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“You should never have to do that again—surround yourself with empty relationships,” I said, speaking with conviction.
“I don’t want to.”
It barely registered to me that I was consoling royalty. Nick appeared princely to me after finding out his true heritage, but still, he felt so grounded. Like he had grown up just down the street from me, went to the same school as me, watched the same cartoons as me.
“I can tell you aren’t a monster, Shy.”
My breath hitched. I swallowed a lump in my throat. Hearing Nick call me by my nickname, and the way he said it, it… fuck. It did something to me.
Or maybe it was the fact that his leg rubbed harder against mine under the table, as if the desperation between us was seconds from screeching like a boiling teakettle. “I’m not,” I said.
Under the table, I kicked back my foot and slipped off my shoe, my sock pulling off with it.
I couldn’t take it. Nick rubbing his leg against mine was making me wild. I wanted to show him how he could connect with me, how I could be everything he wanted and more.
Nick, who had been wearing sandals, must have kicked them off, because my bare foot rested against his, the warmth and softness of our skin on skin lighting a fire in my chest. Nick’s gaze locked on mine, and his tongue traced the lines of his upper lip.
“What, uh, else does a prince do?” I asked, my wires crossing.
Nick, wearing the cockiest fucking smile ever, answered with a simple “This.”
And, before I could ask what he meant, he leaned a little farther back in his chair and lifted his leg, his foot pushing my thighs apart, landing directly on my hard bulge. His smirk grew as he started to rub. My jaw parted, and I was sure I must have looked dumbfounded to anyone who was watching, but there was no way of knowing that Nicholas Silva, the prince of freaking Spain, was currently giving me a foot job, the two of us glowing under the ocean-blue lighting.
“Sounds, very, you know.” I swallowed. Flames licked at my chest. “Like you do very important things.”
“Very.”
He rubbed a little harder. I started lifting my hips up and down, a motion that couldn’t be discernible whatsoever, but a motion that built up an immense pressure in my balls. I wanted to grab my drink but was scared I would end up trembling and dropping the damn thing.
“Did you both transcend into another dimension?” The question and voice threw me out of the spell. I jerked up in my seat, planting my foot underneath me again. Nick sat up as well, leaving my boner aching under the table.
“Hey, Jada,” we both said in weird unison. Who knew getting edged by a foot job would telepathically link us?
“Sorry, am I interrupting?”
Both Nick and I shook our heads. “No, no,” we echoed each other again.
“Riiiight.” Jada threw me a smile like she was throwing a dagger, pointed and deadly if it wasn’t caught right.
I smiled back, hoping it didn’t look like I was caught with my hands down my pants.
Which just so happened to be exactly where I wanted them right now.
Jada grabbed a seat next to me, her sweater jingling up a storm as she sat. The tiny silver bells that were glued down her chest spelled out “Ho, Ho, Ho.” She started to look around, most likely for her boyfriend. I reached under the table and quickly pulled my sock back on, slipping my shoe on right after. Nick seemed as cool as an igloo-chilled cucumber, not giving away any hints that he had been jerking me off with his foot only seconds earlier.
Jada waved someone down from the crowd. Ace came through, Rex standing tall right behind him. Ace’s sweater jingled when he sat, although much less than Jada’s had. I couldn’t hold back the laugh from how ridiculous his sweater was.
“What? Still gives you the giggles?” He wiggled his chest, the lone ball jingling against him.
The sweater truly won top prize in the ugly competition. It was made of a thick, scratchy-looking material with threads coming out every which way. It was a deep red in color, almost resembling a scabbed-up wound. There were small frills around the sleeves and neck, adding a subtle ugly touch that enhanced the look even more.
But the chef’s kiss of it all was the embroidering on Ace’s chest. It was of a cat wearing a Santa hat, but the cat happened to be walking away so that the center of Ace’s chest was taken up by a furry butthole. The tail slinked upward, and the legs crisscrossed, making it appear as if the cat, with its oversized Santa hat, was disappearing into Ace’s body, leaving us with a view of his ass and the dangling silver ball that hung from it, as if his business in the litter box hadn’t been completely finished.
