Page 9 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

“Sweet,” I tell him. Like wine, first summer’s fruit, honeysuckle… the memory of her on my lips makes my dick twitch in my jeans.

The prince’s grin widens. “Sounds delicious. I like her already. What would I do without you, Ben?”

I don’t answer that. It’s not a bodyguard’s job to hypothesize.

“Lead the way, mate,” Prince Roland tells me. There’s that carnal look in his eyes again.

I do. Prince Roland gets what he wants. Every time.

6

Rory

Ben is taking too long.

It’s hard to tell how much time has passed—minutes? Hours?—but the fact that any time has passed means it’s way too long. I’m naked, bound, blind as a bat, and in the prince’s bed. If I get caught like this… well. That’ll be an awkward trip to the embassy I’m not likely to forget.

My brain bounces through thoughts like a ball in a pinball machine. I hope Oscar the Otter is shoved to the bottom of my backpack. He’s seen me though a lot of adventures; he doesn’t need to see this one.

Then the door clicks open. The second I hear the noise, my spine goes stick straight.

“Don’t panic. It’s me.”

Ben’s voice. I sigh and my shoulders drop.

“Took you long enough. Did you stop for ice cream?”

“Yes,” he says. “And I brought you back something sweet.”

His mouth is on mine before I can respond. His lips crush me, his scruff grazes my cheek, and his tongue drinks me in greedily. In seconds flat, he has me exactly where he wants me once more, moaning and dripping for him.

“Down, girl,” he growls. He barely has to press his fingertips to my chest before I lose balance and topple onto my back. I feel his lips on my bare skin, taking their time now as he kisses my throat, my collarbone, down my breast. I pant for breath as my heart pounds in my chest. I want his lips everywhere. With my vision gone, my skin feels like it’s on fire, all the nerves tingling at the very surface. I feel every swipe of his tongue, and I writhe under the friction of his hands. He sucks my breast into his mouth, tongue rolling over my perked nipple, and I feel the lust roll off me in waves.

His hands are everywhere. I’m a ladybug in a web, twisting and squirming, trapped under his caresses. Only this is a trap I don’t want to be free from. His fingertips bring me to life, sending shivers through me. His hands are on my thighs, pinning them down; then they’re deep in my hair, and then they’re cupping my face.

Each touch makes me tremble, and all at once my body grows fire hot. He seems to be in a million places at once, touching me, caressing me, and I can barely catch my breath at his bold explorations. His hands grope me; he nibbles my nipple and kisses my neck…

Wait. How can his lips be at my breast and at my throat? It’s then that I feel not one, but two mouths. There’s more than two hands on me, too; I recognize that now. Just as the realization kicks into full gear, a velvety voice that definitely does not sound like Ben’s low growl murmurs in my ear, “You’re an angel…”

“Wait,” I gasp. “Stop. Stop. Untie me. Now!”

All at once, the touches and kisses stop. My heart is hammering in my chest, but it’s not lust that’s kicked it into gear anymore. I’ve gone full survivor mode, fight or flight. This isn’t what I signed up for. This isn’t it at all.

I can’t catch my breath. I’m nearly hyperventilating when a pair of fingers gently pluck the tie behind me, unraveling it. As soon as I have use of my arms, I yank the blindfold from my face.

Light comes streaming in. I blink as my vision blurs and slowly comes back into focus, like twisting the body of a kaleidoscope.

There he is. The not-Ben. Wild, untamed blond hair. A nose straight enough to ski off. A strong chin highlighted by two plump, full lips. His beauty is practically celestial, and it sucks the breath straight out of my lungs.

That, and the fact that he’s royalty.

“You,” I whisper. “You’re… Prince Roland.”

“Of course I am.” He smiles, and it’s so fucking dazzling I could cry. “Who were you expecting?” Then, just like that, the realization sinks into his expression. Slowly, like an avalanche, his expression careens downward—his eyebrows slope first, then his smile falls, and the line of his mouth grows tight.

“Ah,” he says, answering his own question. “You weren’t expecting me at all.”

I shake my head. I’m speechless.

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