Bad Boy Prince: A British Royal Stepbrother Romance (9 page)

Losing control.

I love every second of it, his salty taste and the way he gives himself up to me, whispering dirty things to me all the while.

Fuck, Kit. Your mouth feels so fucking good.

I want to make you feel like this. Fuck.

I can’t stop thinking about you, sweetheart. I think about your hot, tight little pussy. I’m hard all the fucking time, every time I look at you.

God damn, I want to fuck you so bad. I want to make you feel good…

I want it, all of it, but…

I don’t stop when he tries to pull me away. I suck and stroke him harder and faster until he comes with a shout of
Fuck, Kit!
and then collapses back on the bed. I grin down at him as he lies there, trying to catch his breath.

“Damn,” he says. “That was almost as good as the real thing.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m going to bed.”

When I turn to crawl off the bed, though, he catches me by the ankle.

“I don’t think so,” he says, his voice turning to a command. “Don’t move.”

He gets up and trots out of the room, leaving me naked and confused on his bed. When he returns, my jaw drops.

He’s holding the pink vibrator that I keep tucked deep in one of my suitcases, a big smirk on his face.

“Rex! That’s private!” I hiss.

He shrugs and glances at it.

“I’m nosy. I snooped. Also, I mean…” He holds it at his waist, clearly comparing it with the size his own dick. “You can do better, Kitten.”

I make an outraged noise, and he just grins, climbing onto the bed and corralling me.

“Where were we?” he asks.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” I huff.

“I would think it’s obvious. I’m going to suck your clit and fuck you with your own dildo until you come all over my face.”

I’ve got no words for that. Rex doesn’t care, of course. He’s already nibbling on my breast, heating my oversensitive flesh as he trails the vibrator up and down my inner thigh.

And because it’s Rex, he quickly overwhelms my shyness. He bites my nipples and my neck, brushes his fingers against the top of my mound, and works his way down, down…

Pretty soon his lips are sealed over my clit, making me cry out. I’m so hot for him, so wet, so fucking needy. I can’t resist. At this point I would do anything to soothe this ache he’s created deep in my body.

When I start getting close, tensing and rocking my hips, he pulls back. I make a frustrated sound and he starts placing wet kisses against my inner thigh.

“Patience, love,” he says. “Just close your eyes and relax. I’m going to make you feel so good, I promise.”

And then he’s pushing the tip of the toy against my entrance. I can’t help it, I cry out and claw at the mattress.

“That’s it, honey,” he says. Inch by slow inch, he slides it inside me, stretching and filling me.

Then his lips find my clit again, his tongue swirling in circles. He starts pumping the toy in and out of me, quick and hard, and I think I might die if I don’t come.

“I’m so close,” I whisper. Tears prick my eyes, the sensations are so intense.

Rex drags me closer and closer to the edge, and yet I can’t let go.

“Please, please!” I beg him.

Then he scrapes his teeth over my clit, just the right amount of pressure, and I explode. I come so hard that I can’t see, so hard that I can feel hot liquid gushing from my entrance as I release a full-throated scream.

It goes on and on, me clenching and rocking. I know nothing, suspended in pleasure, feeling nothing beyond my own endless orgasm. Rex withdraws the toy from my body at last, and I’m left with the ripples of it, floating.

And then, slowly, I come back down to earth. I start to shake, just from the sheer intensity of the experience. Rex stretches out, pulling me close and kissing my lips.

“See what you’ve been missing?” he whispers against my lips.

I don’t know what happens, exactly. I’m too raw, too empty. Too close to him, in a lot of ways.

This can’t be happening. I can’t go through this again, I think.

I start to cry. Not just tears filling my eyes, but full-out sobs start to wrack my body. Hormones, history… or maybe I’m just crazy.

“Hey. Hey, oh no,” Rex says, trying to pull me into his arms.

“Stop,” I say, scrambling to get out the bed.

“Kitten, wait—”

“Don’t CALL me that!” I shout, wiping at my face. “Just… just stay away. You’re no good for me, Rex. I won’t go through all of that again, not even for you!”

I flee then, too cowardly to even look at him.

I said too much, I know that. But… I had to stop this, this
thing
blooming between us.

I had to
.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself as I rock myself to sleep, alone in my own bed.

L
ast night was a mistake
. You know that, right?

I can’t seem to get Kit’s words out of my head. It’s the only thing she said to me the morning after. The only thing I heard from her lips for days, actually.

Until today. Today, our presence is requested at a royal charity ball. Ergo, Kit is forced to spend time with me.

So I’m going to make the best of it. She’s making me miserable, leaving me with a fucking undying hard-on and a million questions.

And I’m nothing if not a petty bastard, so I’m gonna do my best to make her feel the same way I do: angry and horny as fuck.

So I valet my car at the front gate of the palace and get out to open her door, making sure I eye fuck the hell out of her as I help her out.

I don’t exactly have to force myself to stare, either. Kit’s wearing this clingy, floor-length red dress with a slit up the thigh on one side, her blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders in waves.

She looks fucking incredible, even without the heirloom diamond necklace and earrings that she’s wearing.

Let’s be honest, I’d think Katherine Saville looked hot wearing a damn trash bag.

She gives me this look, a kind of innocent but sultry thing. It almost makes me sad that we’re going into this masquerade ball, because she’s going to cover up those incredible storm-gray eyes of hers.

That said, that means no one else gets to see them, either.
I can deal with that.

“Tie my mask on for me?” she asks as we pause at the foot of the white marble staircase that leads to the palace’s front doors. She hands me her mask, a thin strip of glittery silver paper.

I nod and she lifts it to her face, covering her from eyebrows to the delicate top arch of her lush red lips.

I reach around her and tie the mask’s white satin ribbons into a neat bow at the back of her head. Then I lift my own mask, plain black velvet cut just like Kit’s. She reaches up to tie mine without my asking.

I have this moment of weakness, of unreality really, where I can’t help but think:
if we’d stayed together, this is what every day would be like.

Kit and I helping each other, me proudly leading her up into the palace on my arm. None of this bullshit about our past failures, none of these growing pains we’re feeling now, and none of the numerous restrictions that continue to keep us from being together.

All the shit we’re dealing with today, Kit’s mysterious troubles in the States, Asher’s death, our parents being engaged…

Most of it wouldn’t have happened if we’d just agreed to stay together through our first year of college.

As we enter the ballroom, making our way through the throngs of masked revelers, I see the chain of events in my head.

We agree to stay together in secret, until the Saville scandal has passed.

Kit doesn’t run away. We both go to Royal College together.

I don’t rebel in order to live out my angst.

Kit never meets Charles.

Asher doesn’t die.

Kit and I come out as a couple after a year or so, and our parents never consider dating.

We’re married with a kid on the way by now, and the royals can’t help but approve. Of me, but more especially of Kit, despite her family history.

Happily ever after?

The night drags for me. Countess Saville latches onto Kit immediately and draws her off to meet an endless line of eligible bachelors. My aunt Cecily has been assigned to the same task for me, probably by my grandmother.

The only bright spot is that my sister Camille arrives just after me, and keeps me company for as much time as she can without being rude to more important guests. She strolls in with her husband Bernard, dressed in a near-matronly blue gown.

“Jesus, Camille, you look like you’re going to a damn funeral. Thank god you got mom’s Snow White looks, or you’d be drab as a whore in church. I guess being a Princess helps, but…”

I shrug, as if she’s a hopeless case. Camille shoots me a look, telling me to cool it. I won’t, of course. I never do, it’s too much fun to rile her up.

“And the fact that I’m an Oxford Scholar, that doesn’t weigh into it, now?” she’s quick to fire back.

“Hey, I think we both know that you got the brains in the family,” I say, giving her a wink. “It must be difficult having such a handsome brother, though.”

“It’s difficult to make sentences of small enough words, you mean,” Camille whispers. “Now stop neglecting my husband, greet him properly. Minus the insults, I mean.”

“Bernard,” I say shaking his hand. “How’s the stock market these days?”

He laughs and shrugs; Bernard is short, dark, and shy where I’m tall, blond, and brash. He’s a shabby dresser, but he’s always got a smile on his face and he dotes on my sister. Every time he looks at her, his face lights up.

Hard to dislike a guy like that.

“And you,” I say, drawing Camille into my arms and giving her a showy hug, which makes her blush. Camille is even more quiet and private than her husband, has been shy since birth I think.

“Quit, now,” she says, pushing me off with an affectionate smile. “Don’t bring shame to the family name!”

The last is a joke, something my father has said to both of us hundreds of times. I think, in his mind, making the phrase rhyme would make it stick with us better. And maybe it did, but not at all in the way Prince Archie intended.

“So, speaking of that. Are you knocked up yet?” I ask.

When her face falls into a scowl, I elbow her in the ribs.

“Just kidding!” I say. “I hope you never have a baby, and my line can take over Courtland.”

“You really are wretched,” she says, but I can see that she’s resisting a smile. “And like hell I’m going to let the future of our country rest in your hands. We can’t have our future Queen be some tramp you accidentally knocked up at a night club, can we?”

“Hey now,” I say, with mock seriousness. “Some of those night club tramps are perfectly lovely. You just have to get to know them.”

Camille snorts.

“How’s living with Katherine?” she asks, giving me a sly glance.

“Fine,” I say with a shrug. “She’s… okay.”

“I ran into her at the punch bowl, before I came over to talk to you,” Camille says. “She’s looking rather fit these days, isn’t she?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I lie.

Camille cocks her head and considers me for a moment, the corners of her lips curling up.

“Don’t look at me like that!” I insist, brushing a non-existent bit of lint off my tie. “Otherwise I’ll start a rumor that you’re on birth control, trying
not
to give grandfather any heirs.”

“That would be cruel,” Camille says, her brows quirking. “Don’t attack me just because I said your new
flatmate
is fetching.”

“Don’t you have some royal ass to kiss somewhere in this room?” I ask her, rolling my eyes.

“I do, as a matter of fact. We’re going to continue this conversation, though. Mark my words,” my sister says. Then she drags Bernard off, and I’m lost in a gaggle of young socialites again.

There are a number of boring pre-wedding announcements and toasts made, and my father makes a huge show of putting the biggest chocolate diamond I’ve ever seen on Countess Saville’s finger, which pisses me off.

That ring came from my mother’s line, which means it’s entirely inappropriate for my father to bestow it on his future second wife. My hands clench as I recall my earlier line of thought.

If I’d locked Kit down at a young age, that ring would be on
her
finger right now. A violinist begins to play as I bemoan my choices, making my misery almost comical.

Then a six piece group begins to play big band music, and soon I’m twirling some barely-legal debutante around the dance floor. Inside I’m seething with anger. Outside, I’m cool and polite and present.

Good enough.

Maybe it’s just being here, having pretty young girls pushed into my arms at the beginning of each set of songs. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re only days away from the anniversary of Asher’s death. Maybe it’s the fact that Asher’s fiancée is here, and I’ve watched her being coerced into flirting and dancing… just as I am.

Watching her is like seeing a strange, sad mirror of myself.

It’s all just so fucking forced and fake, and I’m so sick of it. But I’ve painted myself into this corner, made my own bed, and there seems to be no way to return. No path to redemption that also leaves me… whole. Human.
Happy
.

My regret is as bitter as bile in the back of my throat.

Mostly I’m here to meet women that my family deems appropriate, but also to impress the relatives. My grandparents aren’t in attendance, but every other member of the royal bloodline has turned up, and suddenly they are all intensely curious about my life.

To see if I’m still a fuck-up, I suppose. If I’m a worthless waste of space, it would make everyone else feel better about their own children. Spoiled junkies turned art gallery owners, twenty-something trust fund yachting enthusiasts, simpering faceless girls who can’t seem to be interesting for long enough to please mum and dad by getting married and knocked up.

And these are my peers, for god’s sake. A depressing thought.

I see Kit here and there throughout the night, always in someone else’s arms. Notably I see Bram twirling her around for several songs, a stupid grin on his face the whole time.

Though I’m sure it’s perfectly innocent, I tense as I fill with rage.

How dare he even dance with her? I’ll have his head for this.

Bram’s the only one who knows about what Kit was to me back then. He’s the only one with absolutely no excuse for being anything but cordial toward her.

“I always thought you’d be more… suave.”

“Sorry?” I arch a brow and look down at the girl standing next to me, sipping punch.

“My mum keeps saying you’re the most eligible bachelor in Courtland,” she says with a sigh. “You and Bramford, that is. Can’t say that either of you lives up to her esteem, in my opinion.”

“Sorry, what’s your name?” I ask.

Her mouth pulls down at the corners.

“Isobel.”

“Got a last name?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Mercier.”

I look her up and down. Her mask is hanging around her neck, showing her heart-shaped face. She has huge blue eyes, almost startling in their azure clarity.

She’s actually very beautiful, with her long dark hair and modest white gown. Young, though; she can’t be a day over nineteen.

Her surname rings a bell, though I can’t say quite
why
. I have a feeling it’s from the gossip mill, which means the tidbit of info floating around in the back of my brain probably isn’t very nice… or interesting to me.

“Well, Isobel Mercier. I’m not exactly looking to couple up, and I very much doubt that Bram is either.”

There’s a flash of something in her eyes, and I realize she’s got it bad for Bram. I’m just the bloke she’s stuck talking to at a party.

“Stick to guys your own age,” I sigh. “Bram’s a bad bet all around, I’m afraid.”

Her chin comes up and she sniffs.

“You don’t seem like the right one to be giving advice,” she huffs, turning on her heel and fleeing.

I watch her for a moment, then shake my head. I have enough difficult women in my life right now, all things considered. Lady Isobel will have to find someone else to worry about her.

A fast-moving song ends. People applaud the band, and the dance floor clears for a few moments while they take a quick break. Across the room, I spot Kit.

She’s forcing a smile that’s turning to grimace as she sips a glass of champagne, trying to politely ignore her companion. Lord Jareck Rushton is standing so close to her that he’s stepping on the hem of her gown, which she keeps trying to pull from under his shiny dress shoes.

I scowl at Jareck, a school chum of ours. Under that custom-made tux is the same gawky, nerdy ginger we knew back then. Except now he’s come into a barony, and he’s conceited to the point of being insufferable.

And now he’s practically breathing down the low-cut front of Kit’s ball gown, he’s eyeballing her cleavage so hard.

Suddenly, my patience with the night’s festivities is simply gone. I down the last sip of brandy in my glass and ditch it, then stalk across the room toward Kit. Her eyes widen when she sees me approaching, as well they should.

I have just enough liquor warming my blood to make me forget to be cautious, to care what all these people think of me. And Kit? If I’m a rising tsunami, she’s about to get pulled into the dark depths of my undertow.

I’m not worried what song is on as the band begins to play again. I’m not worried who’s watching us. I’m not worried about my dad or Kit’s mum, or my grandparents and their endless list of biddable, eligible girls.

All I can see right now is the blood red tint of Kit’s lipstick, the curve of her hip, the arch of her foot in those towering heels. The way her eyes go dark when I slip my arm around her waist, pressing my hand dangerously low on her back as I guide her out onto the dance floor.

“Rex, this is a bad idea,” she whispers.

I don’t listen, of course.

I turn and pull her against me, pressing us hip to hip. Or nearly; even in her heels, Kit is impossibly tiny in my arms; tiny and fragile.

I can’t explain why that turns me on so much. Then again, everything about her turns me on.

We begin to move to the beat of the song. Thankfully, this is a nice slow one, so we sway together as we stare into each other’s eyes. I’m holding her too close, really. I can smell her shampoo, floral and sweet. I can feel the heat of her body through my tux, the brush of her full breasts against my chest.

I’m thinking about the other night, of how fucking gorgeous she was in my bed. Chest heaving, face flushed, gripping the sheets. Hips rocking in time with the swirl of my tongue as I fucked her the only way she’d let me.

And then, when she came…

“Quit,” she whispers, blushing as I press my thick erection against her belly. “You’re being so bad right now. I can
see
your dirty thoughts, they’re written all over your face.”