Chapter 35 #2
Then he wraps his hands around my outer thighs and slides them all the way up to my bare ass, turning my skin into a carpet of humming need.
He gives my butt a firm squeeze as his tongue slides against mine, and my clit vibrates with desperation for attention.
I don’t think I have ever been this turned on in my whole life, and I never would have guessed it would happen in the back room of a Scottish church with the king and queen outside.
Oliver pulls me hard against himself, but his sporran hits me in the lower belly.
“Fuck that thing.” He backs off a little, kissing a line down my neck as he squeezes my breast through my dress and massages my ass.
Then he drops to his knees.
He drops to his goddamn knees, and I’m about ready to fucking explode.
“Oh God, Oliver. What if someone comes in?”
“They won’t.” He lifts my dress. “But we can’t be gone for too long.”
“If you feel anything like I do, we’re not going to need long.”
The last word is barely out of my mouth when he laps gently at my clit.
“Fuck, you’re delicious.” He tugs at my thighs to part them more, and I shift to let him.
At the stroke of his finger at my entrance, my arms fly out to my sides, reaching for something to hold onto, something to keep me upright. One hand finds the back of the chair.
“This is the wettest I’ve known you.” His breath is hot against the most sensitive part of me. “Does the forbidden location do it for you?”
Maybe a little, but mainly it’s him. It’s this specific man. I can’t imagine anyone else ever making me feel as alive, as wired, as I do right now.
“It’s not the location. It’s you.”
Then his fingers slide inside me, and the instinctive clench of my inner walls around them makes me wobble on my heels.
Obviously sensing it, Oliver grips my ass with his other hand to steady me as his tongue presses harder against my pulsing clit.
I’m panting now, losing my grip on reality.
Reality is not what I want anymore. Reality means there’s only a few weeks of this left. Only a few weeks of Oliver’s company, of waking up beside him, of having his mouth on me and his fingers doing that thing where they—
“Oh God!”
“One second.” He slides out of me and moves away.
My eyes have now been closed for long enough that they’re more accustomed to the darkness when I open them.
Oliver opens his sporran, feels around inside it and pulls out a small square packet. Then he sits in the chair, hitches up his kilt and releases his glorious erection from his underwear.
“You packed a condom?” I can’t help but giggle. “To your sister’s wedding?”
“Hell, yes.” His words come out fast, his breath quickening as he sheaths himself. “In case of an emergency.”
“You mean you anticipated a banging-me-in-the-church emergency?”
He reaches for my hand and pulls me in front of him. “Every second with you is a nine-one-one call to my crown jewels. Please get in my lap and put out this fucking fire.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I rest my hands on his shoulders, the fabric of his Prince Charlie thick and soft beneath my fingers, and place a knee on either side of him on the chair.
“And you love me for it, right?” he breathes.
Did the word love come out accidentally there? Or was he using it like you would say you love the weather or a chocolate chip cookie?
But the word doesn’t jolt me this time. It does the opposite. It brings a warmth to my belly and my chest. And it has nothing to do with the fact that Oliver’s finger is on my clit again. It has everything to do with the fact that I do love him for it.
“Yes,” I admit as our mouths tangle in desperate but deep kisses.
He takes hold of my hips and lowers me onto him.
“Yes, what?” he says, breaking contact with my mouth for a fraction of a second. “Tell me.”
I slide my fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair, my grip tightening as he presses himself against my entrance.
“I love you for it.” It’s all I can do not to cry out when he pushes up into me and immediately pulls me lower until I’m full of him.
Our lips break apart in a simultaneous sigh.
My forehead comes to rest on his as he eases in and out of me.
I tip my hips forward and find exactly the right angle to rub my clit against him as we move.
When I squeeze him with my inner muscles, his head drops back onto the chair.
“Fuck,” he pants, clearly trying to keep his voice down.
Then I press my mouth to his and match his thrusts.
The rhythm of our togetherness, the touch of his body in exactly the right spot, and the forbidden nature of the surroundings, send me instantly climbing and climbing and I know he’s about to push me over the edge, but I cling to his hair as if holding on to a precipice above an almighty drop.
The second I burst, he lets himself go too, and we grind together, tongues writhing, his fingers digging into my ass.
The rush of pleasure that courses through my body explodes inside my head like the clanging of church bells, all the notes chiming at once in a cacophony of sound that makes no sense. The notes shouldn’t go together, shouldn’t harmonize, yet they make the most beautiful music of my life.
My back snaps into an arc and Oliver’s hand clamps over my mouth.
I must have cried out, but I can’t hear myself over the cymbals that have joined the bells and are now crashing in my brain.
Crashing and smashing as he pumps harder under me, reaching his climax and bursting into me as I begin the gradual descent from mine.
“Fuck, Lexi.” The words spill from his lips on his final release inside me.
When his pace slows, I fall forward, resting my head on his shoulder, sated, fulfilled, every iota of tension wrung out of me.
And we rock in perfect time, the rhythm slowing, our hearts beating against each other on a chair in the back room of a church, outside of which the royal family is currently having wedding photos taken.
“Will we go to hell for this?” I raise my head to look down at him.
He pushes my hair off my face, and even in the darkness, I can make out his wry smile. “I’m pretty certain I was put on that list long ago.”
There’s a sound outside the door that makes both of us freeze.
“Was that a cough?” I whisper.
“I thought that too,” he says. “We should probably go.”
I lift myself off him and instantly feel the emptiest I’ve ever felt in my life. This might not have been the most romantic spot or the longest, slowest, most caring sex we’ve had, but it feels like something’s different, something’s shifted.
But there’s no time to think about that while I fumble on the floor for my bag.
Fuck, my panties aren’t in it.
My heart races again, but this time with panic. I can’t leave my underwear in here for someone to find. Groping around on the floor, I finally brush some fabric under the dresser.
“Oh, thank, fu—argh.” The underside of the dresser is hard against the top of my head.
“You okay?” Oliver asks.
“Yes. Thought I’d lost my underwear.” I hop around, trying to get back into them, and have to lean on the dresser for support.
“Still have that tissue?” Oliver asks when I finally hitch my panties up and smooth down my dress.
“Yes.” I pull the pink lipstick-stained Kleenex from my bag.
“How appropriate.” He raises his eyebrows as he places the condom into it, wraps it tight, and drops it into his sporran.
He moves toward the door, but I catch his elbow before he can open it.
“Hold on.” I straighten his purple thistle and white rose boutonniere. “Perfect.”
“Yup.” He drops a quick light kiss on my lips. “No one will ever know.”
Then he pulls the door open.
And every drop of hot blood falls from my body at the sight of Giles facing us.
How long has he been there? Did he hear us? And what the fuck does he want?
“Oh, hello, Giles,” Oliver says, as relaxed as if he’d casually bumped into him in the grocery store.
Oliver takes my hand and moves to lead me through the doorway, right past his royal nemesis.
But Giles steps to the side to block his path.
“What the fuck, Giles?” Oliver says. “I have to check if I’m needed for any more pictures.”
“We need to talk,” Giles says with the tone of a private investigator in a black-and-white movie.
“Later.” Oliver attempts to move forward again, but Giles doesn’t budge.
“I know why she’s here,” Giles says, nodding over Oliver’s shoulder toward me. “We know about…the book.”