Page 53 of A Royal Disaster
“Thanks,” he said, resisting the urge to call her out on her bald-faced lie. “But I think you’ve all got me beat when it comes to bowl making.”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” the girl said, letting her wheel spin to a stop. “Will you be back next week?”
Well, wasn’t that the million dollar question? His time in New York was running out. He knew it. Elena knew it. But they still hadn’t talked about it. What was there to say? Once he closed the trade deal, he would return to Valeria, and her life was here in the city. It wasn’t his style to avoid an issue, but he couldn’t deny that’s what he’d been doing. It was easier to let the world and all its pressures slip away when he was with Elena, to focus on the here and now and forget about tomorrow.
The girl was staring at him expectantly and he realized she was waiting for an answer, so he gave her the most honest one he could think of. “I’m not sure yet.”
Liam kept his head down and worked on his pathetic bowl for the duration of the class, which turned out to be the most bloody frustrating experience of his life. The one time he managed to shape the clay into something resembling a bowl, it crumbled in his hands, spitting clay and water all over his arms.
He bit back a roar of frustration. How could he be so fucking terrible at something that looked so easy?
Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, because the women left him to his pitiable work, calling out their goodbyes and well-wishes when the class wrapped up. They filed out, whispering and giggling as he wrestled with the clay, grim determination preventing him from throwing the whole mess in the bin.
“Looks like you could use a one-on-one lesson,” Elena said, her voice shattering his concentration. He lifted his foot from the pedal, letting the wheel come to a rest. When he looked up, she stood over him, hip cocked, amusement dancing in her dark eyes. Her hair was starting to come undone and her apron was covered in clay splatters, but she was the most beautiful fucking thing he’d seen all day.
“I wasn’t aware you offered private sessions.”
“I don’t normally,” she said, grabbing a stool and dragging it closer, “but for you, I’ll make an exception.”
“Because I’m royalty, or because I give such good orgasms?” he asked, wiggling his brows.
“What do you think?” Elena laughed and gestured for him to scoot his stool back. She slid hers in front, positioning herself so that she was sandwiched between his body and the wheel. Now this was the kind of lesson he could get behind.
Literally.
He watched as she dipped her hands in water and rubbed them over the clay, pressing lightly on the pedal so that the wheel began to pick up speed as she reshaped the clay into a respectable-looking ball.
“Are you ready for this?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder with an encouraging smile.
Not even close. In just a few short weeks she’d turned his life upside down. Made him question everything. Made him want more than he’d ever dared dream. And it scared the hell out of him.
“Liam?”
“Sorry.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “What do I need to do?”
“I want you to wrap your hands around mine until you get a feel for the clay, okay?” She turned and smiled again. “We’ll do it together this time.”
He slipped his arms around her waist and, following her lead, ran his hands over the clay. Elena guided his movements, applying pressure and pushing the clay up, up, up until it looked like a small tower. The clay was soft and slick, whirring through his fingers even as it began to take shape. She guided his thumb to the top of the tower and pressed gently on the center, her own clay-covered fingers sliding over his in quick, sure strokes as they worked the tower back down to the wheel.
It was incredible to watch. It was also sensual as hell.
There had been nothing remotely erotic about the process when he was flying solo, but with Elena between his thighs, her curves pressed against him as they worked the clay, all he could think about was how it would feel to have his hands on her body, massaging, kneading, and caressing every dip and swell of her honeyed skin.
“Nice and slow,” she said, using his palm to apply pressure to the top of the bowl.
“What if I don’t want to take it slow?” he asked, his voice husky and thick with desire.
“You can’t rush perfection.” She brushed her thumbs across his fingers. The touch was featherlight, but it brought his cock to attention as she leaned back, molding her body to his. “But I promise the payoff will be worth it.”
Damn right. He’d make sure of it.
He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I have no doubt it’ll be worth the wait, but I don’t need perfection. I need you. On your back, screaming my name so goddamn loud the windows rattle.”
Elena shivered, and he could feel the tension coil through her limbs. “Is that so?”
“Always.” He pressed his lips to her neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses across her golden skin. She was burning up. Hot for him. “Don’t worry, love. I’m not going to rush you. I can be patient, but know that when the time comes, I’m going to work your body all night long. And when you think you can’t possibly orgasm again, when you’re sure I’ve wrung every last drop of pleasure from that sweet little pussy, you’ll come again so hard the line between pain and pleasure will be a distant memory.”
Chapter Sixteen
