Broken Kingdom (Royal Hearts Academy #4)(59)

His breath tickles my earlobe. “You okay?”

No. I’m most definitely not okay.

I’m trying to ignore the way his hard body is pressing against my back and the big hand that’s splayed across my belly, but it’s like telling a blind person to look at the stars.

“I think so,” I manage to squeak out. And then because I’m a frazzled mess, I blurt, “Do you have a craving for anything in particular?”

My heart beats double time when the hand on my belly tightens as his nose finds the spot just under my ear and he inhales me.

“You know, food-wise,” I whisper, hoping it breaks the spell he’s got me under.

His voice is a low rumble. “Whatever you order is fine.”

A moment later he backs away and resumes his mopping.

I’m about to leave, but then I remember. “Thanks for teaching me how to drive.”

It’s clear I’ve taken him by surprise because he bristles. “How do—”

“I had another flashback.” Giving him a cheeky grin, I run my fingers along the doorframe. “And I’d get us mint chip ice cream for dinner, but you don’t actually like it.”

His lips curve into a smirk. “I do now.”





Past…





“Goddamn, I love your tits,” Oakley groans as he slides his dick between them.

For a moment I wish I wasn’t tied to his bedpost so I could touch him.

Then again, I would have missed out on all the fun—and orgasms—I’ve had while being at his mercy tonight.

“Oh, yeah?” I sweep my tongue along my lower lip suggestively. “Why don’t you show me how much.”

Shooting me a wolfish grin, he squeezes them in his big palms and thrusts harder. “Well, I was planning on coming in your mouth…but…” His face strains with pleasure. “I definitely don’t mind coming all over these.”

It shouldn’t be so hot watching him blow his load all over my boobs, but holy shit…it is.

The deep, gruff noises he makes while his lips part and his eyes close as he comes undone…

It’s utterly mesmerizing.

He’s like a potent narcotic—dulling all the pain—but slowly turning me into an addict.

“Christ,” he rasps, his lips ghosting over mine. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

I mock gasp. “For a non-blonde, right?”

There’s a playful glint in his eye when he tugs on my hair. “Asshole.”

I try to close the distance between us and kiss him, but he edges away.

“We aren’t finished yet.” Smirking, he drags his thumb between my cleavage, scoping up some of the white fluid on my tits before bringing it to my mouth. “You have to clean up your mess.”

Meeting his gaze, I suck his thumb, lapping up the salty liquid.

His eyes turn smoky. “Fucking hell, baby girl.”

My heart beats like a drum as he trails open-mouthed kisses down my body, stopping right above my scar.

I inwardly flinch because I hate whenever someone draws attention to the imperfection.

The one that reminds me of the day my world was torn apart.

The pad of his finger gingerly grazes it. “What happened?”

My first instinct is to lie, but I don’t want to. Not with him.

“Car accident.”

I expect him to press me about losing my kidney, but he doesn’t.

He simply sweeps his lips over the scar and murmurs, “You’re still here, though. Which means you’re stronger than what tried to break you.”

Emotion clogs my throat and my mind reels as I process his simple, yet profound statement.

My mother’s illness might have tried to kill me, but I was stronger.

Because I survived.

Somehow, Oakley always manages to say something that not only steals my breath but makes me think of something in a whole new light.

Then again, he’s got a way with words.

“Oakley?” I whisper, hoping what I’m about to say won’t ruin the moment between us.

He looks up. “What’s up?”

“Remember when I set your weed on fire a few weeks ago?”

His jaw tics. “Yeah.”

Here goes nothing.

“Well, I sort of…kind of…looked inside your notebook and—”

“What?” he barks, shifting in bed.

“I know it was wrong, but your poems are—”

“Emo bullshit.” The tendons in his neck stand out as he thumps his chest. “But no matter how stupid they are, they’re personal and they’re mine. You had no fucking right—”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, even though I know it won’t ease his anger or take back what I did. “I just…I couldn’t help myself.” I hold his gaze because what I have to tell him is more important than my pride. “And your poems aren’t emo bullshit…not to me. They’re amazing and—”

“Get the fuck out.” His jaw tics. “Now.”

My stomach bottoms out when I see the look of utter betrayal across his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Get out,” he repeats, harsher this time.