Playboy Princes (Royals of Arbon Academy, #2)(3)

“Is this where you guys bring girls for orgies?” My exclamation was just this side of shrill. But ew. So much ew. The idea of Rafe, Jordan, and Nolan having chicks down here was all kinds of… hot. Ugh, I mean... Fuck. “I can’t believe you brought me to your fuck pad.” I muttered it with disgust, and my skin crawled as I eyed the beds.

I told myself it was disgust, not arousal, but I was also a big old liar.

Rafe’s face may as well have been carved out of stone for all the emotion he showed. Damn him.

“You should clean up,” he suggested, nodding in the direction of the bathroom. “We could be here a while and it’d probably be best if no one saw you wandering around looking like that when we get the all clear.” He flickered his gaze down my purple catsuit, and I could swear there was heat in his stare that spoke of something a whole lot more than annoyance.

The contempt in his voice, though… it was like fanning a fire. All my previous fury bubbled back up inside me, and I wanted nothing more than to bring him to his knees. Figuratively and literally.

“You’re right,” I agreed, my terrible plan unfolding in my head like a poisoned flower. “I should get rid of the evidence.” Reaching up to my throat, I grasped the little zipper between my fingers and slid it all the way down to my navel. I had decent tits on the worst of days but there was something particularly awesome that an unzipped catsuit does for a girl’s, er, girls.

“What are you doing?” Rafe asked. His voice was neutral but his gaze was locked on my black lace bra.

Hah. Too easy.

“Taking my clothes off. Is that a problem for you?” I threaded enough blatant challenge into my words that it was flipping a switch in his brain. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, and his next breath was just that fraction quicker than the one before. I had him, hook, line, and sinker.

Rafe couldn’t back down from a challenge any more than I could. We were both damaged like that.

Letting a smug grin play across my lips—he wasn’t looking at my face anyway—I shrugged my catsuit off my shoulders and started peeling it down my legs. Underneath, I wore nothing but a black lace bra and thong—because catsuits were awful for panty lines—and I definitely heard Rafe’s breath catch when I bent over to unzip my boots and pull the whole lot off.

“Careful, Cinderella,” he growled, his voice dark and full of threat. “You’re playing one hell of a dangerous game. What would your boyfriend say?”

The word boyfriend was like a bucket of ice over my libido.

I straightened back up and scoffed. “I doubt he’d say much, seeing as he’s probably balls deep in your fiancée right now.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Rafe’s face, and he pulled his gaze away from my tits to stare at me in that intense way that sent shivers through me.

“So, you want to fuck his worst enemy to get back at him, huh?” He didn’t sound all that put out by the idea. Just curious. “You think that’ll make you feel better?”

I snorted a bitter laugh. “I think an orgasm from anyone who isn’t a two-faced backstabbing piece of shit would make me feel fucking amazing right now. If you’re not man enough to provide that, I can take care of it myself in the shower.” I shrugged and started toward the attached bathroom. “Or maybe Jordan can lend me a hand when he inevitably shows up here.”





Chapter 2





I’d made it all of five steps across the room before I was basically thrown onto the nearest bed.

A small squeak of fright slipped from my throat, but it quickly turned into a gasp as Rafe’s body pinned me down. He held both my wrists easily in one hand, restraining them against the comforter above my head, and I groaned at the bite of my many small injuries. My right arm was aching, and the smear of bright red on Rafe’s bicep told me I might be actively bleeding.

Fuck it. Not the first time I’d been cut in a match before, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Don’t fucking push me, Vi,” the Swiss prince warned me. Or threatened me? I hoped it was a threat he intended to follow through on.

Doing the exact opposite of what he’d said, I pushed. In fact, I laughed. “You scared, Angel?”

That was the best I could taunt him with because it was all too evident he was up for it. Up, hard, and holy crap… massive. I shifted under him, spreading my legs wide enough to wrap around his waist, then pulling him tighter against my core.

Rafe made a small noise but simply hovered over me a moment, his deep blue eyes unreadable as he peered into mine.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered so quietly it could have been to himself, then crashed his lips into mine with all the intensity of a firestorm.

For the briefest moment, I let it happen. This… this was the sort of kiss I’d read about in fairytales. The sort of kiss that sent heat searing through my whole body and made my toes curl, fingernails claw, and panties melt. This was the sort of kiss I’d thought Alex—

Fucking Alex.

Wrenching my lips from Rafe’s, I gave him my neck.

“We’re not making love, asshole. Take your pants off and fuck me, or I’ll find someone else who will.”

My face was to the side, but I still caught the flicker of anger that crossed his gorgeous face. What he had to be upset about, I had no idea. Wasn’t this exactly what guys like him wanted? No strings, no emotional attachment, just fucking?