Page 31 of Royal Trouble

“Or?” Everly asked, watching him intently, her eyes fixed on his forearms, which were deeply tanned from long mornings on the polo field.

“Or,” he said, closing the distance between them and cupping her cheek, “I lay you out on the banquet table like a feast and find out just how sweet you taste—every inch of you. The choice is yours, Evie.”

She swallowed, the muscles of her delicate neck bobbing as she considered her options.

His cock hardened at the prospect of touching her again, but he wouldn’t push her. This had to be her choice. And if she didn’t choose him, well, at least he could drown his sorrows in a bottle of the good shit.

Surely a bottle of Cheval Blanc would pair nicely with rejection.

The silence between them stretched on, and just when he thought he’d choke on the tension, Everly looked up at him with a crooked grin.

“I’ve always wanted to do it on a table.”

Thank Christ. His balls were aching for release.

He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the banquet room. It was by far the largest room in the cellar—and the most private—with a polished antique table, more gilded candelabras than would be considered tasteful, and a plush crimson rug that had been a gift from a long-dead monarch.

He deposited Everly on the table and spread her thighs wide. A blush stained her cheeks, but she left her legs where he’d placed them.

“You’re so bloody beautiful.” He removed the fascinator from her hair and tossed it to the floor, running his fingers through her dark locks. Her hair was like silk, slipping through his fingers in shiny waves as her lavender and lemongrass scent teased his senses. “I’ve been fantasizing about this for the last week and a half. Considering all the ways I might fuck that tight little pussy of yours.” He twisted his fingers in her hair, tilting her head back so she was forced to look up at him, to see the truth of his words. “And now that I have you, I intend to take my time and make each of those fantasies come true.”

He’d be a fool not to. He’d probably only get one night with a woman like Everly. She was smart, independent, and thoroughly unimpressed by his title.

She grinned up at him as goose bumps rippled across her flesh. “You know, it’s a fine line between sexy and serial killer.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely,” she said, eyes dancing with laughter. “But I’ll let you know when you’ve crossed the line.”

Xander smirked. “Evie, love, I intend to cross a number of lines, but I guarantee you’ll enjoy every blissful second.”

“Promises, promises.”

He lowered his mouth to hers, but before he could kiss her, she surprised him, taking his lower lip between her teeth and biting down. It was gentle—playful, even—but arousal crackled across his skin, sending a bolt of lightning straight to his cock.

So Everly liked to play. Good to know.

He slipped a hand under her skirt, massaging the smooth skin of her inner thigh. She wasn’t wearing tights—which were required of guests and royals alike at a garden party. Not that he gave a damn if she broke protocol. Truthfully, he found it rather exhilarating. A kindred spirit bucking the royal system.

And it gave him immediate access to her most desirable bits.

Everly released his lip and kissed him, full and deep. She tasted sugary sweet—like champagne and chocolate—and when her tongue brushed against his, in sure, steady strokes, it was even better than the fantasy. There was nothing shy or awkward about their movements, and when they finally broke apart, she was breathless, her pupils signaling her arousal.

He pushed her skirt up around her waist, revealing her white satin panties. “Would you like me to touch you, Evie?”

“Yes,” she whispered, breasts rising and falling in quick succession as his knuckles brushed the soft fabric.

In one swift motion, he cupped her pussy, hissing as the damp fabric met his palm. “So wet,” he growled. Then he pushed her knickers aside and slowly dragged a finger down her center.

Everly sighed and let her head fall back as she relinquished control.

Pride swelled in his chest. How was it possible this incredible woman—who thought she didn’t need anyone—trusted him enough to give up her tightly guarded control? It was an unexpected gift, and he wouldn’t take it for granted.

“You like that, love?” He stroked her again, exploring her slick folds. “You want more?”

She nodded and wriggled her bottom in encouragement.

He stroked her one more time and plunged two fingers into her hot, wet center. She cried out and leaned into him, burying her face in his shoulder.