Page 53 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part One

R IAN

I sense her approach before she’s within sight, before I catch the rhythmic thud of her mount’s swift canter. I don’t know how that’s possible — that I’m already looking off to the left when she crests the rise, riding Perseus skillfully, if a little stiffly.

I’ve never been so in tune with anyone in my life, on the verge of obsessed. She haunts my dreams. I stop myself from texting her constantly. From sneaking up to the castle and slipping into her rooms, into her bed, and settling between those perfect fucking thighs.

How is it that I barely know her, yet I want, I need her, so much?

And it’s a problem. No matter my inclination, my intense need, to barrel through it all. Because Mirth can’t be mine.

I still might be able to be hers, though.

And that’s not settling for less. That’s … everything .

One of the grooms I’ve barely had a chance to work with yet exits the stables, also looking Mirth’s way.

I step back from the fenced ring where I’m standing, raising my hand as if I’m casually offering to take Perseus.

As if I’m not abruptly and rabidly jealous at even the hint of a possibility that anyone would take that privilege from me.

I’m also ignoring that it’s the groom’s job, not mine.

Her Royal Highness dismounts in a fluid motion before she’s brought Perseus to a complete stop. I reach for the bridle, trying to tamp down on the memory of her mounting me with those long, delectable legs.

I can’t be sporting wood here. Can’t be salivating all over her here, out in the open. I’m not even surrounded by my own staff, most of them related to me by blood or some family connection.

Mirth has left her guards behind. I knew she’d done so when all the horses were ridden back, excepting Perseus. They wouldn’t normally shadow her on the property, but they’d been with her earlier.

She’s wearing dark glasses, but I can feel her gaze — as I could before. It sears with an almost desperate tenor across my face. That must be part of whatever essence she wields, because my own heightened senses don’t extend to picking up emotion that way.

That hint of neediness loosens something in my chest— something I hadn’t realized had been growing tighter and tighter between text messages and not seeing Mirth with my own eyes. I’m able to offer her an easy smile, running my hand down Perseus’s neck … when it’s her I want to be touching.

Mirth peels her gloves off, still watching me intently. Her jacket cinches in her waist, and paired with the jodhpurs, it makes her ass look as luscious as I already know it is. I keep my attention at eye level, though .

“He rode well,” she says.

That’s etiquette — for her to speak first. Though I already know Mirth likes me to initiate when we’re alone.

I just don’t know if she wants to be alone with me again.

I have no idea how to court a princess, but I might have fucked up our first sexual encounter.

No matter how desperate the tenor of the need rolling off her had been that early morning.

As if she’d been touch-starved. I should have made her come on my fingers or tongue first, though.

That might have sated her need. But no, I had to be buried balls deep —

“You wanted to discuss Perseus’s training schedule?” she asks quietly, almost tentatively.

Fuck. I’ve been in my head instead of in this moment with her. “Do you have the time now?” I ask, my voice so husky that I have to stop myself from clearing my throat.

“I made the time.” She takes the bridle back from me and leads Perseus into the stables.

I manage to keep my eyes off her ass until the building closes around us and I’m fairly certain I’m out of anyone’s line of sight. Other than the horses in their stalls.

Mirth glances back over her shoulder, questioningly.

My mind is a fucking blank until I realize she doesn’t know which stall I’ve assigned to Perseus. “Next on the left. He does well next to … the mare, your chestnut thoroughbred.” I almost said Armin’s name, but Mirth doesn’t need to hear it from me. She knows her dead brother owned these horses.

“You think they’ll make a good breeding pair, then?” she asks. Her tone is so even and cool that I’d think her indifferent to me if I couldn’t feel her desire thrum through my chest whenever she looks at me .

“On the page, yes. But I’d like to spend more time with both of them before we decide on that route.”

“Of course,” she murmurs, leading Perseus into the stall.

I follow, going through the motions of removing the horse’s saddle and other tack by rote. Mirth retrieves a brush.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she murmurs as she smooths the brush down the stallion’s neck. “When did you arrive?”

“It took me longer than I liked to … relocate,” I say, hoping I sound as steady as she does. “I left a few of my staff behind to transport the rest of the horses.”

She glances at me over Perseus’s back. “You’re staying?”

I swallow, nodding before I speak a more thorough answer. She technically hasn’t asked that of me. Not directly. I hover on the verge of gushing an ill-timed declaration of undying love and loyalty, but she rescues me from my ledge.

“You turned down the invitation,” she says. “To court me.”

“You asked me to turn it down.”

She tilts her head. “But you’re here.”

“I am.”

Her lush lips part, and she says breathily, “I’ve missed you. I didn’t think I’d be gone so long. And I wanted … I wanted …”

I don’t make her say the words. I’m around Perseus and pulling her into my arms, mouth slashing eagerly over hers before she finishes telling me exactly what she wants.

She wraps her arms around my neck, mouth opening for my tongue to invade, melting against me.

I’m instantly fucking hard, palming her ass and lifting her up. I press my stiff cock to her core. She gasps into my mouth, threading her hands through my hair.

“Yes,” she pants. “Yes, please. Rian.”

I’m not fucking her in a stable. I can’t trust myself not to get so involved that even I don’t notice someone approaching.

But even knowing I should let her go, coax her over to my cottage, I can’t seem to stop myself from kissing down her neck, greedily hoarding her quiet moans and gentle panting deep within my soul.

This level of attachment isn’t remotely normal for two people who barely know each other. But that ache, that tension, in my chest eases. With every brush of her skin against mine, it smooths into a steady warmth.

“Rian.” She presses her face against mine, sucking on my earlobe, then just breathing — not blowing — against that bit of wetness.

I shudder.

Her grip in my hair tightens, and she starts trying to rub against my cock despite being so tightly pinned against me.

“Oh fuck, Mirth …” I practically shout it, though my words are thankfully muffled against her neck. “You need to come, Highness?”

She pulls my mouth back to hers, kissing me hard, a little bit wild. Her squirming against me intensifies. “Please. Yes, please.”

“Let me … let me touch you,” I pant, lifting my head away from her in an attempt to clear it a little. “Let me touch you, Highness.”

I lower her so she can get her feet under herself, then press her back against the wooden wall of the stall.

Trying to be gentle, not frantic, but not quite managing it.

As I settle my mouth back over hers and tangle her tongue with mine, she doesn’t stop me from unbuttoning the lower three buttons of her jacket, just enough that I can access her zipper.

I brace an arm on the wall behind her, cradling the back of her head in my hand so she doesn’t get hurt. Then I dive my fingers into her panties, slipping through her slick heat, and groaning into her kiss.

She cries out when I find her clit, arching up against my touch. I’m not playing. She doesn’t need play right now.

I rub, gently at first. Then firmer and firmer on either side of that hard little nub, watching her as she relaxes into my hold and just allows me to pleasure her.

I nearly fucking come myself in response to that complete trust. I nearly blurt everything I’m feeling. Instead, I ease into a swirling rhythm, teasing over that spot right under the hood of her clit that I already know is almost too sensitive for her.

Quiet panting and moaning falls from her open lips. She wraps one hand around my wrist, the other gripping the back of my neck as if she has to hold me in place.

But I’m not fucking going anywhere.

I pick up my pace. That warmth in my chest grows. Her energy, her essence rises, prickling across my skin.

“Rian,” she moans. “Rian. In me. In me. I want your cock.”

“Fuck,” I snarl, pressing my face into her neck so I can’t watch the ecstasy stretching over her features. Otherwise, I’m not going to be able to deny her. “Not yet, not here, love,” I say. My words come out in an unintentional growl.

Her body stiffens, and I know she’s about to come.

I capture her mouth again, swallowing her moans as they increase in volume and frequency.

Pressing against her and increasing my pressure, my speed, on her slick clit, I make the mistake of leaning too close.

Because as she arches into me, into the pleasure — her energy expanding and exploding as it does right before she orgasms — she palms my fucking rock-hard cock, squeezing. Hard.

That touch, combined with her essence, shoves me right over the edge. I shout my own orgasm into her mouth. My hips are bucking against her hand.

She shudders against me, then pulls her mouth from mine to laugh. It’s a quiet, satisfied noise. A huff of breath across my cheek, as I pant with the shock of having fucking ejaculated in my pants. From a make-out session and a single fucking touch.

“Oh, fuck …” I groan.

She laughs again, pure joy threading through the sound.

I gave that to her. I somehow knew what she needed, and I gave it to her. I press my forehead against hers, still teasing my finger gently over her clit and coaxing out tiny shudders, faint aftershocks, of pleasure.