Page 33 of Filthy Royal

And before they left this room, that was what she’d have.

Crimson and violet, turquoise and emerald-green, smoky silver and vibrant orange splashed across the walls, a perfect portrait of all the need, tenderness, love, and filthy determination swirling inside her.

“I know exactly where to start.” She reached for the laces of his leathers while moving to kneel on the ground.

“Soon. But first…” He caught her before her knees hit, scooping her up without warning. One arm under her legs, one at her back, he carried her toward the chairs. “I’ve plans of my own.”

* * *

Damien

The edginess running through Damien’s veins settled slightly as he held Scarlett in his arms, striding toward the makeshift table made from “borrowed” crates he’d snatched from the kitchens near the fighting arena.

He’d been on edge all rotation.

He fucking hated leaving her. Hated seeing her on display in that crystal cage. Hated hearing Egan bark out the wordprize, snap his spindly fingers, and command her to perform. Hated the fighters who watched her with hungry eyes. Hated the worried look he occasionally caught in her stare and the tight smiles she sometimes threw his way. Hated every wasted heartbeat he wasn’t making her laugh or moan.

Fact was, he hated every fucking moment she wasn’t in his arms.

Once he reached the chairs, he placed her gently on her feet.

“Ah, I see.” She shoved him into a chair—and he let her—smiling a cheeky smile. “You want me to dance for you?” Those sexy hips of hers rocked from side to side. “A private showing?”

“Yes. Definitely.” Head bobbing up and down, he adjusted the bulge in his leathers. His dick was absolutely on board with that idea, but the greedy fucker would just have to wait. “But not before you eat.”

She stilled. “What?”

His hands fisted against his thighs. “You really want to know what I want more than anything right now?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Tell me.”

“I want you to come over here, sit on my lap, and let me… feed you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, the colors on her skin and the walls dimming.

“I want to.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, making the angles of her cheekbones all the easier to see. “I’m fine.”

He fucking hated that word from her.

He leaned forward. “You’re more than fine. You’re a warrior. You think I’m gonna forget how you almost dropped me on my ass when I first snuck into your room—with all that yellow color flashing and that clever leg sweep?”

Her lips curved upward. “You’d better not.”

“I won’t. But you don’t forget that we’re a team.” He barely resisted the urge to grab her and force her onto his lap. “But all warriors need to eat, and I know that fucker Egan’s only feeding you once in the morning and again at night, while the Consortium has round-the-clock food piled high on long tables, available for its tournament fighters. So”—he patted his thigh and tried not to sound like the hothead he was—“I’d really like it if you came here and let me feed you.” Then he brought out the big guns, flexing the muscles in his chest as he dropped his voice the way he knew she liked—and winked. “Plus, after you eat, I’ll eat you.”

Her burst of laughter cut through the tension. “Well, when you put it like that. I am starving.” She leaped.

He rose from his chair and caught her, curving her legs around his hips, so that she straddled him as he sat back down.

Pure perfection.

Her skin pressed to his, her colors bright, her hot pussy rubbing against his leathers.

And when he took a doughy treat and slid it between her lips, her tongue coiling around his fingers, he got so hard he was sure his cock was about to break through his laces.

He forced himself to breathe deep—and keep it together.

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