Royally Not Ready(26)
Or how I can’t seem to stop wetting my lips because my mouth feels like the desert?
“Don’t,” he says, his tone so direct that I feel a shiver creep up my back.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, trying to play the clueless card, because I know exactly how I’m looking at him. Like he’s easily the sexiest, most delicious man I’ve ever seen, and now that I’ve had the pleasure of regarding him in nothing but a pair of briefs, I won’t be able to think of anything other than his tight, muscular body or his thick, heavy bulge when he’s in the same room as me.
In a low, commanding voice, he says, “Like if I gave you the chance, you would drop to your knees and swallow my come.”
Oh.
My.
God.
Fucking hand me a fan because things just got intense.
Intensely wet.
Do you know who says things like that? The dirty ones, that’s who.
The ones that pin you against a wall unexpectedly and press their cocks against your leg, showing you know how you tease them.
The ones that whisper in your ear while you’re at a dinner party about how they’re going to lick your pussy when you get home.
The ones that show up to the bedroom with blindfolds and ropes, and demands prepped and polished on their tongues.
The kind of man that knows of only pleasure with a pinch of pain.
The kind of man that I crave to my very core. The kind of man I’ve always wanted.
Before I can respond, his hand slips under my chin, tilting it high before he walks toward the stairs. And because I’m in a whirlwind from his words, from his lack of clothes, I don’t even bother looking away from his tight rear end as he retreats.
Dear God. Keller isn’t just a grump. He’s a sexy, dirty grump . . . the best kind.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask as Keller drapes a blanket over my body.
“Yes. You could have suffered a concussion, and unless you want to share a bed with me upstairs, we’ll sleep here and I’ll wake you up every hour.”
After Keller’s panty pageant and the shocking revelation of his filthy mouth, I wouldn’t mind an impromptu sleepover, especially if it includes a gentle nuzzle from each of his tatted pecs.
But I know arguing with him won’t get me anywhere, so I settle into the plush couch and turn on my side so I’m looking out toward the fireplace. The position helps avoid placing weight on my bandaged head, which doesn’t really hurt, other than a dull thudding.
Now in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt—boo—Keller takes a seat in the chair next to my couch and props his legs up on an ottoman.
“You’re going to be uncomfortable,” I say as he squeezes his broad shoulders into the tight space of the wingback chair.
“I’ve slept in much worse conditions,” he says while pulling a blanket over his lap and propping a small throw pillow against the side of the chair.
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Nothing you need to know about,” he says. “Now go to sleep.” He shuts his eyes but I continue to look at him.
His strong, carved jaw.
The hint of a tattoo that pops up from his neckline.
The singular curl of hair that floats over his forehead.
Seeing him in a different light—ahem, in man panties—and hearing him speak so deliciously with a dirty tongue, has unlocked this feral beast deep inside me and I can’t lock her away. She’s uncharacteristically ravenous.
He must feel my gaze, because his eyes pop open just in time to catch me perusing his shirt-covered chest. “What?” he asks.
You’re hot.
“I can’t go to sleep on command,” I answer instead. “I have a full stomach and I’m wide awake. My internal clock is messed up right now. Maybe you can talk to me.”
From the disgruntled look on his face, I can tell that’s exactly NOT what he wants to do, but to my surprise, he asks, “What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me about Torskethorpe. What kind of traditions do you have? You said they’ve been passed down from generations, ones my mom enjoyed.”
I’m still trying to process everything Keller told me earlier about my mom and Queen Katla. From an outsider looking in, I can see how the queen might look like the villain in this storyline, but being someone who has lost two of the most important people in my life, I can understand the need, the drive, to keep the ones you love close to your heart. I’m not saying what she did was right, but the intention behind it, I can grasp.
And from my mother’s perspective, I also know the feeling of having to escape, to not fall in line with what’s expected, because I shared many fights with my parents about not attending college. They wanted me to earn a higher education, but their dreams didn’t fall in line with mine. When they passed, I grieved their dreams, and for a semester, I attempted college but quickly found it wasn’t for me. And it took courage to push past expectations and do what I believed was right for me.
My mom did the same.
But beneath her urge to flee from Torskethorpe, there was a woman who truly loved her country—according to Keller—and I want to know that woman, even if it’s through some of the activities she used to enjoy.