Oliver
Emily tastes of chamomile tea and vanilla icing.
I thought I had enough to eat, but if I keep devouring her here as long as I want, it will definitely land us in the tabloids.
Forcing myself, I break the kiss. My fingers are in her wet hair.
I run my thumb across her forehead, wiping raindrops away.
It breaks the spell. The splashing up onto the sidewalk from passing cars doesn’t matter anymore.
It’s coming down hard enough that the water is seeping through the awning. “You ready to make a run for it?”
“Yes.” She hands me back my jacket. “I don’t think this is keeping either of us dry anymore. I’m sorry about ruining your coat.”
“No worries, Emily. You should wear it, though.”
“I’m already soaked.” She shrugs. But I look down at her white dress, where her glorious tits are poking through. “Oh.”
I spin her and button the top button of the jacket. Her hands have disappeared into the makeshift cape, and it’s adorable. “Ready?” I ask.
And we’re out into the rain again. The late afternoon sky has prematurely darkened to a dreary gray that has pops of lightning screaming across it.
Thunder booms in the distance. I keep my hand firmly around Emily’s even after we’re through the automatic sliding doors into the modern lobby.
The agent at the front desk doesn’t look up.
Emily leads me around the corner to the elevator. Her hand bursts out of my sleeve, and she pokes the button. “Do you want to come up?”
“Definitely,” I say, a growl on my lips.
“To get dry, Oliver.” She turns away from me. The elevator doors slide open, and she steps in.
And damn, I had no intention of coming up to her room when we left the Saint Redford. Had I imagined her wearing my shirt tomorrow morning in my suite there? Hell yes. “I like it when you’re wet.”
“How would you know?”
“Oh, honey, I know.” I pull her to me by my jacket collar and tip her chin up to me.
“You’re awfully sure of yourself.” Her lips are pursed in a smirk, and that I have to kiss off her face.
She gasps as my lips hit hers, as if she expected me to be able to control myself. Now I’m the one smirking in our kiss. She has no idea of the trouble and pleasure I’m going to bring to her life.
The elevator dings and the doors open. Emily turns to leave. “Oh . . .” Another couple gets on—we haven’t left the first floor. Emily moves to my side. “Can you push ten for me?” Her eyes widen in a holy shit way.
On the tenth floor, she takes my hand and pulls me off the elevator.
There’s a thing when you’re marginally famous: the best disguise is no disguise at all.
If I had turned my head and faced the back wall, the older couple would have pegged me as the wild child prince of the Whitehall family.
But giving a quick nod and acting normal?
It will be nothing but a story of two drenched people caught kissing in an elevator.
Emily charges down the hallway to a room in the middle of the building. She swipes her key, and we tumble in. And fuck, I have to hold myself back from ripping her dress off.
She disappears into the bathroom to the right of the door. As much as I’ve clambered on about wanting to be normal, there are a few places and times where I’m glad I’m not: hotels, planes, restaurants . . . Yes, I’m fully aware of the incongruity of it all.
Returning, Emily carefully hangs up my coat. “I’ll have it sent out to be cleaned.” Her nose scrunches up. “That’s not going to work, is it? I’m leaving, and you’re . . . ?” Her shoulders squirm.
“I’ll be in London for a few more days. But there’s no reason to worry about it, Emily.”
She pulls the tag out of the inside pocket.
“Savile Row bespoke?! If you want to be normal, Ollie, you’re going to have to value a dollar like a normal person.
Then again, you didn’t know we were going to be caught in a rainstorm wearing an exclusive limited couture design.
” She props one hand on her hip and tosses a towel to me with the other one.
I smirk because as much as she puts on the “normal girl” image, she still knows about the world I’m forced to live in.
Not that I bought this jacket. The designers are from a little village outside the capital.
My sister sends me things to wear to help the designers of our country.
“I like my own version of normal. Besides, I hear a certain someone likes a little weird in her life.” I stalk her from the other side of the room while I rub the towel over my head.
When I’m a few feet away from her, I unbutton my shirt and let it hang open.
Her eyes flare at my abs as I dry myself. “What are you doing?”
“Drying off.” I run the towel over my stomach while she watches.
I’m used to women staring at me. I know what I look like, and who I am intrigues them.
They’ve dreamed their young childhood away wondering what it would be like to be picked by a prince.
And I . . . I’ve used that to my advantage more than a few times.
I’ve convinced women to do things they otherwise never would.
But the truth is, being picked by a prince is nothing but a damn headache for oh so many reasons.
Other women being one of them. But also the press and the demands of my family.
But I like Emily. I like every damn thing about her.
So I should walk away. Shit, her blue eyes turn my insides into a gooey melted caramel.
When they land on me, I can feel the rain evaporating from my heating skin.
I run the dry end of the towel over her neck and down her arm, over the waist of her clinging dress.
“You should take this off so you don’t catch a cold.
We can’t send you home to America sneezing on the customs officials. ”
“I suppose that would be wrong.”
“So wrong.” I grab her arm and spin her.
Under her wet hair, I find the zipper and pull it down.
I take my time, savoring each hitch of her breath when my knuckle bumps along the soft skin of her back.
Goosebumps trail after my knuckle. I peel the wet fabric off her shoulders.
Not an easy task. “What is this? A torture device?” I pull at the dress until it hangs around her waist. “You’re cold, Em. Let me warm you up.”
“Boning.”
My eyes widen.
“The wires in my dress are called boning,” she says and taps the side of my arm. I know what they’re called. My sisters have complained about them enough. “You’re just as wet as I am.” She twists in my arms, her fingers going for the zipper of my pants.
My wet dress shirt clings to my back. I rip it off, and it splatters to the tightly woven hotel carpet. She undoes my belt, and my pants drop to the floor with another splat. Damn. My heart’s thrashing around in my chest like back in my uni test-taking days.
She sinks to her knees, and fuck, I’ve never seen a more beautiful image than the top of her wet hair. Her fingers snake into my underwear, and my hard cock springs out. Instinctively, my hand goes to the back of her head. My eyes close, but this is Emily. She’s not some cheap hookup.
I give the back of her hair a little tug, and her blue eyes shine up at me. “Em, you don’t need to—”
She cuts me off with her tongue circling the head of my dick.
Her other hand grips the base. And she pumps me twice before she pushes me to the back of her throat.
I clench my abs to keep from going feral on her.
My hand’s still on the back of her head, and it takes all the willpower I have to keep from shoving myself down her throat and holding her on me while I pound into her.
I like it hard. I’m the one in control. But putting her off and scaring her isn’t going to help my case for keeping her.
Innocent little Emily isn’t so innocent. Her other hand reaches up and cradles my balls. She sucks hard, and fuck—I grit my molars to keep from shooting off down her throat. I’m a selfish ass. I want this to last. Emily on her knees has been a fantasy of mine for a long time.
Her blue eyes glow up at me. She doesn’t stop humming around my cock. The vibration makes me hotter, spiraling higher. I tighten my fingers in her wet locks and pull back. But a pleased moan comes from her, and now there’s no way I’m going to last knowing my Em—no, this vixen—likes a touch of pain.
“Let go, Emily,” I growl at her.
It’s enough to stop her amazing teasing of me, and she pops off.
But she focuses on my bobbing cock until I lift her chin with my thumb.
Our eyes lock and time slows. I’ve never played oral sex chicken before, but I’m damn sure going to play it again.
Over and over again. I just need to convince her that she doesn’t need to get on that plane tomorrow. “Stand up.”
She doesn’t move. She glances back at my dick, and I’m sure as hell that she’s debating swallowing me down again.
“Now, Emily.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” She laughs and delicately wipes her mouth on the back of her hand as she stands.
Her fingertips reach around the back of my shoulders for a brief second before I grab her around her waist and throw her onto the bed.
I run my fingers around the elastic of her underwear.
There’s a tiny pink rose in the middle. It’s delicate and sweet.
She chuckles. “Are you underwear shopping?”
“What if I am?” I growl.
For a beat, there’s a wave of mixed emotion across her face. She’s thinking about all the rumors of the other woman I’ve slept with. Only they aren’t rumors.
With more patience than I normally have, I pull her panties down, letting my fingers trail along her skin.
“Aughhh,” she cries and yanks a leg out of each side until I’m holding the scrap of fabric. I throw the demure garment into the pile with my pants and shirt.
“You aren’t very patient, are you?”
“No, no, I’m not.” She pushes up onto her elbows.
And now I’m the one who’s laughing because this isn’t what I expected from Emily at all. She’s a firecracker, and I’m going to have to cage up this weird feeling in my chest. I grab her leg and throw it over my shoulder and hover my lips over her core.
“Not patient, Ollie,” she growls at me.
And fuck. There’s a part of me that needs to train her and another part of me that says I should find the condom in my wallet and take her hard until the front desk calls us to say keep the noise down. My lips hover over her clit.
“Damien Oliver whatever the rest of your names are, do something.”
And it snaps in me. I’m going to need to bend her to my ways.
I place a slow kiss on her clit, building the pressure slowly to tease her into a frenzy.
Round and round I go until her hips are bouncing, meeting me motion for motion.
When I finally push a finger into her pussy, there’s a rush of needy noises from her mouth that has my dick pressing into the mattress.
“Don’t stop, Oliver. I’m so close.”
And I know she is. Her skin is drenched in sweat, and her hips vibrate with each touch. When I put a second finger into her, she arches her back. I match the thrusts of my fingers with my tongue. She has her fingers in my hair now, pulling me closer.
When she shoots off, her knees squeeze my head.
Until she’s flinching away from my touch.
Sensitive. I lift my head and gaze up at her closed eyes.
There’s a content look on her face. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I reach down and grab my cock. In two pumps I’m spouting off, coating her stomach.
It’s primal. As I grunt on top of her, I know I’m marking my territory. Mine.