Page 42 of Royal Bargain
He shifts, and suddenly we’re pressed together—skin to skin. I let out this shaky breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. It’s not just about the heat or the closeness. It’s that I don’t feel like I have to keep my walls up right now. Not with him.
His mouth finds my throat, then lower, tracing along my collarbone. The kisses are slow. Steady. He’s not in a rush. Each one feels like it’s trying to tell me something, like maybe he’s saying “I’m here” without actually saying it.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.
I snort—just a little. Because what else am I supposed to do with a line like that? But when I feel the way his voice stumbles at the end, I realize he means it. Not just saying it to be sweet. He actually means it. And that knocks something loose in my chest.
My fingers slide into his hair, and he keeps going. His hands are always on the move, but never rushed. Just… gentle. Thoughtful.
Every touch feels like it’s asking meIs this okay? Do you want this?
And I do.
So when I roll him onto his back, he lets me. Just watches. There’s trust in his eyes, even though his breath’s coming faster now. I lean in and kiss his throat, just under his jaw. I feel his pulse jumping there, and I kiss it again. And again.
“I want to take care of you,” I say, barely above a whisper.
His grip on the sheets tightens for a second. Then he nods.
I move down slowly, taking my time. Kissing his chest, his stomach, getting to know him like this. Really know him. Not to tease, not to perform. Just because I want to learn what makes him feel good. What makes him shiver.
He smells like skin and laundry detergent and something that’s just him. Familiar. I breathe him in, pressing kisses lower, my hands roaming across his hips, his thighs. Trying to ground him. Trying to ground myself.
When I finally take hiscock in my mouth, I do it slow. Careful. I glance up once—just to see his face—and he’s already gone soft around the edges, one hand finding mine and holding on.
I move at my own pace, steady and soft, lips and tongue working in careful rhythm down his shaft. Not to bring him to the edge, not yet—just to give. To love.
The sound he makes when he breathes my name nearly undoes me.
“Ana,” he groans, broken and beautiful. “God, you… you don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” I whisper, mouth brushing against the underside of him before I return to that slow rhythm. “Let me love you.”
And he does.
His body trembles under me, fingers curled tight in the sheets. I don’t rush. I just keep going, slow and focused, listening to every sound he makes—his breath catching, my name slipping out like it’s the only word he remembers.
When I finally start kissing my way back up, it’s not some neat little trail of poetry—it’s messy and hot and real. His skin is warm, flushed, damp with sweat, and I want to feel every inch of it. His hands find my waist, then my back, steadying me as I rise up over him.
Our eyes lock—and everything just stops.
There’s a lot in his expression. Want, sure. But also something softer. A little unsteady. Like he’s giving me something that still scares him.
I press my hands to his chest. His heart’s racing, strong and steady. One of his hands comes up to cradle my face, thumb brushing my cheek.
“Are you sure?” he asks, voice low.
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.”
That’s all it takes.
He keeps his hands on my hips, guiding me as I lower myself onto his cock. It’s slow—like we both need a second to catch up to what’s happening. I gasp when I feel him, eyes fluttering shut as my body takes him in.
The stretch is deep. I’m careful but it still knocks the air out of me.
Liam groans, his grip tightening, then easing off like he’s forcing himself to stay gentle even with all that tension coiled inside him.
“You feel…” he starts, then trails off. Breathless. “You feel like home.”
