Page 32 of Royal Protector

When it’s over, I can’t move, my limbs limp as noodles.

Antoine gazes up at me from between my legs, pupils blown with lust, his face shiny from tasting my pleasure. He makes his way up my body, and positions himself in the cradle of my thighs. “This will hurt at first,” he says, “But I’ll take care of you.”

I nod my permission, and he notches his heavy dick at my opening. He presses forward, and though there’s a slight pinch and some discomfort, Antoine had prepared me so well that I barely feel any pain. Once he is fully seated, he gazes at me, his arms shaking as he holds himself still.

“Okay?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“Okay,” I say, wiggling against him, enjoying how he gasps at the movement. “Please move.”

He withdraws until only his swollen tip is inside me, and then he thrusts inside me, and I cry out. I never thought anything could feel this good.

My hands claw at his back, urging him on as he ruts into me, each perfect slide filling me and driving me back into that beautiful spiral. His pelvis grinds against my clit with every inward thrust, and just as he predicted, I shatter again, my inner muscles clamping around his cock.

“Fuck, baby, fuck!” he yells, the cords of his neck standing out as he pumps his hips, fucking me through the spasms running through my body. “I’m gonna come so hard, gonna fill you up, but first, I have to bite you.” The groan he lets out when I display my neck to him, submitting to him, is filled with ecstasy.

“Alright, baby, this is it,” he pants, and after three quick thrusts, he lunges at my neck, his fangs piercing my skin. Blood spills from my neck just as he shudders, spurting inside me in long, hot jets, painting me with his pleasure.

To my shock, I orgasm again, this one almost painful in its intensity. We rock against each other, prolonging our pleasure, and just as mine begins to fade, I let my own fangs descend, tearing into his neck.

“Holy fuck,” he shouts, jolting against me as he is thrown into another orgasm. Then he collapses on top of me, and we just lay there, panting, covered in sweat and blood and come.

And then, it happens. It feels like a tickle at first, deep in my chest, before growing in intensity. I gasp, clutching at my heart. “Is that . . . is that you?”

Antoine raises his head, saying nothing, but giving me the most tender of smiles. As he does, a wave of love breaks its way through my stilted bond, blowing it wide open until we are connected as clear as a bell. I can feel everything, the remainder of his pleasure, the adoration he has as he smiles down at me.

“I can feel you, too,” he whispers, scenting my neck. “It’s amazing. Like you’re gathered up inside of me, your feelings melting into my own.”

“I love you,” I say, running a hand through his damp hair. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“Oh, I think I do know, he says, running his hand along my sternum. “Just like you know how much you love me. It’s all right here.” He taps a single finger where my heart is. And he’s absolutely right.

After minutes of just basking in each other’s presence, Antoine lets out a heavy sigh, and sits up. “I guess we need to shower now.”

“You guess?” I ask. “What does that mean?”

He grins at me before standing and picking me up in his arms. “It means I want you nice and clean, just so I can get you dirty again.” And with that, my Mate carries me to the shower, making good on his promise to make me clean—and then dirty—once more.

ANTOINE

When I wake up again, the clock on the bureau reads 6:32 PM. Isabella and I have been asleep for two hours, collapsing with exhaustion after fucking twice more. The Mate bond hums strong between us, telegraphing our emotions, desires, and needs to each other.

And right now? My Mate needs food.

I stretch my arm out over here as carefully as I can, trying to grab the room service menu from the nightstand. However, I’m not really that stealthy after three rounds of sex and an afternoon nap, and she wakes up immediately. She nips playfully at my bicep, and I feign injury, falling back on the bed. She squeals and steals the menu from my hands.

Within moments, she has called down to the kitchen, ordering two double cheeseburgers with extra fries. After she hangs up, I stare at her incredulously.

She shrugs at me. “We’re already past the point of rebellion as it is. Might as well go all the way and eat something that is off my approved diet.”

When the food arrives, I have to look away, because the groans Isabella makes while devouring her sandwich are like something from a wet dream. Even the ketchup dripping on her hands makes me want to throw her down on the bed.

I choke down my food, and when she is done with her meal, I offer to put the tray outside of the door so that room service can gather it back up. Besides, if they don’t have to come inside the room to get the dishes, then we have more privacy, and more privacy means time for round four.

But when I open the room door, I see a familiar figure trailing down the hallway, red hair bobbing as he whistles a Taylor Swift song. Anger flares in my chest. Was Bastien spying on us?

I call out his name sharply and he turns, his eyes widening at the sight of me dressed only in my boxers. Instead of coming forward to greet me, he stumbles back on his feet, nearly falling.

“Bastion, what the hell is going on with you?” I ask, striding forward. When I’m a few feet away, he claps his hand over his neck and nearly trips over his own feet again.

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