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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Royal

We talk with Maddie the next evening and come up with a loose plan to straighten things out—read: to kick those assholes to the ends of the earth and back.

And then again for good measure.

The pieces put into place, we get down to business.

Also known as fucking our way through every room in Jade’s house.

I’m a particular fan of the huge island she has in the kitchen—it’s the perfect height to bend her over and plunge into her from behind again and again and again.

Probably why her cheeks keep flushing pink every time she looks at me as she absently strums on the guitar.

I blink, the memory of her tight cunt clamping around me disappearing when I hear it.

It.

“Stop.”

We’ve been working enough that she doesn’t question my sharp interjection.

“This?” she asks, playing something.

Just not the right something.

“No.”

Her nose wrinkles and she’s so fucking cute that I want to lean in and kiss the tip of it. But…work.

An album to produce.

Which means songs to write.

Which means?—

“No,” I say again when her fingers start moving again, the first chord wrong.

She huffs out a sigh, starts again, her eyes on mine.

I just shake my head.

“Son of a nutcracker,” she grumbles, and laughter bubbles up in my chest. Only, it doesn’t escape because her fingers are moving again and?—

“Yes. That. ”

Her mouth curves and her eyes soften as she keeps playing and?—

“Yes,” I say softly. “Yes, Shortcake. Keep going.” I sink down behind her, adjust her hands slightly so she can hit the chord progression a little easier. “Just like that, only make that last note a sharp.”

She lets my hands guide hers, leaning back against my chest, doing all the fine motor stuff while I help with the stuff that I can actually do.

Which is less than I want.

And more than I thought.

“There,” she breathes.

“Yes.” I close my eyes as we continue playing, piecing the notes together in that effortless way we seem to have together.

And pretty soon we’re strumming through the song and the words are coming and?—

“That’s perfect,” she whispers, the last note hanging in the air.

“Now we just need words,” I say dryly.

“You mean my album isn’t just going to be an instrumental?”

“Funny.” I tug a strand of her hair then nod at her notebook. “Okay, Shortcake, bust out that pen and fancy paper of yours.”

“A girl talks one time about how nice the ink feels gliding over the page.”

“My tongue is the ink, ” I sing. “ Your skin is the page.”

There that blush goes again, bright red on her cheeks. Her lips parting on a shaking exhale.

But her voice is steady as she strums and sings, “ My desire is forbidden pink. Your kisses are a rage .”

“Damn,” I whisper, my cock hardening against my zipper, my arms tightening around her. “Baby, for someone who doesn’t curse, that was hot as hell.”

She grins up at me, those cheeks still flushed, her storm cloud gray eyes sparking with lightning. With heat.

I tug the guitar out of her hands, set it to the side.

“Wh—?”

I kiss her, long and deep and slow, dragging her shirt up and over her head, tossing it to the side so I can peel off her bra, feast on her breasts.

She gasps when I suck a nipple deep, tugs sharply at my hair when I nibble a bit too roughly.

Grinning, I continue kissing her as I slide my hand down her belly, flick open the button of her jeans. I grasp the tag, tug down the zipper, and then I’m slipping my fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear. Lower. “Speaking of forbidden pink.”

Bright red cheeks.

Slickness coating my skin.

I stroke her, firm and sure, just exactly as she likes. And pretty soon she’s rocking against my hand?—

“Royal,” she whispers.

Close.

Already.

Christ, it’s like this woman is meant for me.

That sends a blip of emotion tearing through me—fear and panic, need and more .

But then she surprises me, gripping my hand and tugging it out from her pants. “Get naked,” she orders breathlessly.

“I love that you’re a good girl out there”—I rip my shirt over my head—“but my bad girl in here with me.”

“ Royal .”

I grin.

Her chin comes up. “Now, get naked.”

It takes seconds to oblige her and I get to enjoy the sight of her tits bouncing as she shoves down her jeans, her underwear, but when she reaches for the pair of ridiculously fuzzy socks, I stop her.

“Leave them.” I steal a kiss. “They’re fucking adorable. Just like you.”

“But they don’t exactly scream bad girl now, do they?”

“Who says?” I ask as I roll on a condom.

“ I say— ack!”

I grip her hips, drag her on top of me. “Come put those socks to good use, Shortcake.”

“How—?”

But I don’t give her a chance to overthink it. I just draw her down and flex my hips, thrusting up into her.

We both groan at the tight fit, her head falling back, my control already splintering.

“Fuck me, baby.”

She lifts her head, those gray eyes burning into mine, and our gazes lock together as she lifts up and drops down, as she grinds forward, as she takes me deep and fucks me, slow and steady at first, then rough and hard.

“Royal!” she gasps as she clamps around me, coming apart.

And that’s enough to send me over the edge.

My orgasm blasts through me as she collapses onto my chest. I grip her hips as my thrusts go wild, hold her close as my pulse settles, inhale the scent of her hair, feel the silk of her skin, the weight of her body, the hot glaze of her breath on my throat.

“ Your pulse is the rhythm, ” she sings softly. “ Your heart the only thing that makes sense. ”

“ And when I hold you close, ” I finish, “ I know I’ll never let you go. ”

“See?” Jade says a few days later, linking her hand with mine, her cheeks bright pink, albeit this time from the cold rather than me fucking her senseless.

“See what?” I ask as we stroll along the sidewalk, the small town outside of Nashville filled with small-town appeal.

The downtown has an eclectic charm, the shops lining both sides of the street as varied as their contents—crystal shops next door to cute pet stores, custom jewelry businesses next to tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurants.

“This is nice,” she says, swinging our hands back and forth. “Just doing normal things like getting fancy coffee”—she holds up her to go cup—“and window shopping.”

It is nice.

Or was before I noticed the attention Jade and I are getting. The surreptitious pictures being taken of us, the eyes tracking our movements.

I need to get us out of here before something goes wrong.

We don’t have security.

And the greedy eyes of the people tracking us…

It’s making my lungs tighten, my vision shrink.

“Royal?” Her stride falters, and she looks up at me. “Are you okay?”

I nod tightly. “I’m great. This is great.”

“Why do I feel like a but is coming?”

“Look around, Shortcake.”

She frowns but dutifully glances from side to side. “I know the shops aren’t as nice as the ones in L.A., but?—”

“No.” I squeeze her hand, ignoring that it’s my bad hand, that the sensation is wrong.

That all of this is wrong.

“ Look around, baby.”

Her throat works. Then she sighs and drags her stare away from me, pointing it back out to the street.

And another falter in her stride tells me she sees it then.

“Fiddlesticks,” she whispers.

“We need to go.”

Her eyes come back to mine, and she nods. “We need to go.”

We start to turn around when I hear it.

“Jade?”

The child’s voice has us both freezing and pivoting back. And there she is, an adorable little girl who’s maybe a couple of years older than Frankie. Her parents are behind her, wide smiles on their faces.

“Yes,” she says, crouching down and extending her hand. “I’m Jade. What’s your name?”

“Calle.”

“Hi, Calle.” She shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Can you sign this for me?”

I’m watching the interaction, smiling slightly as I watch Jade sign a T-shirt that looks to have been bought from one of the nearby shops. But even as I do that, I’m aware of more people closing in.

The tightness in my lungs increases.

Calle’s parents snap a picture then wave goodbye. But before I can get Jade out of there, a few other fans come forward. They’re respectful and the interactions are brief, so I just stand by as she signs a couple more autographs and takes a few more photos.

But the worry in my stomach is growing.

We need to go.

Finally, Jade finishes with the last of her fans, and I move close to her side. “Time to go, Shortcake.”

Her eyes hit mine, and I know she picks up on my tension—read: near panic—when she immediately nods and weaves her fingers through mine.

“Let’s hit it.”

“Got time for one more autograph?”

We both freeze, the hairs on my nape prickling.

The man’s tone is off, and more than a little entitled.

But Jade dutifully turns around, scrawls her name on the poster.

“Just one more,” the man says as she tries to hand the pen back, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a clipboard with several more memorabilia items.

An autograph reseller.

Ugh. I fucking hate these guys.

“I’m sorry,” Jade says, her tone polite but firm. “We’re late and need to head out.” She slips her arm through mine.

“Seriously?” the man snaps, shoving the clipboard in her face. “You took a century with those dumb little kids, but you can’t take two minutes with me?”

“We’re going,” I tell him, shoving the clipboard away.

“Fuck you.”

“Look, man,” I say quietly. “She signed that for you, and you’ll be able to sell it for plenty of money. So take that as a win and shut the fuck up, all right?”

I glance down at Jade. “Let’s?—”

A hand grips my shoulder, yanking me back, tearing my hand from Jade’s, knocking me back a pace.

She cries out as I regain my balance, and I turn to see the asshole in her face.

Touching her.

My vision is no longer tinged with black.

Instead, it’s red.

I shove the fucker away from her. “Touch her again and I’ll break it off.”

“Fuck off, asshole.” He takes a swing at me.

I swing back. Once.

Because it only takes one punch to eliminate the threat.

He staggers and falls back onto the sidewalk, landing hard on his ass.

“Come on,” I say, taking Jade’s hand as the man rubs his hand over his face, hating all of the cameras pointed in our direction, hating even more that this is going to be all over social media in a matter of minutes.

“Oh, my God,” she whispers.

I hate even more that she’s trembling.

But I deal with the first problem first.

I get her into the car, point us back in the direction of Nashville.

Then I deal with the second.

I call my crisis control publicist, let her know what just happened.

“That jerk could have hurt me,” Jade whispers after I hang up.

“Not as long as I’m still breathing, Shortcake.”

And with that, I deal with the third.

“But I can’t protect you here.” I reach across the console, take her hand, holding tight until she stops trembling enough and looks at me. “We have to go back to L.A., Shortcake.”