Royal(38)

I’m weak.

I’m a mess.

I’m probably going to regret this in the morning.

But I don’t care.

I want to hate him. I should make him stop. But this feels too damn good.

Royal pulls me into his lap as soon as he’s stripped the rest of me. His jeans are tugged down enough that it’s my sensitive flesh against his. I circle against him, feeling his girth pressing against my seam and knowing one quick move is all it would take for him to be inside me.

And fuck, do I want him inside me.

More than I ever thought I would.

His hand grips the base of my neck, and he trails kisses along my shoulder. I sink down, rubbing myself against his shaft, hinting, pushing, persuading for him to make the next move. Royal’s fingers travel between my thighs, slipping between my seam and pushing deep inside me. One, then two. His thumb circles my clit. Just enough pressure.

He was the first boy in high school who ever fingered me, and I press a bitten smile against his neck so he can’t see the giddy nostalgia I’m wearing on my face.

This is living history, he and I.

A faded memory playing in real time.

And it makes me unreasonably happy.

His fingers are buried, curling, gently stroking. But it’s not enough. Once again, I want more.

Our eyes meet in the dim living room.

“You’re so fucking sexy, Demi.” His voice is a growl, coming from deep within.

I blush because he won’t take his eyes off me. He’s feasting on every inch of my body, his gaze dragging from my eyes to my mouth to my breasts as they bounce with each shift of my circling hips.

When he looks at me like he owns me, I forget how to breathe.

Slipping his fingers from me, his hands curl around the curve of my hips. He guides me off his lap and lays me back on the sofa. Kneeling between my thighs, he climbs on top of me.

My heart gallops, pounding so hard that I find myself somewhere between a panic attack and that feeling you get when you’re at the very top of a hill on a rollercoaster.

This is happening.

Oh, God, this is happening.

The head of his cock grazes my inner thigh.

He’s still rock hard.

For me.

Pulling his wallet from his pocket, he produces a gold foil packet. I don’t ask. I don’t want to know if he always carries it or if he brought it here tonight because he knew, in his heart of hearts, that this was going to happen.

I try not to think, because in the end, it doesn’t matter.

Royal Lockhart is going to fuck me.

And I’m going to let him.

I’ll deal with the consequences later.

He sheaths himself and grips the base of his cock, pressing the tip against my clit and sliding down the seam. One solid shove, and he fills me.

My nails dig into the meat of his arms. They fill my palms. I don’t remember his arms being so big before. And his weight on me is heavier. Everything about the way he feels serves to remind me that he’s all man now.

He cups my right ass cheek, his free arm keeping him propped above me, and he pulls me closer, harder into him. Driving into me, he goes deeper with each thrust. I swear my heart hiccups with each insertion. I stare into the familiar eyes of this stranger, this version of Royal I’ve yet to get to know, and I’m briefly washed in peace.

Looking into his eyes, Royal feels like home.

Or maybe this is what closure feels like.

Either way, it doesn’t last long.

I focus on his lips, the dip in his left tricep as it flexes with each thrust, and the intensity of his weighted stare as it helps itself to every exposed inch of my body. But none of it distracts me from the niggling feeling that he’s just going to leave me all over again.

Is this what happens? Is this what other people do? They run into their old flames and have one last run for old times’ sake? And then they move on with their lives?

“You’re going to leave again, aren’t you?” I say.

His face scrunches, and he stops, his cock buried inside me.

“Demi, what the hell are you talking about?”

“After this.” My hands skim down his back, resting just above his perfect, tight ass. “You’re going to disappear again.”

“Never.” He kisses me long. Hard. Our lips dance as his hips thrust again and again. “I’m never leaving you again, Demi. I love you.”

When we were younger, the first time he told me he loved me was the first time he’d ever said it to anyone. It wasn’t easy for him to say then, but I don’t know this Royal.

Royal fucks me, his strokes deeper, harder, like he wants me to feel his love. I cup his face and bring his lips to mine, relishing in his taste.

I’m not going to tell him I love him.

No need to complicate this any further.

Besides, the Royal I loved was nineteen and charismatic and sweet and funny. I’m not entirely convinced that man and this man are even the same people. For all intents and purposes, I’m basically fucking a stranger. A dark, handsome, seductive, tragically sexy stranger with a familiar gaze that makes my stomach somersault.