Page 6 of Twins For His Majesty (Royally Tempted #1)
T HE NEXT MORNING he reached for her, just as he had the other morning, only this time, his fingertips glanced across soft, smooth flesh, her body warm and close.
He didn’t know what time it was. Light was filtering through the windows of his bedroom, but it was still a pale, golden light, promising the freshness of a just burgeoning day.
She shifted in her sleep, rolling to face him, her eyes shut, her lashes long against her creamy skin.
Her lips curved into a smile. He closed the distance between them, kissing her slowly, softly, savouring this moment of waking her, his naked body pressed to hers, so she responded immediately.
Her arm snaked around his middle, her mouth moved beneath his, and deep in her throat she moaned, a husky sound filled with need.
He moved his body over hers, delighting in the feel of her nakedness beneath him, of her responsiveness to his touch, delighting in his power over her.
As he moved his hands, he was invoking a powerful, age-old spell, stirring her body to fever pitch with every brush of his fingers, every movement of his mouth.
She was soft and supple, her skin lifting in goose bumps with his touch, her body reacting with warmth and need.
His kisses dragged across her flesh, padding the goose bumps with his lips, his tongue, tracing her lines.
He worshipped her sex with his mouth, his strong hands on her thighs, holding her apart for him, so he had total access to her most private, sensitive core.
She bucked against his mouth, her body beaded in fine perspiration, her moans louder and faster now, so he grinned as he pulled away from her purely to grab a condom and then returned, his own need an insatiable beast controlling him completely.
He nudged her legs apart and thrust into her hard, deep, her muscles squeezing him tight, her whole body reacting to his presence, her cries filling the room with that particular note of fervent need.
His own cries were low but no less infused with desperation; he was buried inside of her, but it wasn’t enough.
He moved faster, kissed her harder, his tongue an unconscious echo of his movements, his hair-roughened chest brushing against her hardened nipples.
Her hands ran down his back, cupped his buttocks, held him where she needed him, and then she was screaming his name as her whole body began to tremble and the muscles that were surrounding him began to tighten almost unbearably, making restraint impossible.
He came almost as she did, losing himself to this overwhelming sensation of pleasure, his body throbbing with satiation, his release intense.
He collapsed on top of her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, feeling every deep, rasping breath she took, hearing it inside his own body.
This had started as a distraction, as a need to forget, but it was now just simply need.
He contemplated rolling away from Phoebe and then ending this.
He thought about not seeing her again, and he knew he wouldn’t do it. He didn’t want to.
There was something about her that made his body sing, and he wasn’t ready to give it up yet.
Even when it was the right thing to do. While his betrothal had never been formalised, it was very much expected by both royal households.
His parents’ wishes, and her parents’ wishes, were in alignment, and Octavio had always known he would honour his parents’ choice for him.
But his marriage was still some time off. It would take at least a year to finalise arrangements and prepare the ceremony. Until then, he was a free agent. Free to do what he wanted, but not if that proved harmful to Phoebe.
He pushed up onto his elbow so he could see her more clearly. Her beautiful face was flushed pink, her eyes wide as she stared at him.
‘Good morning,’ she murmured, running her fingers through her hair.
He shifted his hips a little, revelling in the way she bit into her lip. Sensations were still flooding his body, and he was sure she was also feeling the aftereffects of their coming together.
He wanted more of her; but how much more? And for how long? It wasn’t fair to use Phoebe to fill a gap in his life while it suited him, then discard her when he was ready to marry. Besides, he had no idea what she wanted.
Everything between them was incredibly simple and organic—it just felt easy.
At the same time, it was also impossibly hard.
He had been born to serve his country; that was his duty.
It was something he’d always known, but after the death of his parents it had crystallised in his mind as the primary purpose in his life.
He had focused on that every single day after their deaths, when his uncle had made his life a misery, and his nannies had delighted in punishing him and isolating him, he’d thought of his country and the kind of King he would be, how he could make his parents proud. It was the sole focus of his life.
He wasn’t interested in relationships—not relationships that might take that focus and split it.
Particularly not now he was finally in the box seat and had been crowned King.
He needed to work hard to undo the damage Mauricio had wrought, and then he needed to marry the Princess his parents had chosen and create enough heirs that the line of succession would be safe for ever.
These were his priorities. Not losing time and energy to a woman.
Not even a woman as tempting as Phoebe. In fact, she was so tempting that she reminded him how important it was to walk away from her—to remind them both that this was meaningless and unimportant, because nothing mattered to him like his role as King did.
A heaviness sat in his chest as he mentally closed the door on temptation. He wanted Phoebe, but he couldn’t have her, and he’d known that right from the start of this thing.
‘I’ll have my driver take you home.’
Even to his own ears, his voice was cold; no wonder she flinched a little.
The light that had seemed to glitter in her eyes was instantly extinguished.
Her lips parted on a soft sound of breath escaping.
He could see her physically wrangling with his meaning, trying to interpret it differently, and watching the shift in her emotions was something he didn’t enjoy.
He wanted to apologise. To explain. To help her understand that she was wonderful but he was limited, so limited, in what he could offer and even what he could want.
But for some reason, he couldn’t properly grasp how to vocalise any of those feelings.
He couldn’t even properly shape the explanations in his own mind, so how could he offer them to her?
With growing frustration and a sense that he’d bitten off more than he could chew, Octavio pulled away from her, the separation almost a physical pain. He turned his back, strode across the room, stepping into his bathroom and closing the door. Only then did he expel the breath he’d been holding.
He made it five weeks. Five weeks without weakening and calling Phoebe.
Five weeks without getting his driver to take him to her place, so Octavio could knock on the door and apologise for the ice-cold way he’d ended things that morning.
Five weeks in which sleep had been made almost impossible because of the nature of his dreams and the strength of his wants.
Five weeks in which he’d pushed himself to work long days in the hope he would be tired enough to get her from his mind and actually find some kind of relief.
For things to go back to normal.
But nothing was normal. In the space of a couple of months, he’d turned twenty-eight, ascended the throne, witnessed his beloved uncle’s death and got to grips with the parlous state his other uncle had left the country in. And met Phoebe.
Phoebe, who was beautiful and fascinating but in no way suitable to be anything more than a secret fling. A cleaner from New Zealand was not exactly the kind of woman his parliament and advisors would expect him to date, let alone do anything more serious with.
In any event, a relationship with Phoebe was a moot point. His betrothal loomed, which meant he shouldn’t have been thinking about Phoebe at all.
Never mind that he had known for a long time he wasn’t interested in a relationship that had the ability to monopolise his mind and worse, his heart.
Not that his heart was involved in his calculations.
He’d slept with Phoebe, that was all. He hardly knew her beyond that.
It didn’t matter that there was something about her that was different from the women he’d been with in the past; she was unsuitable for any part in his life.
And even if she had been serious, when he was with her a part of him, a deep, important part, had turned into a bright red flag, warning him to be careful.
So couldn’t he see her and still be careful? Couldn’t he create parameters that would keep them both safe from the sort of vulnerabilities he sought to avoid?
The thought kept rolling around and around in his mind though, and eventually, he found it impossible to ignore.
Maybe there was one way in which he could see Phoebe, in some capacity, if she were willing. Just maybe he could make something work with her, just for a while. Just maybe he could have his cake and eat it, too…
Phoebe could not have been more shocked if a Martian had been on the other side of the door. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘His Majesty asked me to speak to you.’
She stared at Octavio’s driver, anger blooming as though it hadn’t been five long weeks since he’d all but dismissed her. He hadn’t gone so far as to thank her for services rendered, but he might as well have. That was exactly how he’d made her feel. Cheap, and used.