Page 6 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

Secret passageways? Underground tunnels? And now Buckingham Palace… all to myself? They haven’t let civilians in here since they closed the gates ten years ago, but Ben strolls up like it’s nothing. There’s a dark service door underneath a bridge that goes over the Thames River. It’s so embedded in the stone, with dark waterlines running down the sides, I wouldn’t notice it if Ben didn’t go straight toward it, tug out an ID card, and stick the card into a slot in the stone. The door clicks and swings open. I follow him, dazed and stupidly happy, as he leads me through an underground bunker and out into a second door.

A quick ID check and my signature at the door and I’m in.

Buckingham Palace is grand and intricate. The hallway arches upward in this beautiful, classic archway. My eyes lift to a fresco that stretches across the ceiling. A beautiful representation of heaven, with cherry-cheeked cherubs peeking out of the clouds and swanlike angels swooping around the crystal chandelier. I step back, my eyes following the painting, and nearly knock over a coat of arms.

“Sorry,” I say and lift my palms. I’ve apologized to an inanimate object. It clatters noisily back into place.

Ben stops to turn to me. “Are you coming?”

I rock lightly on my heels and grin up at him. “This place is… impressive.”

Ben’s legs are ridiculously long, and he covers the space between us in a single step. “If you think the palace is impressive,” he says, lifting my chin, “just wait to see what I have in store for you tonight.”

I lean in to kiss him, but he pulls away at the last second, leaving my lips untouched and tingling with anticipation.

“This way.” Ben leads me down the hallway—how many halls are there? Each one opens up to another room in a different color, this one purple, this one green. I want to stay and ask him a million questions, but I’m nearly running beside him just to keep up with him.

Finally, we stop in front of a door. The door is pearl white and trimmed in gold leaf. He pushes it open and holds the door for me. When I step inside, my feet come to a sharp stop.

Holy hell.

Now this is a bedroom. It’s modern Gothic, like a set piece from the Phantom of the Opera, but if the Phantom was an English hipster. The wooden walls are paneled to match the rest of the palace, only instead of light, airy colors to match the aesthetic, these are gunmetal gray. The cabinets are dark, stained and polished wood, with a matching coffee table.

A gas fireplace, lit and ghostly, flickers quietly from its place carved into the wall. It’s as though it were waiting for us. Even with the roaring fireplace, this room feels about ten degrees colder than the rest of the house, and it sends a shudder through me.

“This is your room?”

Ben closes the door behind him and shakes his head. “This is Prince Roland’s room.”

A stab of fear runs through me. Fear and… something else. Excitement. I’m in Prince Roland’s bedroom! What I wouldn’t give to see His Highness spread out on that bed, his golden blond mane glistening in the firelight. Does he sleep naked? Inquiring minds want to know. I want to stick my face in the pillows and just smell them. That’s weird, right?

Weird.

It’s weird that Ben took me here, of all places. I’m on pins and needles, and I twist to face him. “We shouldn’t be here. What if he comes in and sees us—?”

“Sees us like this?” Ben crushes my mouth in his. That’s what I’ve been aching for. His kiss is hungry, and it ignites a flame low in my belly. I get the feeling he’s holding back; his kiss is delicate, but his whole posture is stiff. He cups the back of my head, and his fingers curl and tighten in my hair, making me gasp.

“You can pull my hair,” I whisper. “I like it.”

A small noise leaves his throat, like a sigh of relief, and it makes me wet. “Be careful what you wish for,” he growls, his voice low and thick with lust.

Just then, he yanks my head back by the roots of my hair. “Ah!” I yelp. His lips are on my throat, ravenous, and the pain and pleasure sensations make me squirm. I’m soaking my panties; I can feel it.

He’s been a gentleman and carried my bag, but now he drops it from his shoulders with a heavy thud. “Get on the bed,” he orders.

He dominates me like it’s nothing. The tight muscles in his shoulders and brow have relaxed, and his dark eyes shimmer with a new focus. It’s as though it takes effort to rein in his controlling personality, but here, in the prince’s bedroom, with me under his thumb—finally, he’s in his element.

And I submit. I take pride in being an independent, strong woman, but get the right man to control me in the bedroom and I turn to putty.

The bed is plush, stacked with peach and olive throw pillows. It sinks when I sit on the edge. A circular light fixture hangs above me, as large as a ceiling fan, and lights twinkle from the stalagmite tips. It looks like a crown, looming and suspended over me.

Ben stands in front of me, reclaiming my attention. “Take off your shirt.”

“You first,” I tease.

He calls my bluff. He rips his shirt above his head and throws it to the ground.

I swallow.

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