Page 60 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

Rory’s lips draw into a grimace. “I’ll be right back,” she says.

I watch as Rory wiggles through the crowd to get to Roland. He immediately scoops her in his arms and covers her mouth with his. He’s drunk and overly affectionate. Rory’s body goes rigid when the crowd ooooohs, and my hands clench into fists. She unwinds herself from Roland, pets his hair, and murmurs something I can’t hear over the pounding beat of the music. He nods and follows her like a puppy to the dance floor, where they fall into a swaying movement.

I’ve mapped all the exits. I know every bartender and waitress by sight. My eyes scan the room, but it’s hard to make heads or tails of this crowd. The only good news is that there’s certainly no one hiding a gun in those skinny jeans. My eyes catch on a bulky man who moves to the bathrooms, and for a second, he almost looks familiar.

“So, Tall, Dark, and Strange.” A woman steps side by side with me. “Are you strictly a voyeur, or do you participate as well?”

She’s more skin than clothes, an hourglass of a woman fitted into a leather miniskirt and a matching blouse that crisscrosses over her chest. Her blonde hair is cropped at her shoulders, and it bounces when she turns her head. It occurs to me in an out-of-body way that she’s just the type of girl I would’ve taken back to Buckingham Palace for Roland and me to feast on, back in the days before Rory. Now, I can barely muster up the energy to give her the time of day.

“Voyeur,” I say shortly.

She rolls her eyes. “The clean-cut ones are always the kinkiest.” She lingers, not taking my hint. Her eyes scan my suit. “So you work with the prince, eh?”

“What gave it away?”

She smirks. “He always this much fun?”

The tempo changes. Prince Roland bounces up and down on the dance floor, and Rory jumps with him, laughing, pumping her fist in the air. “Not exactly.”

“He and his lady friend. They’re awful cute, aren’t they?” She shifts her weight in her hips, and her arm brushes against mine. “Must get boring, watching them have all the fun while you play third wheel.”

“Boring isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Right you are, mate.” She reaches out and traces her nail around my ear, pushing my dark hair back. “Bet you’re anything but boring, aren’t you?”

I grab her wrist and hold her back. “I’m on duty,” I inform her. “In other words: shove off.”

“Touchy.” She tugs her hand back and steps away from me, her wedges wobbling toward the dance floor. “Oi!” she shouts and catches my attention. When I turn to her, she bites on her grin. “Since you’re a voyeur and all…” She pulls back the thin straps of her blouse, and her round breasts spill out. Her blouse cradles her perky orbs, and she bounces them a couple times for show. Then she covers them once more, blows me a kiss, and turns back to the dance floor.

Jesus fucking Christ. I’m certainly we’ve fallen into some level of hell. I need to get out of here. And I need a smoke.

31

Roland

I want to replace my heartbeat with the thump of the bass.

The music is so loud in here it dulls out my screaming thoughts. The alcohol numbs the anxiety burning in my blood, and as I make a fool of myself on the dance floor with Rory… for a second, I feel almost peaceful. We’re jumping together, and I spin her and pull her against me. Her laugh rings out in my ears and vibrates through my soul. My adrenaline rushes, my head spins, and I swallow Rory up in my arms and laugh.

This is freedom. This is the world I’ve been kept from for so long. I want to immerse myself in it. I want to experience it—all of it. I crave it the way an addict craves heroin; my nerves feel frantic and fuel my desperation.

So I jump higher. Push harder. Until my heart is beating so quickly, I can barely tell it apart from the music. I’m no prince. No royal. I just am. I can forget myself here. And it feels so goddamn good.

Sweat drips down my neck. As I toss my body around the dance floor, my gaze swims over the bar.

There. Right there. My mother stands at the edge of the dance floor. Her hair is pulled into a bun, a black funeral lace covering her face. All sound dims until all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears. My father stands beside her in his proud military uniform. Proud family. Idiot son.

“Roland!” Rory’s voice, like a shard of sunshine on a rainy day, breaks through my imagination. Her hands rest on my chest, and all I can see is her now and those big, soft eyes, filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

I try to find my family again, but they’re gone.

Loneliness is like an ice pick in my heart. The pain is unbearable and constant. I wind my arms around Rory and crush her against me. Her body is warm, soft, and I crave her heat.

“Don’t leave me, okay?” I blither like an idiot in her ear. “I can’t lose you. I can’t bear to lose another person I love.”

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “It’s going to be okay.” She runs her fingers through my hair. I’m magnetized to her touch, and I lean in even as she pulls away. “I’m going to get you a cup of water, baby… Go find Ben, okay?”

I nod. I feel dumb, sweat slicked, and my throat is thick and clotted. She cups my face and presses a sweet kiss to my mouth before she pulls away, vanishing into the crowd.

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