Page 80 of American Royalty

She frowned, since the movement dislodged her from her comfy position. “But you enjoyed what we did, right?”

He scooted back to rest against the headboard, then pulled her against him. “If you have to ask, then clearlyI’mdoing something wrong!”

She nestled into his side. What a waste of one of Britain’s natural resources. Although—

“If you had fun and I had fun, how about weenjoyourselves a few more times while I’m here?”

He tilted her chin and stared down at her. “Just sex? With no strings attached?”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind a little rope play...”

“No strings attached as in claims of pregnancy or threats to spill to the tabloids if we don’t get married or pretend to be dating for at least a year?”

What the—“That’s happened to you?”

“A few times.”

She didn’t know why his revelation was such a bombshell. People seemed to lose their moral compass when it came to trying to secure money and power. She’d seen both men and women do some shady shit to live the lifestyle without the hard work.

She rolled away from him and reached into the top drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. Finding what she sought, she placed it next to the lamp and curled back against his side.

“I’m working on a major deal that will require my full time and attention for quite a while. Trust and believe, I’m not looking to get pregnant or married. Why would I want to be your princess? I’m my own Duchess.”

A smile tilted the corners of his lips. “Okay. I’ll... trust and believe.”

In one quick, smooth motion, she slid her thigh over his and straddled him, nestling his cock in her folds and rubbing her clit against his length. “Are you making fun of me?”

He hissed in a breath and gripped her hips. “I would never. Just a little teasing.” He raised his thumb to her lips and pushed it inside her mouth. “I thought you liked my teasing.”

She moaned around the invasion, laving it with her tongue. “I do. I love it.”

He pressed the digit, wet from her saliva, against her clit. “Good. Tell me, what’s that?”

She threw her head back and ground against it, the pressure so... fucking... amazing. “What’s what?”

“The fabric you took from the drawer. Who’s tying up whom?”

Tying up? Fabric?

All thought processes had ceased to function as the blood left her brain and set up camp in the tiny nub of pleasure between her thighs.

From the drawer?Oh.

“That’s... my... SLAP.”

He stilled. “Pardon?”

“My satin-lined cap.” When he didn’t resume his ministrations, she sighed. “I wear it at night to protect my hair.”

“From what?”

The utter bafflement on his face sent her into spasms of laughter so intense, she fell back, ass in the air, to land in a graceless pile next to him.

“Oh my God,” she heaved out.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, adorably grumpy.

“You’ve never dated a black woman, have you?”