Page 33 of Royally Rivalled

“I… uh… I need to head home,” Parker said. “I could walk you.”

If he walked me, he might kiss me. And if he kissed me, everything would get so complicated. On the one hand, I wanted him to go for it. Something about Parker changed. Maybe it was the silliness of the evening or my somewhat drunken state? Or perhaps it was our shared Model UN wrangling? Either way, I was holding out for something uncomplicated—something like Jeremy. This wasmessy. We had the same supervisor and taught the same class.

“No. I’m… gonna stay,” I said.

“Suit yourself.” Parker looked annoyed and left.

My heart sank, but I knew a crisis had just been avoided. I stayed for a few more minutes before I crept back into our house. Ole, never a partier, was on the couch still watching Crime Porn. I slipped upstairs and into my bed, undressing in a hurry.

Weeks passed since I'd properly gotten off. I flipped on my favourite vibrator, praying it had enough charge to do the job. Usually, I'd imagine a scene from one of my favourite romances—a hero taking charge, pulling her across the bed towards him, insistent on having her. I would think about him going down on her, trying to get her off first.

Instead, tonight, I thought about what it might feel like to be kissed—properly and hard by someone who found me irresistible. I wanted so badly to be wanted. I thought about Jeremy pressing me against the wall in that hallway and how it might feel for him to kiss me like he meant it. I clenched around the vibe as I thrust it in and out.

Then, without warning, a vision of Parker taking my face in his hands and going in for a massive, passionate kiss crept in. I wanted to say it felt terrible, but I couldn’t shake it. What would his lips feel like? He’d wanted me. Jeremy made me feel pretty and sweet, but what about hate sex? It could be hot. Parker could just pull me into the hall and fuck me hard. We’d think about how we hated having to share space, right? How much we loathed the other? That could be such fabulous fodder for shagging!

I continued, running my fingers over my swollen wet clit, and thrusting the vibe faster inside me. I wanted to lie and say I came thinking about Jeremy fucking me up against that wall, but I didn’t. My fantasy—the one I couldn’t ignore—was shagging Parker in the hall. Thankfully, lustful thoughts were secrets I could keep to myself. I’d never have to admit what got me off was the image of Parker Westfall’s tall body pinning me to that hallway wall. And, in a way, it didn’t matter what I fantasised about. I could still have Jeremyandthat image of Parker all at the same time. Fantasy wasn’t reality.

“Damn. I need to get properly laid,” I sighed.

twenty-one

PARKER

“Can you ever smile, Parker?”

My mother always annoyed the shit out of me but never as much as when I was being fussed over on our way out. We were at the townhouse in London. It was the house Mum preferred to our country home. She was no country mouse, even if she wanted to appear the picture of a duchess in the countryside. At her insistence, I’d taken the train on a weekday to put on this ridiculous tuxedo.

There were a few times I had no right to refuse an invitation. Even as the house's resident hermit, I must always attend at Her Majesty’s request. If she was hosting a banquet, I needed to be there. Of course, my mother waited until two days before to inform me that I needed to appear. She knew I would find a reason not to be there if I had more time.

I loathed being an eligible Duke in the meat market of London society. I was themosteligible man in London after the Queen's son and her nephews. It was ironic, given that few girls at Shalebrook would even believe that assumption. I loved academia. My advisor and the other faculty didn't give a flying fuck about who I was—oreven who Astrid was. I was judged harshly on academic merit and surrounded by similarly awkward people.

“What is this about now?”

We settled into the waiting car. Mum ducked to avoid dinging her tiara on the way in.

“It's a state banquet.”

“For what state?”

“Oh, Neandia,” Mum said.

You could have pushed me over with a feather.

“What on Earth do we care about Neandia? They're like a bank for billionaires that happens to have a few people, right?”

They were no diplomatic powerhouse or trading partner.

“I don't know. Something about the economy. Their queen is so glamorous and young! Beautiful!”

“Her sister goes to Shalebrook. I'm aware.”

“Oh? Is she also very pretty?”

I shrugged. The answer was yes. She was pretty. She had fabulous breasts, an arse that didn't quit, and gorgeous blue eyes that crushed me. But it didn't matter because she was interested in Jeremy Fucking Morgan.

“She's fine,” I answered. “I don't know her well.”

I both wished I did and wished I'd never see her again. If I were a foolish man, I’d consider how to impress her this evening. Instead, I was a realist. Girls like Astrid didn’t have an interest in men like me. The good, sane ones didn’t want to be a duchess at twenty-five. The ones in it for the wrong reasons chased a title. I knew Astrid needed no title and wasn’t interested in settling down in bloody Devon. And after I attempted to be friendly and walk her home, the message was clear. Astrid Deschamps wasn’t interested. I’d made a fool of myself fawning over her. I hated that I’d spent all that day admiring her. I loathed the way I longed to kiss the back of her neck as she set up the workstation in our classroom for our labs. She always did it insuchan exacting way. And I couldn’t help but applaud her ass.

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