Crown Jewels (Off-Limits Romance #1)(10)

My eyes fly to the windows: dark. What time is it? My clutch is somewhere in this room. I’m not sure where.

I shut my eyes and try to keep my breathing even as I run the night’s events back through my mind. Downstairs, talking to the Playmate. Bryce. My body jerks at the memory, and I can feel Prince Liam’s body rock a little bit against mine. Big and wide and hard. He’s bowed around me like a shield.

Heat blooms in between my legs.

I freaked out, and he saw me. I embarrassed myself, walked in on some kind of threesome.

Why did he come back?

It’s his room, you moron. I’m probably in his guest room. I draw a deep breath in and feel his sturdy arm tighten around me. I feel his face against my neck, the roughness of his scruffy beard. Warmth spreads through me. Then he stirs some more and makes a low sound in his throat. And then I feel his mouth against my neck. His lips—

He’s kissing me.

I don’t mean to make a sound, but then I feel him press himself against my backside. Terror bubbles in me.

“Stop!”

I pull away, and he’s awake. His eyes, I see them in the dark. They’re wide. He pushes up on his arm and holds his big hand up.

I watch him rub his eyes. He looks around. He looks confused.

“You fell asleep,” I offer.

He blinks at me as if he didn’t understand my words. Then he reaches for me. He takes my hand and cradles it in his two hands. He looks into my eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asks me, voice low, words rolling with that Scottish-sounding accent of his.

“I’m fine.”

He shakes his head slowly, at least I think I see him do that. Then he’s simply staring at me. With those hazel eyes.

Dear God, he’s gorgeous.

His hand traces mine. Then he lies back down and pulls me down beside him. He wraps me up against his body, and I notice he’s not pushing his dick against me anymore.

“You smell good,” he murmurs. “You have pretty hair.”

“Are you drunk?”

I think I see his lips twitch. “I don’t get drunk.”

I turn around to face him. He pushes some hair off my forehead. Then he kisses me. It’s so gentle, so careful, I can’t help responding. He tastes like cinnamon, like liquor. His mouth explores mine, his tongue gliding past my own, his big hand in my hair again.

He kisses me until I can’t breathe, and then he pulls away. “Tá tú álainn.”

I frown.

He smiles, that gentle, gorgeous smile. “Gaelic.” He tips his forehead to mine. He says something else I don’t understand, then kisses the side of my mouth, his lips feathering gently over mine.

I feel his knee move, as if he’s shifting his hips, and I can’t help pulling him closer for another kiss.

I touch his shoulders as I kiss him, and I can feel his body tense under my hands. His tongue glides back into my mouth, and he moans.

Holy shit. I kiss him deeper and his body rocks against mine. His hands are on my head; he pulls me closer, till we’re pressed together, chest to hips.

He says something low and very soft, something that sounds like, “On all that is holy…”

Then his hand is on my shoulder, squeezing. His hand is squeezing, then he’s grasping my breast.

I grind myself against him, gasping between kisses. My body burns with heat and fear. My heart riots. Adrenaline almost overcomes me at the feel of his hard body up against mine, his chest pumping, his breath warm. I’m losing it when his hand leaves my breast and slides around my hip to cradle me against his body.

God, I’ve never been handled this way, as if…I’m everything. He’s rough then gentle, firm then tender, desperate all the while. I can feel the warmth of his breath, can hear the pattern of his ragged inhalations.

His scratchy cheek presses against mine, and I can feel his body heat. He leans away, his chest still pumping. I put my hand between his pecs. I can’t help it. He’s so…perfect. My fingertips wander to the seal above his heart, the royal tattoo he got when he was younger.

I trace my finger down his chest, and the prince’s abs harden. “Christ.” That was a flinch, I think.

I swear to God, I can feel the heat pulse in between my legs. Something overtakes me, something big and brash and heady: power.

I rub my fingertip over the hair that trails down toward his pants, and that’s when I see his stiff erection.

My brain explodes with memories of perfection wrapped in wet boxer-briefs. I’m not thinking. I just touch.

He sucks back a sharp breath. I trace the plump, perfect head, hating the fabric barrier between my hand and his skin. Liam groans, his length jutting toward me.

I look into his eyes and find them hazy. “Lucy…”

“You want me to touch it?” My voice is sultry, not my voice at all.

I’m rubbing him before he has the chance to answer. His breath catches. Then he moans low in his throat and starts to pant. His eyes are shut, I find as I rub his thick cock through his pants. His hand hovers over my mine as if he wants to grab me. His long fingers curl into a fist.

I drag my fingers down the length of him, surprised to find he’s even bigger than I thought. His heavy eyelids lift a little. My Lord, he’s fucking gorgeous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more perfect male, and this one, shirtless, panting as he presses up against my hand—he turns me on so much I want to screw him.