrance with his fingertips.

  “Fuck, you’re soaked.” Each guttural word rumbles through me with a direct line to my clit, only adding to the situation he’s discovered.

  “No-Noble.” A warning? A plea? I’m not sure.

  Everything about me is one giant exposed nerve. My racing heart. My constricting lungs. The way my skin crawls at the thought of him touching me all while feeling like I’m going to burst out of it if he doesn’t.

  “Jasper,” he commands.

  “Wh-What?” I wheeze.

  “My name is Jasper. Say my name, Princess.” He bites my pulse point, sucking hard and flicking his piercing against where I’m sure there’s a new mark.

  Say his name, say his name. Oh, now I’m channeling Destiny’s Child.

  “Say it.” He taps his finger against my entrance.

  I press my lips into a flat line, refusing to give him what he wants.

  “Say it, and you’ll get a reward.”

  God, his words are like liquid sex.

  Come on, Savvy. We love presents. Say his name.

  How am I supposed to formulate words when the only thing I can focus on is the continued tapping on my most sensitive area?

  He’s toying with me. With his words. His touch. His presence alone is one big tease.

  Saaaaaaavy.

  I roll my eyes. Fine.

  “Jasper.”

  I barely get the last syllable out before his finger plunges inside me, the coming-from-behind angle deliciously sinful.

  What am I doing?

  I don’t know, but hell if I want it to stop.

  I give in.

  Shove away the doubts, the worries that this is categorically wrong, and let my wanton desires take control.

  Pump.

  Pump.

  I rise onto my toes with each one.

  “Ah, Princess,” he drawls.

  Pump.

  Pump.

  My pussy flutters, my walls doing their best not to let him go.

  “You can utter your denials until you’re blue in the face.” A second finger joins in the fun, a slight burn accompanying the stretch. “Your body wants me.”

  My teeth snap together, and my head thrashes against the wall, my hair becoming a tangled mess. Grr, I wish I could argue that he’s wrong. “Shut up.” It’s weak, but it’s all I’ve got.

  He chuckles, a new gush of wetness coating the digits inside my body.

  His hips rock forward, mine rocking back instinctively to ride his fingers.

  “That’s it, baby.” I jerk at the endearment and the casual way it slips off his sinful lips.

  His hand fans out, his thumb stretching back, pressing against the rosebud of my ass while one of his other free fingers brushes the steel bar of my VCH piercing.

  “Fuuuuuck. Me. Princess, you’re pierced?” My lips twitch at how painfully shocked he sounds.

  Pressure mounts inside me as he breaches my final barrier. I flush hot then cold, overwhelmingly full as he holds me like a bowling ball.

  It’s naughty and dirty, and if it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.

  More.

  I want more.

  No. I need more.

  “Jasper.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to coming this fast in my life. If saying his name gets me an orgasm, it’s a price I’m willing to pay.

  “Jasper.”

  He scissors his fingers, flicks the piercing at the top of my clit, and that’s all it takes.

  Light explodes behind my eyelids. Blood rushes through my veins. Oxygen has officially abandoned my lungs, and I’m coming. Pleasure crashing, rolling, building in a never-ending wave.

  “Princess.”

  Without a strap to secure them, the backs of my stilettos fall away from my feet as Jasper fingers me in earnest. It’s violent, delicious, each slap-slap-slap of his hand driving against me punctuated with a squish of my audible arousal.

  He releases my wrists, fingers dragging down the side of my face until he pinches my chin between them, tilting it up, adding an extra bite to it when I don’t automatically open my eyes.

  “You are so goddamn beautiful when you come. Did you know that?” He’s smug.

  I should smack him. My hands are free. I could do it. But an orgasm isn’t the only thing he set off; the asthma attack I’ve been a few breaths away from is now fully fledged.

  “Jas—” Gasp. “Jasp—” Choke. “Jasper.”

  I need to get out of here immediately. Wes is probably here already, waiting for me. He couldn’t care less if I’m late, but if I show up displaying symptoms of an attack, he and Carter are going to rage.

  My lungs are screaming, and black spots start to dance in my vision. Hypoxia is beginning to set in.

  Finally…

  Finally!

  Jasper slips his fingers from my body, and I scramble to retrieve my clutch from where it dropped earlier.

  Blind instinct and self-preservation have me stumbling down the hall and slapping a hand on the call button for the elevator. With numb fingers, I fumble with the clasp of my bag, the ding announcing the elevator’s arrival sounding a second before I manage to separate the metal prongs from one another.

  The smooth plastic of my rescue inhaler hits my palm, and I shake it to activate the medicine inside while the doors of the car slide closed.

  CHAPTER 25

  Hand covered in Samantha’s cum, dick beyond painfully hard and at risk of busting through my pants like the Kool-Aid man, balls bluer than a Smurf and screaming for release, I watch in What the fuck is happening? confusion as she runs away from me and disappears into an elevator.

  Bringing my fingers to my mouth, I lick them clean, savoring the musky, sweet taste that is pure Samantha. It hits my system like an injection of heroin, and I’m instantly addicted.

  Unsure how long it’s been since I followed her back here, I know I’ll need to make a quick pit stop appearance back at the gala before I put in the work to charm the hotel staff into granting me access to the penthouse residence for the St. James family.

  I slip through the service door, my return successfully going unnoticed.

  A quick scan of the room shows Dad in a corner having a heated discussion with Coach and Governor Delacourte and Mom near the edge of the dance floor with Mrs. Delacourte and Mrs. St. James. I’ll have to have Mom make my excuses to Dad because I don’t have the time to risk getting pulled into what I’m sure will turn into the inevitable debate about the upcoming hockey season. Scouts are the last thing on my mind at
the moment, and I don’t feel like dealing with Dad’s disapproval of that fact.

  No surprise, Duke is at the bar with the guys. I catch his eye as I make my way over to them, and he straightens, sliding his glass onto the bar top and stepping away from the group. “Sup?”

  “I’m heading out.” I tip my head to the side.

  Duke studies me, blue eyes missing nothing. He shifts, angling so our backs are to the others and allowing our conversation to be private. “Want me to come with?”

  I hesitate and think of how best to answer, the hand that was inside Samantha flexing with my indecision. A tagalong is the last thing I need when I find Samantha again, though there are a couple of advantages to taking Duke with me. For one, he’ll dip out if I ask him to, and another is he might have more success with the front desk than me. He could easily say his father left something in the penthouse during his meeting with Mitchell St. James last week and asked him to retrieve it.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “That Gucci?”

  “Yup.” He spins on his heel to face the others again and throws up a peace sign. “Deuces, assholes.” He starts to walk backward as they respond with similar goodbyes. “I take it we’re going to rescue a princess?” he asks as we fall into step.

  My lips begin to curl, and I give him a sideways glance. “You say that like we aren’t the things she’s in danger from.”

  A devilish gleam I’m sure matches my own takes over his expression, and he rubs his hands together in glee. “Fee-fi-fo-fum, here we come.”

  We swing by to say goodbye to the moms, and a few minutes later, we enter the polished lobby of the St. James Hotel.

  “Well, well, well,” Duke muses, and it takes me a few steps before I realize he’s stopped walking.

  I double back, meeting up with him close to the fountain that sits in the heart of the lobby. When I make it over, I follow the direction of his chin jerk and spot none other than Wesley Prince posted up at one of the large marble pillars that create the entranceways of the cavernous space.

  Jealousy spikes brutal and swift. I can still smell Samantha on my skin, taste her on my tongue. Is she really leaving with this guy after I made her come?

  “Is it just me, or does he seem…off?” Duke asks.

  Shaking off the fuzziness that goes hand in hand with my anger, I narrow my eyes and study the Royal who has been the cause of most of my discontent in the last month.

  Hmm…

  Duke might be right.

  Even from a distance, I can see the furrow of his brow, his mouth turned down as he speaks to someone on his phone, his motorcycle helmet bouncing off his knee repeatedly. He definitely seems agitated. Could he already know what Samantha did with me? Would she have told him?

  Prince’s “Fuck” is easily read as it falls from his lips, his relaxed posture jackknifing away from the pillar. He ends his call and pockets his phone in the next second, every ounce of his focus shifting and sharpening. This is the version most everyone fears, the fierce defender and protector of the Royals who made a name for himself in underground fighting rings.

  There’s only one thing…one person who could shift his attention and demeanor on a dime…her.

  Trudging across the marble floors is a version of Samantha St. James I haven’t witnessed yet. Gone is the swagger that is synonymous with the sassy spitfire. Feet clad in a pair of those gray Uggs that look like they’re made out of a sweater with big round black buttons on the side barely rise from the ground with her steps.

  Her long legs are encased in stretchy black leggings, the mesh panel down the sides giving a hint of skin, but the baggie BTU Hockey hoodie she changed into hangs close to her knees and prevents me from appreciating her ass the way it deserves in the tight pants.

  There’s a number stamped on the back of the sweatshirt, but both the large hood and her long hair prevent me from making out whose number it is. The only number she should be wearing is mine.

  I stumble back. This shit is starting to get out of hand.

  Still…

  I can’t recall her ever mentioning being a hockey fan during the conversations I’ve overheard—okay, I shamelessly eavesdropped—her have with Tinsley. It’s been mostly cheerleading and football talk. Could we actually have something else in common? Why does that thought scare me more than the possessive ones I’ve had?

  Wesley folds Samantha into his arms, his forearms stacking around her lower back, her face burrowing into his chest. The embrace doesn’t last long, but the way he brings both his hands up to cup her face sets my teeth on edge. There’s an easy affection there that makes the beast inside me roar.

  With his head angled down, I can no longer read Prince’s lips, but there’s no missing the way he brushes his thumbs over the curves of Samantha’s cheekbones.

  Long minutes pass as the two speak while Duke and I watch, transfixed by the sight. If I thought we could get away with it without getting caught, I would move in closer to hear what they are saying.

  Finally, Wesley grabs the small duffel Samantha is carrying and puts an arm around her, tucking her close to his side as they make their way to the hotel entrance.

  Now it’s time for Duke and me to move, following behind like a pair of shadows.

  Parked close to the valet stand, Prince’s matte black motorcycle gleams under the lights, but neither move in its direction. What are they doing?

  The roar of a throaty exhaust system echoes in the acoustics of the ornate overhang that offers protection from the elements as guests exit their vehicles, and a matte black Dodge Challenger Hellcat pulls to a stop directly in front of the hotel.

  The door is thrown open, the tires still rolling slightly as Cisco Cruz, another Royal, rushes Wesley and Samantha, pulling the latter from the former’s arms and completing a similar inspection. Something prickles at the back of my consciousness, whispering I’m missing…something.

  There’s an intensity in the way the Royals study Samantha. I noticed the night we crashed the Royal Ball, but this is different. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  Cisco ushers Samantha to his Hellcat, holding the door open, hand cupping her elbow as she lowers herself into the bucket seat. He even goes as far as crouching beside her and stretching across her body to clip the seat belt in place before pulling back and curling a finger under her chin to turn her face toward him.

  Needing to know what they’re seeing that I’m not, I move to close the distance, only Duke’s arm cross-lining my chest stops me before I can make it a step. “Not now.”

  Swallowing down the urge to argue, I set my foot back and shove my hands into the pockets of my tuxedo pants. I rock back onto my heels, and we watch as Prince tears out of the lot, followed by Cruz close behind.

  “You’re losing it, man.” Duke eyes me warily as I continue to stare long after the taillights have disappeared.

  Again, I want to argue but can’t. I’m known for my control, revered for it. It’s why I dominate both on the ice and in the halls of BA. Nothing challenges it. Not my father’s demands, my mother’s attempts at matchmaking, or familial obligations that feel like they take a piece of my black soul. Nothing!

  Until…Samantha St. James.

  CHAPTER 26

  Another thirty-six hours consumed by thoughts of Samantha, and I’m no closer to getting any answers.

  The games stop now.

  We’re hashing things out today.

  I’ve wanted her since the moment I saw her. Knew—even if I refused to admit it at first—she is the only one worthy of sharing the crown with me from the first time she refused to bend to my commands.

  I’ve lusted after her, jerked off to fantasies of her giving in to my control more times than I can count. Now that I’ve had a taste of her, witnessed her falling apart, felt her trembling in my arms, heard the way her breath hitches, seen the way her lashes fan across her cheeks, brows scrunch, and lips part when she comes—it’s official. She is mine.

  I don’t give a fuck what t
he Royals have to say about it.

  It’s a bold statement, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

  There’s a slight chill to the air one would expect for October in the northeast as I lean against BA’s stone siding. By lunch, it’ll be gone, and the summer that refuses to fully give way to the fall will have most everybody ditching their uniform blazers.

  The lot in front of the school isn’t overly large, reserved mostly for visitors, the handful of students who don’t board here, and the upperclassmen who choose to drive over from the dorms (primarily athletes). I let my gaze roam over the collection of luxury vehicles as I wait for a familiar silver Bentley.

  Precisely five minutes before the late bell is set to ring, it makes its appearance, following the circle drive and pulling to a stop at the base of the wide stone steps. Adjusting his suit jacket, the St. James’ chauffeur rounds the hood, walking around to the back passenger side door to open it for his charge.

  I straighten, shifting from one foot to the other, impatient for my first glimpse of Samantha.

  Seconds pass, the bobbing of the driver’s head while they speak ratcheting up my level of agitation. Without Duke here to keep me in check, I’m close to storming down the steps and yanking her from the car myself when a flash of black nail polish precedes Samantha taking the outstretched hand of her driver.

  Again I shuffle my feet. The top of a messy bun comes first, then black high-top Chucks topped by black thigh-high socks plant onto the blacktop, and slowly, almost gingerly, she makes her exit, purple-framed Ray-Bans shielding similarly hued eyes from view once she’s fully upright.

  She pauses, her chest expanding with a deep inhalation. She seems…unsteady? Her driver still has hold of her hand, waiting for her nod before letting go. There’s another exchange of words then what appears to be a purposeful roll of her shoulders as Samantha faces the school head-on.

  She makes it up one step before she spots me waiting for her, chin dipping toward her chest, coffee carrier in hand tilting precariously, and I swear I can hear the sigh she expels from here.

  Done waiting, I close the last of the distance between us, not stopping until I’m on the stair one up from her. I choose this purposely, letting my already taller stature tower over her in another example of my dominance. This time when she sighs, I do hear it, and I despise the defeated tinge to it.