Page 21 of Resisting Royal

“Yet, I managed to uncover it,” I reminded her. “So?”

“Fine. You win, I’ll go to the business meeting this weekend,” Bianca growled.

“And?” I prompted.

“Lunch this week . . . if you tell me.”

I tsked. “My, my . . . my little wife sure is interested in my sex life.”

Her frustration was apparent in her tone when she replied. “You know what, I changed my mind. I don’t give a fuck about your sex life. I have to go, I have patients to see. I’m pretty sure the gentleman in room seven will be taking his dental work like a champ.”

“He’s probably too busy waiting for your coat to open up to even realize you’re pulling teeth,” I said dryly. Though actually thinking of some overweight bastard looking down my gorgeous wife’s shirt made my blood boil. I imagined she’s used to the ogling, the pick-up lines, the not so sly attempts to check out her ass or her well-formed calves. God, do her legs good looked in heels.

“Goodbye, Royal,” she said flatly.

She sounded like she was actually going to hang up, and I was quite ready. “I was fourteen.”

“And?”

“I was fourteen when I lost my virginity. It was quite literally the most embarrassing, horrific moment of my life.”

She was silent for a few beats before prompting. “Go on.”

“I love how suddenly, you’re very interested in me,” I commented. “I will admit, I was a bit of a dweeb.”

“Do people even use that word anymore?” I heard the amusement in her voice, and it was fucking satisfying.

“For the sake of my story and the time era, I’m using dweeb. May I continue?” She made a sound in her throat, signaling me to proceed, so I did. “I was a dweeb. I had friends, don’t get me wrong, but we weren’t exactly the cool kids to hang with. In fact, we were a bunch of awkward, scrawny misfits. One day, this cheerleader, hot as fuck might I add, approached me and she seemed interested. She was a few years older, popular, desired. Do you even realize what kind of ego boost that was?”

I let my question hang in the air, not actually expecting an answer. “I’ll skip all the boring stuff since I know you’re on a time crunch. Fast-forward two weeks, we were in the back of her brother’s van she borrowed for the night. This wasn’t her first time, but me . . . I only had movies to go off of. So, I’m there, one hand under the cup of her bra, the other trying to work the snap, and I’m literally seconds from coming just from this contact. I thought I was doing well until she finally stopped me. She stood up straight, removed her shirt and bra, before informing me that I removed her necklace instead of her bra.”

A rich sound filed through the phone. “Hey, this is serious. Stop laughing. So now I have massive breasts in my face—I should point out that I like the size of yours just fine, I don’t discriminate. So anyway, massive boobs in my face and at this point I’m so excited, I literally can’t sit still. Then she stands . . . well more like hunches because she’s tall. Actually, taller than I was at the time.”

“You’re getting distracted, Russo. I’m on a time restraint here,” Bianca reminded me.

“Sorry, you’re right. So, she stands and removes her shorts, her bare pussy literally right at eye level, and my cock was weeping at this point. I lean in, thinking . . . well, it’s there. I might as well get her as worked up as I am. Here is where things really get iffy for me. I learned in, and I motorboated her.”

At this point, Bianca was hysterical, and I’m pretty sure she couldn’t breathe. “Stop, my story isn’t over with. Natasha—that was her name—she grabbed my hair and pulled me back, literally asking me what I was doing. I thought it was obvious. She rolled her eyes at me, then instructed me to put it in as she laid back on the seat. Luckily, she was on birth control because the randy fourteen-year-old in me was not even thinking about protection as I climbed on top of her. She spread her legs, and I thought, fuck ya. I’m a fucking king. I found out all too quickly that maybe being king needed some work when I thrust twice and spilled everywhere as I awkwardly slipped out of her.”

“Oh my god.” Bianca made a choking noise. “You lie.”

“Amore, why would I lie? Turns out . . . the whole thing was a bet. One of her friends took photos through the back window, and they were plastered all over the school campus the next morning.”

“You’re such a liar,” she accused me.

“I would never lie about this.”

When she finally stopped laughing, she asked, “What happened to them?”

“Then? Nothing. Now? I’m pretty sure Natasha is serving a life sentence for a crime she claimed she didn’t commit, and her friend overdosed on drugs.”

Her tone grew solemn. “Did she?”

“Did she what?”

“Did she commit the crime, Royal? Did her friend really die from an overdose?” She demanded answers.

“Truthfully?” I would give her the truth, but I preferred the glazed version.

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