Page 20 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

LIAM

S he says the word kinky and I’m a goner.

My brain short-circuits in the best way, already conjuring half a dozen filthy scenarios—and knowing Ana, she’s got a full plan forming behind those wicked eyes.

“Only if I get to make you sing for me,” I murmur against her mouth.

She hums, pleased, then pulls back just enough to look at me properly. “Tempting. But I was thinking something… new.”

“Oh?” I slide my hands to her waist. “You’ve got something in mind already, don’t you?”

Ana tilts her head like she’s appraising me—eyes glinting, a slow smile curving her lips. “Tell me, Mr. Brannagan… have you been keeping up with your assignments?”

I blink. Then grin. “Wait. Are we doing a professor thing?”

She turns, walking away with a sway of her hips that makes it real hard to focus. “I mean, you did say ‘sexy professor, naughty student’ the other night. I’m just taking you up on it.”

“I thought I was the professor in that one,” I call after her, amused.

She doesn’t even look back. “Too bad. I called dibs.”

God, this woman is incredible.

By the time I follow her into the bedroom, she’s already slipped off her shirt and is pulling a pair of glasses—her disguise glasses, the ones she wore to meet Ingrid—out of the drawer. She perches them on her nose and gives me a look so commanding it sends a thrill straight down my spine.

“Take a seat, Mr. Brannagan,” she says, all clipped precision. “I’ve reviewed your latest… submission.”

I flop down at the edge of the bed, trying not to laugh. “And? Am I passing?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” She stalks closer, one slow, deliberate step at a time. “In fact, your essay was riddled with inappropriate metaphors, and more than a few deeply unprofessional comments about your instructor’s—” she pauses, eyeing me over the rim of her glasses, “—physical attributes.”

I pretend to be aghast. “I would never.”

“Oh really?” She straddles my lap without warning, fingers curling into my shirt collar. “You ended a paragraph with, and I quote, ‘Professor Volkov’s mouth could tempt a saint to sin.’”

I smirk. “That does sound like me.”

She yanks my shirt open—buttons flying—and presses her mouth to the curve of my throat. “You’ll have to be punished for that.”

“I accept my punishment,” I groan, dragging my hands up her thighs.

She adjusts her glasses like she’s getting into character, even though I know she’s halfway there already. The glint in her eyes says she’s ready to devour me—but only after I’ve been thoroughly broken in.

“You’re lucky I didn’t report your behavior to the Dean,” she says, her voice smooth and sharp like silk over steel. “But I believe in… rehabilitation.”

I swallow hard, heat coiling low in my gut. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, Professor.”

“Oh, I know you are.” She slides off my lap and stands in front of me. “Strip. Slowly.”

I obey without question, heart pounding as I stand and begin unbuttoning my shirt under her watchful gaze. She doesn’t move—just crosses her arms, watching every inch of skin I reveal with clinical interest, like she’s cataloging me for future lectures.

When I reach for my belt, she lifts a hand. “That’s enough.”

I freeze, half-naked, breath caught in my throat.

“I didn’t give you permission for the rest,” she murmurs, walking a slow circle around me like a lioness assessing a kill. “Sit.”

I lower myself back onto the edge of the bed, pulse hammering.

“Now.” Her fingers brush down the line of her own throat, drawing my gaze like a magnet. “You’ve been, how shall I put this? Distracted lately. Letting your mind wander. Not giving your professor the attention she deserves.”

I nod, eyes fixed on her. “I’ll do better.”

“Oh, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

She steps between my knees, slowly unzipping the pencil skirt she must’ve changed into when I wasn’t looking. It drops to the floor, revealing nothing underneath but a sheer slip of lace. My mouth goes dry.

“You’re going to put that silver tongue of yours to good use, Mr. Brannagan. I want to feel your devotion with every kiss, every touch. You are not allowed to rush. You are not allowed to get distracted. Your only job—” she leans in, lips brushing my ear, “—is to worship me.”

“Yes, Professor,” I whisper, barely able to breathe.

She climbs onto the bed and reclines like a goddess awaiting sacrifice, one leg bent at the knee, the other trailing off the side of the mattress. “Start at my ankles and work your way up. Slowly. Thoroughly. And if you get ahead of yourself?”

I meet her gaze, and there’s no teasing in it now—just pure control, radiating from every inch of her.

“I’ll make you start over.”

I’m already half-hard just from the way she’s looking at me—stern, expectant, powerful.

“I can be a good boy for you, Professor Volkov,” I murmur, my voice soft, low, and just a little husky.

I lean down, my mouth trailing reverent kisses up the delicate arch of her ankle, over the curve of her calf, pausing to inhale the scent of her skin like it’s sacred, holy.

She threads her fingers through my hair, tugging just sharply enough to make me groan, to make my cock jump. I continue my journey up her leg, leaving feather-light kisses across the pale expanse of her thigh, stopping here and there to slide my tongue against the creamy skin.

Her breath hitches, and she closes her eyes as I worship her. She tastes like honey and power and the best sin I’ve ever committed. I can’t get enough and by the time I reach the junction of her thighs, the air has thickened between us, electric with anticipation.

“That’s it. Just like that. Good boy,” Ana praises. My mouth latches onto her inner thighs, sucking marks into the skin. They tremble under my mouth and I feel like I’ve just earned redemption.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she commands as I slide my tongue into the damp folds of her fluttering pussy.

Her legs tighten around my shoulders as her control begins to slip, voice faltering with each gasp. “Don’t… stop,” she orders, words punctuated by moans.

If heaven exists, it’s here, between her legs, under her breathy moans. She arches her back and I sweep my tongue from side to side, lavishing attention on her clit like it’s the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

She rides my tongue with slow, grinding confidence, using me like a toy she owns as I continue my ministrations. Watching her take full control is delicious. I’m enjoying every minute of worshipping at her altar.

I lick her slow and reverent, as if every inch of her was made of scripture.

My tongue maps her like she’s a country I never want to leave—every ridge, every slick curve memorized and thoroughly loved. I trace the seam of her with tenderness that makes her thighs tremble beneath me.

She’s wet, hot, and shaking under my mouth—a veritable live wire of need wrapped in velvet.

Each flick of my tongue is precise, deliberate, calculated to make her lose control piece by piece. Moaning into her heat, I’m greedy for her, as if the pleasure of the act is the only thing keeping me alive.

She grinds herself against my mouth, and I grip her thighs harder, keeping her in place as she starts gasping now, breathless and undone and I don’t let up for a moment.

Right now, Ana tastes like want, like power, like something I could die trying to earn. With a few more slow, deliberate strokes, she shatters against my mouth, spine arched, my name spilling from her lips like a whispered prayer.

Her fingers twist in my hair as she breaks apart, thighs clenching around my head, holding me in place. She’s wrecked, breathless, and completely undone as her whole body goes taut, then she collapses against the bed like a queen finally satiated.

Her smile is a mix of pleased and smug as I sit up next to her, awaiting my next order. She rolls over to the side, eyes half-lidded and gazes at me, stripping me bare with just a look.

“You’ve been so good to me, Mr. Brannagan. You deserve your reward. Lie back. I’m going to ride you until I know you’ve learned your lesson, then you get to come for me,” she says, pushing my chest with one finger.

Slowly, I sink backward, my back hitting the mattress as Ana sits up, her glasses still perched on the tip of her nose.

“Keep your hands at your sides. You don’t touch unless I say so,” she instructs. She straddles me slowly, sinking down inch by inch, her breath catching as she takes me in fully—deliberate, unhurried, in total control.

Her hands splay across my chest, holding me down as she rocks her hips with a sensuous rhythm.

“Stay still. I’m going to use you now, Mr. Brannagan.” She leans over me, glasses slipping down her nose, hair falling over her shoulder as she whispers filthy praises in my ear. “You feel that? That’s what good boys get.”

My knuckles go white against the sheets, jaw clenched tight as I struggle not to move—not to disobey.

“So hard for me. So eager. I love how desperate you are.” She tilts her hips just right, making me shudder, and she smirks as though she’s just been given Teacher of the Year.

Her voice is becoming breathless, the warm air blowing against my ear as she continues my ‘education’. “You’re doing so well. Just take it. Take all of me.”

Every moan is low, measured, controlled, even as her body takes what it wants from me.

Her moans were low and measured, controlled—even as her body took what it wanted from his.

“You’re throbbing, Mr. Brannagan,” she whispers, and my entire body shudders, unable to stop myself. “I know you're close. You’re going to wait.”

I moan, a war waging inside me between the desire to grab her hips and slam her pussy into my cock and the need to be good for her, to obey her every command.

As though seeing the struggle in my eyes, her gaze turns sharp. “Come for me only when I say so. And not a second before,” she orders.

I nod, head thrown back as she continues to ride me, moving at a devastating tempo.

She shudders, her release hitting her in waves, pleasure rippling through her so hard she squeezes my biceps hard enough to leave marks.

When she starts to speak again, finding her voice after being run ragged, it lights a fire in my belly. “Oh, God, yes. That’s it, Liam! Now. Let go. Come for me. Show me how good I make you feel!”

My hands fly out and I grip her hips, thrusting into her wet pussy with a fervent abandon. “That’s it, baby. Just like that,” she calls out encouragingly.

I look up at her as though she’s hung the moon, and for a moment, she lets the persona crack—just enough to press a kiss to my temple and whisper, “Good boy.”

It sends me over the edge, and I shiver, releasing a hot load straight into her waiting cunt and she gives me a coquettish smile, tweaking my nipples with her fingertips, earning another pulsing load inside her.

She brushes my hair back as I tremble beneath her, still seated inside her, undone and dazed. “There now, lesson learned.”

I reach up and pull her down for a kiss, needing that closeness, that physical contact. We break apart and she lays down next to me.

As we come down from our high, nestled together in the bed, she pulls me close, her voice softening, threading affection through her words. “You’re mine,” she intones. “And I take very good care of what’s mine.”

I brush my fingers through her hair, settling down to relax for a while.

I’m content, just being here beside her as we weather the tumultuous storms we’ve been navigating lately.

Her body’s still draped across mine, warm and drowsy, her breathing soft and steady.

The world outside this bed feels far away, and for a moment, I let myself believe we’re safe.

But peace never lasts long around here.

My eyes drift to the ceiling, and my thoughts, traitorous as ever, drift back to the shooting. To Burns. To how fast everything moved after the gun went off.

I still can’t shake it.

The shooter was found and killed less than an hour after the incident. An hour. And yet I never saw any real police presence at the scene—no sirens, no flashing lights, not until long after Burns had already been whisked away.

Ana wondered aloud if it was staged. I’d brushed it off at the time, mostly because I didn’t want to believe it. But now?

Now it just won’t let me go.