Page 45 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

“Only teenagers and princes give the silent treatment.”

That makes his lips twist in a scowl. The prince takes a glass, tilts it to his mouth, and sips. “You’ve been a right prat since we’ve got here,” he comments.

I look up at him. “If it takes being a prat to keep you safe, then I’ll accept that title.”

I expect him to come at me with some snarky remark, but instead he stands there and stares at me. The thoughtful way he’s looking at me… it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on inside that head of his.

“It occurs to me,” Roland postures, like a doctor giving a diagnosis, “that you may be a control freak.”

I squint at him. Where is he going with this? “If either of you try to tie me up, I’ll break your nose,” I warn him.

“I’ll drink to that, 007.”

Roland finishes his glass in one fell swoop before setting it down with a clink on the counter. Then he steps behind me and corners me against the counter, his front to my back. I feel him reach around and flick open my gun holster. He takes my gun out and sets it down on the kitchen counter.

“What are you doing?” I growl. My words are husky with equal measures of lust and panic.

“Everyone is having a good time except you,” Roland says. His hot breath beats against my throat. “Get off the bloody clock for once.”

All at once, his hand is between my legs. I suck in a sharp breath. He’s cupping my groin, fondling me. And dammit if I don’t get instantly hard for him.

All the prince has to do is so much as look my way and I’m ready to burst. Like a fucking virgin. Only now he’s fondling me, rubbing his palm over my length. It’s embarrassing how quickly I get painfully erect, even though there’s still a tent of fabric separating us. I grip the sides of the counter, and the blue tile gets slippery under my fingertips. “Fuck,” I moan.

My zipper hisses open and frees some room. Boldly, Roland’s fingers slip under the waistband of my briefs and wrap around my needy organ. The way he touches me… it’s familiar. As though his hands were made for my dick. He’s slow to start and holds me first, all five fingers wrapped around.

It has to be his first time touching another man’s cock. Has to be. I’ve been there. I was a teenager the first time I touched another man. He was a fellow dockhand, and we jerked each other off in an expensive old schooner that didn’t belong to either of us. I remember the fumbling touches. The frantic gasps. Biting back sex sounds as the tethered boat pitched side to side in the stormy waters.

I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a man, in an estate worth ten times my life savings. Roland is different, too. He’s curious. Each touch is purposeful, exploring. His fingers slip up and down my cock, and I feel them tracing the ridges of my veins. When he draws a circle around my ultrasensitive head, I inhale with a sharp hiss. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he slows but continues to fondle the tip of me, painting me with my own precum.

Fuck. He’s testing my limits. I know because that’s exactly what I do. I learn a body. Find its weaknesses. Push them. I’m not used to being on this end… and I’m not complaining. I grit my teeth and brace myself as agonizing pleasure shudders through me.

“The way you kissed me last night”—Roland’s breath feels hot on my throat when he speaks—“that was something.”

“Was it?” My mind is swimming.

“You kissed me like you’d been waiting to do that.”

“I have,” I blurt out. He’s sliding my cock through his fingers in long, slow pulls, and it’s making me fucking idiotic.

“For how long?”

Since the first time I laid eyes on you. My pride only lets me choke out, “A long time.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Now it’s like a vice is wrapped around my throat. His body is warm at my back, though, and his hand continues to stroke. Encouraging.

“I couldn’t.”

“Because I’m the prince of England?”

“Because you’re my best mate.”

He lets out a soft noise, like a sigh in my ear, and it makes my heart pound. When he shifts forward, I can feel his hard bulge press against my rear. “I’d say we’re a bit more than mates now, don’t you think?” Roland says.

“What does that make you… my boyfriend?” I’m throwing darts at the wall and hoping they hit.

To my relief, he breathes a single word in my ear, “Yes. And you’re mine.”

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