Page 19 of Owned By Royal

“I suppose one dance won’t hurt.”

Riccardo is an effortless dancer, confident without being overbearing. We move comfortably among the other couples while polite conversation fills the silence between us.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with my brother.”

The observation catches me off guard. “Is that a problem?”

He chuckles. “Not for me. I’ve never seen Royal make this much effort for anyone.”

I glance away. “Maybe you’re imagining things.”

“I’m not.”

Before I can think of a response, another familiar voice interrupts us. “Mind if I cut in?” Royal says.

Riccardo smiles knowingly. “I was wondering how long it would take.”

He steps away without complaint, leaving Royal to slide effortlessly into his place.

“You planned that.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I smile and shake my head, giving in to the dance and the music.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he murmurs seconds later, his lips brushing my ear.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Liar.” His hand slides lower, almost to the curve of my ass. “You’ve been wet and thinking about me. Same as I’ve been hard and thinking about you.”

I flush, glancing around the crowded room. “Someone will see.”

“Let them.” His eyes darken. “I want them to know. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“Royal...We’re at our parents’ engagement party.”

“Exactly.”

The song ends, but instead of releasing my hand, Royal gently leads me away from the dance floor. He spins me, guiding me through the crowd with deceptive ease. I don’t realize where we’re going until the noise fades, until he pushes open a door and pulls me into darkness.

We slip into the library, closing the door just enough to soften the music outside. Moonlight filters through the tall windows, leaving most of the room wrapped in shadows. He presses me against the door, his mouth on my neck, his hands roaming. “I need to taste you,” he growls. “Now.”

“We can’t. Someone could…”

“Come in?” He finishes. “Find us? Find you with your legs spread while I eat you like a starving man?” His hand slides up my thigh, beneath my dress. “Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that why you’re so fucking wet right now?”

I should deny it. I don’t. “Yes,” I breathe.

He drops to his knees, shoving my dress up around my waist. I’m bare beneath, my underwear left behind in some desperate moment of hope earlier. He groans at the sight of me, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading me open.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “So fucking beautiful.”

Then his mouth is on me, and I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from screaming. He licks into me with devastating precision. His tongue finds my clit and circles, teasing, driving me toward the edge with terrifying speed. I grip the doorframe behind me, my head falling back, my hips bucking against his mouth.

He pulls back just as I’m about to shatter, and I whimper at the loss.

“Not yet,” he says, his voice rough, his chin glistening. “I want you desperate. I want you begging.”