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

by Alley Ciz

  “Say. It.” His hand is on my pussy, his dexterous fingers sliding between my lips and clit, leisurely rolling to the ball of my piercing in his pinch-grip.

  “N—” I can’t even manage to get out the full first syllable of his last name. For a man who claims he won’t let me come until I utter his name, he sure as shit knows how to make me feel like that’s an impossibility.

  “Do it.” He nips at my back, shudders racking through me. “Give me what I want.” He tugs my hair again. “And I’ll give you want you need.” The gravelly way he rolls the last word the same way he is my piercing almost does me in.

  “I doubt you could,” I taunt, refusing to break.

  He growls, pumping into me harder. I push back, swirling my hips as much as I can to find that spot.

  “Fucking hell.” Jasper latches onto my neck and I detonate, coming hard and long. The force of my orgasm is so great I barely notice how Jasper’s speed and power triple in intensity. If not for him releasing my hair and hooking that arm underneath my arm then spreading his hand over my sternum, he might have actually succeeded in his promise of pounding me through the wall.

  He roars his release, his forehead falling to the center of my back as he comes down.

  I’m not sure how long we stay like this—me with my upper half smooshed to the wall, back arched in a cow stretch, ass stuck out, and him with his arms coiled tight around me, head resting on me, his breathing as ragged as my own.

  I bite down on my lip to restrain a cry when he finally slips from inside me.

  On wobbly legs, I straighten, adjusting my thong and dress back into place while Jasper ties off the condom and dumps it into the small garbage can in the corner.

  Neither of us says a word—verbally. But our eyes? They devour each other like we didn’t just have the hottest hate sex of my life.

  Fine…I’ll rephrase that to be the hottest sex of my life since I don’t regularly go around screwing guys I don’t like. Jasper Noble is the one and only person to hold that honor, seeing as I’m drawn to him in a way I can’t seem to put a stop to. I know—*holds hand up*—I don’t want to analyze what that says about me.

  A glance to my left reveals a disheveled reflection. A part of me wants to leave this room and return to this farce of a dinner with my sex hair and smeared makeup. Natalie would lose her shit. Might be worth it?

  Unfortunately, I know I won’t follow through on that plan. The repercussions wouldn’t be worth it. Instead, I move to the counter, picking up the hand towel I discarded earlier, and use it to clean up the mascara smudged under my eyes and the smeared lip gloss surrounding the outside of my mouth.

  Warm weight meets my back and strong arms bracket my body from behind. Slowly, I lower the towel, my hands curling over the countertop, chin falling to my chest. Neither of us says a word, Jasper’s forearms my sole focus, the swirls of black ink decorating his skin a dangerous kind of beautiful. Kind of like him.

  “So fucking stubborn,” Jasper murmurs into my hair.

  My body is all out of whack, my breathing and heartbeat irregular from the dual adrenaline surges, one involuntary, another in an effort to control the other.

  Swallowing repeatedly, I will the saliva to rid me of the cottonmouth I have going on. I reach for the glass on the counter, my hand shaky as I do.

  “We should probably get back.”

  I nod, surprised Jasper isn’t pushing me harder about not saying his name. I set the glass back down and focus on inhaling and exhaling measured breaths.

  It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I can totally get through the rest of this night without losing it fully.

  “Since you refuse to say my name”—There it is—“the first thing you’re going to do is stop letting other guys put their hands and lips on you.”

  I snap to attention, my stilettos clacking as I do.

  Yes, we had sex, and yes, it’s making me feel all kinds of ways I’ll need to examine at a later date.

  But…

  He does not get to tell me what to do.

  Shooting an elbow back, I muscle my way free and storm out of the bathroom.

  “Samantha,” Jasper calls out, but I ignore him.

  I’m sick of people trying to tell me what to do. What makes him think he can? It’s one thing when he tries to do it at school. I can shrug it off as his misguided sense of entitlement.

  The muscles in my back seize and that familiar band tightens around my chest as those earlier symptoms start to return.

  “Princess.” It’s more warning than anything else.

  I whirl around, rubbing at my breastbone. “What makes you think you can tell me what to do?”

  His expression turns stormy. Brows lowered, eyes narrowed, that dimple in his chin extra deep with the clench of his jaw.

  “You’re fucking mine.” He stalks to me, hands cupping either side of my face and jerking me to him. “Not Chuck’s. Not Wes’s. Mine.”

  This time when I go to take a breath, I cough, a muscle spasm taking hold that I can’t stop. My forehead falls to Jasper’s chest and I know I’m in trouble. I’m going to need my inhaler, and if I don’t get away, I’m going to need it in front of him.

  “I—I’m not theirs.” I pull in air, but it never reaches the bottom of my lungs as it should. Chuck? Is he kidding me with that? Like, Wes I can understand; I’ve used him enough to torment Jasper. But Chuck? What? Really?

  “Fucking A.”

  That’s not what I meant, but another coughing fit takes over first. “I’m not yours either.”

  Thumbs push under my chin, holding me in place. Normally I would jump at the challenge staring down at me, but I’ve passed my threshold and need to act before it’s too late. Fumbling with my dress, I search around for my inhaler.

  It isn’t until he feels my arm shaking to activate my medicine that he steps back, eyes locking onto the plastic device cradled in my palm.

  “Sam—” My name cuts off as he watches me go through my routine. One hit doesn’t do it, and I depress the plunger a second time, inhaling a second puff.

  I close my eyes, uncomfortable with the concern and panic I see swimming in his multicolored gaze. I just handed him my biggest vulnerability on a silver platter. Where’s the spark of victory?

  CHAPTER 34

  She didn’t say it. She managed to get off without saying my fucking name. Then watching her pull herself together like nothing happened frays the last bit of my control.

  Because pretty much hate fucking her was…what? I shove the question from my conscience to the deepest part of my mind to examine…well, never.

  The straightening of her dress knocks me off center. Her fingers combing through her hair and untangling it only ties my guts into knots. And when she fixes her makeup, cleaning up the last bit of outward evidence of what happened between us, something shifts inside me. It’s elemental, a core-deep change that rebels against how I’ve lived my life.

  I’ve tried to ignore it, to brush off every surge of possession as no big deal, a phase that would pass once the newness of her wore off.

  Except…

  It’s not wearing off. The longer I know Samantha, the more time I spend in her presence—it only causes those urges to happen more frequently and increase in intensity.

  In a last-ditch effort to reclaim my sanity, I thought maybe I could fuck her out of my system. Thought it was only a case of wanting something I couldn’t have or because she was the new shiny thing.

  Fuck was I wrong.

  My dick isn’t even dry and I want her again—I need her again.

  There is a Louis Vuitton store’s worth of baggage to unpack between us. We’ve essentially been enemies, choosing opposites sides of a proverbial line, not to mention her association with the Royals. Most would say that’s the last group of people whose direct crosshairs I want to put myself in.

  Fuck that.

  I’m Jasper fucking Noble.

  I race in their races, gate-crash their events, help
organize the pranks against their school, and mess with their favorite rat on the daily. Officially stealing Samantha would just be one more check in my badass column.

  She thinks I’m trying to tell her what to do. Sure, I can admit it, I am—but why can’t she see that she’s mine?

  Samantha lets me pull her to me as I cup her face in what is probably the most affectionate gesture I’ve ever made with her. Defeat enters her eyes a second before her forehead falls to my chest.

  She starts to cough, and I’m reminded of how concerned I’ve been all week and the unknown details of her doctor’s appointment.

  She’s antsy in a way I haven’t witnessed before, agitated so that she’s struggling to breathe.

  “I’m not yours either,” she manages to get out between coughs.

  Using my thumbs, I tilt her face up to mine, ready to lay out on the line all the scary things that have been brewing inside me, but her arms knock into me, a rogue elbow getting me in the gut as she runs her hands over her dress.

  I have no clue what she could be looking for and almost fall on my ass from shock when I see her pull out an inhaler.

  She has asthma?

  The whoosh of the medicine dispensing and the wheeze of her inhalation are amplified by the panic taking root inside me.

  Why didn’t she tell me she has asthma? Holy fuck! Is what we did in the bathroom responsible for what’s happening now?

  “Sam—” She takes a second hit of her inhaler, looking anywhere but at me as she starts to pace.

  I’ve spent more time watching Samantha St. James than I’d like to admit, but this is different. I study her, looking for all the signs I’ve missed without realizing it.

  “You have asthma?”

  She thumps at her chest, rolling her shoulders back and shooting me a death glare to end all death glares. It is elementally wrong given her current situation, but all I want to do is wrap my hand around her throat again.

  “Fucking hell, Samantha!” I shout. “This is the kind of information you tell a person.”

  That glare sharpens, and I almost move to check to see if I’m bleeding. “And why, pray tell…would I tell you of all people I have a condition you could use against me?”

  Son of a bitch. My hands flex with the urge to strangle her.

  “Do you really think I would do such a thing?”

  She laughs an ugly, humorless, barking sound that sets off another coughing fit. She holds up a hand to stay me when I start to move toward her. “Puh-lease.” She rolls her eyes. “I think you’ve more than proved your asshole-ness to me.”

  “THIS IS DIFFERENT!”

  She arches a brow and shoots a worried glance at the open door.

  Way to make a scene, Noble.

  “Oh yeah…” Sarcasm bleeds into her tone. “I bet you and your boys are real concerned about a person’s health when you’re telling them they’re going to be on their knees for you.”

  You would think I didn’t almost black out from an epic orgasm minutes ago with the way blood rushes to my cock. If the current topic of discussion weren’t so important, I would point out that the only one on their knees was me, but doing that will only help her downplay the issue at hand.

  “Princess…” I try for a different approach and her shoulders fall, eyes softening at my naked concern, and she starts to inch her way toward me only to halt when Duke enters with a “Dude.”

  His steps come to a stop. “Whoa. Did you two finally fuck?” He waves his arms through the air wildly. I clench my jaw at the way he perks up at the possibilities, neither confirming nor denying. “So much sexual tension in here.”

  “Great…your sidekick is here.” Samantha shoves her hands into the hidden pockets of her dress, and I notice it’s her way of hiding her inhaler.

  I roll my lips between my teeth at how Duke bristles at once again being labeled my sidekick.

  “I’ll show you—” Duke shakes his head and redirects his attention to me. “Not important.” Another head shake. “You might want to rejoin the festivities before this one’s”—he hooks a thumb at Samantha—“mom blows a gasket.”

  “Yeah, because it’s not like that’s a daily occurrence or anything,” Samantha mutters, exiting her room and leaving us behind.

  I get a What do you think that’s about? head tilt from Duke and answer with a No idea shrug before moving to follow.

  I don’t know if it’s because she’s moving slower after needing to use her inhaler or not, but Duke and I easily catch up with Samantha and have fallen in step with her by the time she makes it over to where the adults are talking.

  “Samantha.” There’s a haughty reprimand in Natalie St. James’s tone, her gaze running disapprovingly over her daughter as she takes in her appearance.

  “You rang?” Samantha drawls like Lurch from The Addams Family, and I have to scratch a knuckle underneath my nose to hide my amusement. I don’t get to appreciate it much because it’s usually directed at me, but she might have the driest sarcastic wit out of anybody I know.

  “Really, Samantha.” Natalie lets out an exasperated sigh but maintains what Duke and I like to refer to as political poise. You know, where you smile with your lips so onlookers think everything is that public relations perfection, all while your eyes shoot daggers and reprimands and cutting remarks hiss through your teeth.

  Thanks to Dad’s job, I’ve attended enough events to recognize the expression, but I’m taken aback when Samantha dons it. She is the least fake person I have ever met. Seeing her of all people playing this role is jarring, and I hate it.

  Natalie’s posture straightens, preening at the sight of Duke with her daughter. The tilt of her lips drops the tiniest millimeter when she notices I’m on the opposite side.

  Yes, I know you don’t like me. Ask me if I give a fuck.

  “Hillary, Frank, you remember my daughter Samantha.” Mitchell makes introductions, holding a hand out, palm facing up toward Samantha, and it’s not the first time I’ve heard him refer to her without using the step title.

  The three nod while Mrs. Delacourte looks at Samantha with hearts in her eyes. In my peripheral vision, Duke and I share a Gird your loins mantra, both more than familiar with his mom’s expression. Mine isn’t any better, and normally I find amusement in Duke having to suffer through his mom’s matchmaking attempts, but not this time. Samantha is not available.

  Samantha rolls her shoulders back and brings a hand to rub at her chest. It’s something I’ve noticed her doing a lot more frequently, as well as the cough and constant clearing of her throat. Now I’m aware of why she does it.

  A glass of water appears as if out of nowhere, and my agitation levels rise when I see it’s the mayor with the offering. They jump again when Samantha croaks out, “Thanks, Chuck E.”

  To my further irritation, he doesn’t respond right away, instead studying her much the same as I have all week. I hate him a little bit more for clearly having old knowledge about her asthma when I only just learned about it.

  “I love when you guys use that particular nickname for me, Sav—” Samantha whips her head around so fast the water in the glass splashes over the rim and onto her hand. “Sam,” he finishes.

  It’s not the first time, and he’s not the only person I’ve caught cutting themselves off when they say Samantha’s name. That’s odd, right?

  “Being equated with a homicidal children’s toy will really help me in the polls come election time,” he adds dryly. The look the two of them share has me rotating my wrist in an effort to shake off the urge to punch the guy.

  “To be fair, that’s Chucky with a Y. When I say it, it’s with an implied E for a middle name..”

  Chuck E’s jaw falls open, and I long to ram my fist into the open space in his mouth. “Like. The. Mouse?”

  The arch of her brows and the press and curl of her lips to restrain her amusement are facial tics I’m familiar with. I’ll never admit it to her, but I’m starting to live for them. I don’t want
them used with someone else. They’re mine.

  “As much as I would love to take the credit for it, that particular gem comes from Tess.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me in the least.” They share a laugh, Samantha tossing out a “Never gonna happen” to Duke when he perks up at them discussing her friend.

  There’s a furrowed What’s that about? brow from Chuck, and Samantha shakes her head before his expression sobers and he asks, “You alright?”

  Again I study Samantha. I swear I’m going to tie her down and force her to tell me exactly how bad her asthma is. Her blasé attitude is starting to mess with my sanity.

  “Of course she’s fine, Charles.” Natalie manages to sound both offended he would ask her daughter such a question and put out by it. There’s a haughty air to her sigh that has the mayor’s jaw and mine clenching.

  It may not be noticeable to others, but having kept close to Samantha, I notice when she shifts, her weight moving the slightest bit until her back brushes my arm like she’s seeking…comfort? I don’t know, nor do I care. Instinctively, I accept it and offer it, twisting and rising until the flat of my palm rests against her lower back.

  There’s a push, and this time I’m sure it’s not a subconscious move; Samantha is actively seeking me out, wanting my touch.

  I spread my fingers, covering as much of her back as I possibly can, and use the tip of my fingers down to the first knuckle to clutch her. We’ve been adversaries, enemies from the jump. Here? Now? This? I don’t question the lure, the draw to unify in this confounding moment.

  Natalie’s eyes meet mine, the ice in them having nothing to do with their blue shade and everything to do with the naked disdain she transfers from Chuck to me. If I didn’t suspect she thinks eye-rolling is beneath her, I’m sure I would have received one of those before she slid her gaze over to Duke, her entire demeanor morphing.

  Malevolent gleam brews inside her irises, and the slow curl to her lips is more sinister than the bloodred color they are painted in.