Page 29 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

I don’t know what makes me hotter: Roland’s deep, lust-fueled kisses or the palace’s secret passageways and hidden doorways.

What can I say? I’m a slut for history and espionage.

It’s dark in the spiral staircase with only a string of emergency electric lights to lead the way. The stairs are steep and clunky as though they were built a long, long time ago, and I follow Roland down. It ends abruptly in front of a sturdy door with a latch handle. Roland yanks the latch back—it groans with disuse—and pushes it open.

We step into a brightly lit room. It’s cozy in here, something about it inviting and homey, and then I realize why—we’ve entered the palace library. Instinctively, I feel right at home among the stacks and stacks of books. Roland pushes the door closed behind him.

It’s a bookcase. Of course. I’m fangirl screaming on the inside. I love this.

“Which book is the secret lever?” I cling to his arm. No use hiding my fangirlishness now; he’ll find out sooner or later anyway.

Luckily, Roland looks amused rather than turned off. “The one book least likely to get picked up.”

He points to a copy of The Da Vinci Code.

I laugh and shove him. “You’re lying! You snob. I loved that series. Read it cover to cover.”

“I am lying,” he smirks. “But now I know you have terrible taste.”

“I must.” I grin and grip his chin. “I’m crazy about an arrogant asshole.”

“You’re mental,” he says, an impish look sparkling in his eyes.

“Insane,” I agree and link my hand in his. I lean back against a bookshelf and urge him closer. He takes my cues and flattens my body between his and the bookshelf before closing his mouth over mine.

I like him like this—boyish, playful, teasing. My brother and I always showed affection by taunting each other, and I’ve grown a thick skin over the years. It’s nice to have a man who doesn’t treat me like I’m delicate, breakable, or skittish. I push, he pushes back, and right now he’s pushed me against the bookcase and the heat between us is almost unbearable. I want to rip his clothes off. I want to feel the warmth of his bare skin against mine. I want, I want, I want.

We’re making out like teenagers in the library when I hear it. Footsteps click loudly down the hallway. A voice follows soon after, muffled at first, but I recognize it when the person gets closer—Princess Iris.

Roland hears her, too, because he holds his finger to my lips to gesture me to stay quiet.

“Yes, he was just there, you bloody oaf,” the princess is saying to someone. “How could you possibly lose the prince at his own ball?”

Oh God. They’re looking for us.

Another deep voice mutters a response that I can’t make out, and the princess scoffs. “You’re as useless as a pig’s arse, you know that?”

My heart is pounding so loudly, I’m afraid it’ll alert the princess to our hiding place. I’ve done my share of petty crimes—trespassing empty lots, loitering, using my expired college ID to get student discounts, and the good old running the thermometer under hot water to get the day off from school. But escaping a royal masquerade ball and sneaking around the palace with the prince himself… this is definitely next level.

It’s scary and exciting all at once.

Roland isn’t helping the situation. His finger still on my lips, he pushes it in and invades my mouth. I let him, sucking it softly, digit by digit. My eyes stay on his; those deep violet irises do something dangerous to my inhibitions. His other hand reaches under my dress.

I gasp before I can stop myself. He’s teasing me, petting my swollen sex through my underwear. I’m soaking wet, I can feel it, and I’m positive I’ve drenched straight through. I know this because he presses a finger against the soaked fabric and hits the bull’s-eye immediately against my aching core.

My vision blurs with want. I groan and bite his finger to keep myself from begging him. I grind against his crooked finger, so badly wanting it inside of me. Instead, his knuckle nuzzles against the soft fabric, tormenting my needy entrance.

I’m panting lewdly, his finger stuck between my teeth like a horse’s bit. Roland looks positively entranced as he watches me unravel under his touches. I feel so hot underneath this dress suddenly, my pebble-hard nipples chafing on my bra.

The footsteps are coming closer. Soon enough, the princess and her companion will pass, but until then, I’m trembling. Roland’s finger slips under my panties then, and I feel him between my legs. I whimper—I can’t help it.

Roland’s lips graze my ear. “Quiet,” he murmurs. His breath beats on my neck and makes my skin tingle. I’m trying so, so hard to be quiet, but he’s caressing me, pushing my wet arousal around my slit. The tip of his finger hits that sensitive bundle, and I jerk like I’ve been shot through with electricity. Roland pins me in place with his body, and his lips attack my throat. His hard cock presses against my hip, and I want it inside me so badly I could cry. With a single flick of his finger on my swollen little nub, he has me right where he wants me. I’m shivering with pleasure as he flicks it over and over, unrelentingly, and everything in me feels tight all at once, from my cunt to my lungs to my trembling heart.

Suddenly, Roland crushes his lips against mine. I break. My orgasm comes crashing at the very tip of his finger. I moan, inhibitions gone out the window, the sound muffled only by his mouth. I’m throbbing, grinding, thrashing, battling the intensity of my pleasure with my desire to keep quiet. Roland doesn’t stop until I’m flushed, and twitching painfully.

“God, you’re so good at that,” I whimper.

“Good.” Roland’s mouth stretches out in a cocky grin. “Because I’m only getting started with you.”

---