Page 20 of Twins For His Majesty (Royally Tempted #1)

It could never be just a kiss with them.

That was their chemistry. He moved his body over hers, straddling her and kissing her, running his hands through her hair while he tasted her mouth, then removed her shirt, groaning at the sight of her braless body, her beautiful breasts.

He remembered them, but they were different now.

Fuller, the nipples a darker pink. He dropped his head to one, hungry to feel it in his mouth, needing to roll her nipple with his tongue and revelling in the way she arched her back and screamed his name when he did so.

This felt good. So bloody good. Control was still his; or if it wasn’t, it was something neither of them had.

He ran his hand down to her stomach, pausing because emotions threatened to punch him in the gut and he didn’t want to feel anything but the physical.

‘It’s fine.’ Phoebe stroked his back. ‘I asked the doctor at my last check-up.’ He glanced up at her in time to see her cheeks flush pink.

‘Just in case something like this happened. My pregnancy is low-risk, so far as twin pregnancies go. There’s no medical reason for us not to—um—I mean, if that’s where this is going. ’

Her awkwardness and nervousness pulled at something dangerously close to his heart.

He wasn’t sure what he would say if he spoke, so he didn’t say anything.

He just went back to kissing her, longer, slower, more sensually, drawing this out to torment them both.

And it was a torment. A torment to be so rock-hard against her sex but to have clothing separating them, a torment to have her naked breasts pressed to his chest through the fabric of his shirt.

A torment to kiss her and not be inside of her.

But he wanted to make this last, he wanted to maintain control.

Finally, it was too much for Octavio, and he stripped their clothes piece by piece, still making himself take his time, tracing her body with his tongue, flicking her breasts, her stomach, her hips, her sex, before finally he separated her legs.

‘Would you prefer me to use a condom?’

She laughed. ‘That horse has bolted, hasn’t it?’

‘I mean from a health point of view. I’m clean, but if you’d prefer me to take the precaution—’

‘Oh, gosh, I hadn’t even thought—’ She shook her head. ‘I am, too. I’m not exactly someone who does this often, and I’ve always used protection in the past. Always.’

He knew that, but for some reason in that moment, in that context, it made him feel powerful. Masculine. Special. He boxed those feelings away. All of them, especially the last one.

He wasn’t special. Sure, he was King, but that was not the same thing as mattering to someone, and it had been a long time since he had.

Relief at not having to leave her to go in search of the condoms he had stashed somewhere in the villa was palpable.

He positioned himself at her sex, looking down at her, realising he’d never done this with Phoebe.

In the past when they’d been together, he’d entered her without looking at her face.

Not intentionally, but simply because he’d been caught up in passion and had been at a fever pitch, desperate to lose himself in her.

Now, as he pressed into her, he found his eyes were hooked to Phoebe’s and wouldn’t shift.

He saw the way her pupils swelled and irises darkened, the way her skin flushed a darker shade of pink, the way she bit into her lip as if to stop from screaming out.

He saw something shift inside of her gaze, something that pummelled him and threatened to break him, so finally he tore his eyes away, burying his head in the crook of her neck as he thrust into her completely and stayed there, buried deep.

Her muscles tightened around his length and he was euphoric.

It had been way too long and he’d wanted this way too much.

He surrendered completely.

He had lost himself to her, staring at her as she’d climaxed, marvelling at her beauty, her passion, at how alive she was. Marvelling at the fact she was his wife, that she would be the mother of his children. Marvelling at the fact she was his.

And was he hers, too?

He’d shut the thought down, even when he knew the answer. When it came to sex, yes. He was hers. Every inch of him was. She made him feel things he’d never known, and there was no point denying it. But even as his body had given up any pretence of self-protection, his mind refused to.

Sex was sex. That’s all this was. He was capable of separating the physical from anything else. Beyond this, they were two people thrown together by circumstance. That was something else they had to navigate, but the fact they’d slept together shouldn’t complicate it.

‘God, I’ve missed that,’ he said, afterwards, pulling away from her and stroking the side of her face. She went from sensually languid to confused to…different. Not languid at all.

‘Me, too.’ But her voice was a little strained. Why?

‘You’re okay?’ Had he hurt her? He’d tried to be gentle but hell, it had been a long time…

‘Oh, yes. I’m fine. It’s fine.’ She smiled, but was he imagining a tightness in her features?

‘Are you hungry?’

‘Um, yeah. I guess so.’

‘Okay. I’ll go reheat something.’ He pulled away from her with regret, but consoled himself that things were different now. Having done that once, he knew it would happen again. Tonight? ‘Take your time.’

She did take her time. She needed to. Something cool had slid into her veins and she needed to regroup, to make sure she didn’t show him how she was feeling.

Which was what?

Ambivalent?

Uncertain?

Hurt?

But why?

I missed that. Not, I missed you.

It was semantics, she knew that, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d yet again made her feel as though sex was all he cared about. He’d missed sleeping with her. That wasn’t the same as missing her.

Whereas she’d missed him?

She closed her eyes on a tremulous breath, moving towards the railing and looking out to sea. She’d pulled the same clothes back on, and her shirt was sun warmed from where he’d tossed it on the terrace.

Yes. She had missed him. She’d missed sex with him, too, but she’d missed more than that, and it was a terrifying thing to admit, because it was abundantly clear that Octavio viewed her exactly as Christopher had.

Sex.

Convenient, meaningless sex.

Extra convenient for Octavio, because he now had a queen and a couple of heirs on the way, and he hadn’t needed to go through the rigmarole of a long royal engagement.

Plus, they were great in bed together, which wasn’t necessarily a foregone conclusion with the Princess he’d been intending to marry.

So all of Octavio’s boxes were ticked. But what about Phoebe’s?

Prior to meeting Octavio, she’d sworn off men.

Her experience with Christopher had been more than enough.

But once she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d been in a total panic.

The thought of being a single mother had terrified her.

She’d known she’d cope, but she also knew how difficult it would be, particularly given her lack of education.

‘Phoebe?’ His voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned, still frowning contemplatively.

He’d dressed, too, in a pair of navy blue shorts and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looked good enough to eat. She looked away again.

‘The food is ready.’

‘Okay. Coming.’

And just when she thought she’d mostly got her head around where things stood between them, he reached down and caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the skin on her upturned palm. Goose bumps spread across her skin, and the ice in her veins began to thaw, just a little.