Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(42)

“You’re Bridget von Ascheberg,” I said. “You’ll be ready.”

Bridget excelled at everything she did, and being queen would be no exception.

“In the meantime…” I hoped I didn’t regret what I was about to say. “You’re going to live your life the way you want. As long as it doesn’t involve Vincent fucking Hauz.”

If I ever saw that fucker again, I would break every bone in his body just for touching her and occupying space in her thoughts. He didn’t deserve any inch of her.

Bridget brightened a bit. “Does that mean you’ll fuck me?”

Definitely still drunk.

I groaned, well aware of the erection that hadn’t waned at all this entire time. “No, princess. That’s not a good idea.”

She frowned. “But it’s on my bucket list.”

Oh, Jesus. I was almost afraid to ask, but… “You have a bucket list?”

Bridget nodded. “For before I return to Eldorra.” She ticked off the items on her fingers. “One, go someplace where no one knows or cares who I am. Two, eat and read and sunbathe all day without having to worry about an event later or waking up early the next day. Three, do an adrenaline rush activity my grandfather will yell at me for, like bungee jumping. And four, have an orgasm I didn’t give myself.” Her shoulders slumped. “It’s been a while.”

Fuck. Now the mental image of Bridget giving herself an orgasm would forever be etched in my mind.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. How the hell did I get myself into this situation? The night had gone so far off the rails I couldn’t see the tracks anymore.

“One is probably off the table,” Bridget said. “But you can help me with four.”

She was going to achieve something neither my mother nor the military had. She was going to kill me.

“Go to bed,” I said in a strained voice. “Alone. You’re drunk, and it’s late.”

Bridget stared at my groin, where my obvious arousal tented my pants. “But—”

“No.” I needed to get out of there. Stat. “No buts. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Before she could protest further, I left and headed straight to my bathroom, where I took the world’s longest, coldest shower. It did nothing to slake the heat of my arousal. Neither did fisting my cock until I reached a wholly unsatisfying orgasm.

Only one thing could take the edge off my frustration, and I’d turned it down like an idiot.

I shut off the faucet and dried myself, resigned to a sleepless night.

Meanwhile, the terrible idea that had been brewing in the back of my mind since Bridget told me about her bucket list wouldn’t go away. Instead, it sounded more and more like a good idea.

It was crazy and possibly dangerous. I had no time to prepare, and it went against all my training and protective instincts.

But I couldn’t get Bridget’s sad eyes or words out of mind.

I want to savor being normal for the last time.

“I’m going to regret this,” I muttered as I stepped out of the bathroom and flipped open my laptop.

It didn’t matter.

Because as much as I wanted Bridget safe, I wanted her happy more.





16





Bridget





Was it possible to die of humiliation?

Forty-eight hours ago, I would’ve said no, but as I ate breakfast across the table from Rhys, I found myself firmly in the yes camp. I would either explode from how red my face was or melt into a puddle of mortification, whichever came first.

“More bacon?” He pushed the plate in my direction.

I shook my head, unable to meet his eye.

I woke up that morning with a pounding headache, throbbing heat between my legs, and a horrifically clear memory of the things I’d done—and said—last night.

Fuck me the way you just promised.

Four, have an orgasm I didn’t give myself. It’s been a while.

I choked on my toast and broke into a coughing fit.

Rhys’s eyebrows rose. “You okay?” He’d been cool and calm all morning, like nothing had happened, and I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or offended.

“Yes,” I gasped. I grabbed my water and downed half of it until the coughs subsided.

“You should eat more carbs,” he said mildly. “Might help with the hangover.”

“How do you know I have a hangover?”

“You had five shots last night, all containing different liquors. It’s a safe guess.”

His acknowledgment that any part of last night happened only intensified my embarrassment. I wished I could wipe all the events post-Borgia from both our minds.

Since I couldn’t, I was tempted to play it off and pretend I didn’t remember what happened, but I did remember, and if I didn’t address it, it would haunt me forever.

“Listen. About last night…” I forced myself to look at Rhys. “I was drunk and not thinking clearly, and I said some things I shouldn’t have said. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Something akin to disappointment flickered across Rhys’s face before it disappeared. “So did I,” he said. “Call it even.”

I don’t want to kiss or make love to you. I want to fuck you. I want to punish you for mouthing off and letting another man put his hands on you. I want to yank up that tiny fucking dress of yours and pound into you so hard you won’t be able to walk for days.