Page 56 of The Royal Flame
When I slip my fingers underneath, he tense, his fingers wrapping around my wrist, and stopping me.
“Maddy,” he says in a throaty voice. “You don’t have to.”
“River, you should by now that I never do anything unless I want to.” I taste his lips, but then pause. “Do you not want me to?”
He stiffly shakes his head. “No. Trust me, that’s not it at all. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to.”
A smile touches my lips. “Noted.” Then I kiss him again while slipping my hand down his hands.
This is the farthest I’ve ever gone with a guy, and I’ll admit it’s startling how big and hard he is as I wrap my fingers around his cock. He lets out a husky groan as I start moving my hand up and down. His lips desperately seek mine and his fingers return to my ponytail pulling rough enough that I damn near see startsagain. When he comes undone, it’s surprising how much I like watching him fall apart with his head tipped back. He tugs me forward as he does then pushes up and kisses me so fiercely, I can barely get any oxygen into my lungs.
We kiss for a while, then he cleans up. By the time we’re done, the limo is pulling up to the curb in front of the restaurant we’re meeting my ex-mother at. The place is nice, but located on a back road in The Royal City where the lights are dimmer and the sidewalks are less crowded.
River kisses me one more time before we climb out.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he checks while grazing his fingers along the side of my face.
“Want to might be a stretch,” I answer honestly. “But I need to.”
“Okay then.” He squeezes my hand. “Let’s do this then.” He starts to step forward, but I pull him back.
“I want to apologize before we go in there for how she’s going to act,” I tell him. “It’ll be bad. And she might even try to hit on you.”
“I’ll be fine.” He brings my knuckles to his lips and kisses them. “I’m more worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I know how to handle her.”
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
He’s right. And hopefully one day I won’t have to.
We head for the glass door entrance to the restaurant with the glimmering lights dangling from the buildings reflecting across us. River holds the door open for me. As I’m entering, I glance over my shoulder at the curb across the street where a dark SUV is parked. It resembles the one my father’s bodyguards showed up in when they took me from north side that night I learned Grey was real father. I’m assuming my bodyguard is in there, which brings me a bit of relief. But that dissolvesthe moment I walk in and find my ex-mother arguing with the hostess.
She’s dressed in a tight black dress with snakeskin heels and her hair is pulled up in ponytail. I cringe at how loudly she’s talking as she insists, she has a reservation here.
I step forward, panic flooding my bloodstream, but River grips my hand. “Let me handle this, okay?” He waits for me to nod, then approaches the podium with me slightly behind him.
“Hey,” he greets the hostess. “She’s with us. The reservation is under River Averson.”
It’s evident by how fluster the hostess gets that she recognizes with River is.
My main concern, though, is my ex-mother.
“Maddison,” she greets me with a fake smile. “I was worried you guys were gonna stand me up. And this bitch wouldn’t seat me without you.”
“She was just doing her job,” I hiss, cringing at how much attention we’re drawing.
Some of the people at the tables and in the waiting area staring at us. While the place isn’t as upscale as many of the dining places in the heart of the Royal City, the twinkling lights, table clothes, and décor are much fancier than any other place I’ve eaten.
“Well, she doesn’t have to be such a bitch about it.” My ex-mother tugs n the hem of her dress then adjust the handle of her purse. “And why is everyone staring.”
“Because you’re making a scene.” I give her a pleading look. “Can you please just behave until we get seated.”
“Sure, your royal highness.” She curtsies at me.
River notices this, but doesn’t remarks. He offers me a sympathetic smile then steers me with him as he follows the waitress back to our table. My mother trails behind us, and shekeeps muttering under her breath about how snobby everyone is.
I do my best to ignore her as we take a seat at our table, which is in the far back corner. Whether intentional or not, I’m grateful since it offers a bit of discreetness from the rest of the tables.
