Fate of a Royal (Lords of Rathe, #1)(52)

“You finally fucked her.” His grin is slow. “Goddamn, brother. Took you long enough.”

My hand shoots out, catching myself on the wall, and I shove past him, heading up the winding staircase to my room. Why the fuck didn’t I portal straight in there? It hadn’t been that long. London wasn’t an easy lay, but she was one I knew I’d get. At least once, I needed to taste her.

“Knight! Hold up—”

I put a wall between us, shutting him out and dragging my ass into the shower. I hold my breath until every inch of me is lathered and rinsed, and then I count to fucking ten.

Something’s wrong.

Off.

And I think Creed was right.

I think I might know what it is.

And if I don’t, best believe I’m going to find out.





London



I wake to the morning light streaming through my window, the clock blinking six a.m. Lifting my arms over my head, I begin to stretch, and when I feel the sharp sting of overused muscles, I tense, blinking at the nothingness of my room.

Last night comes back to me in a whirlwind, and I swear literal wind seems to roll over my skin, sending a chill throughout my body.

Holy shit! Knight was in my room last night and holy fucking shit, we fucked like animals.

He flipped me more ways than I could count, fucking me into a coma, or so it seems, as I have no recollection of him pulling out, leaving, or falling asleep.

His every touch was purposeful, driving me insane and leaving me fucked raw and red. I know it’s cliché as hell, and I never really thought it was a thing, but rather a figure of speech. I was wrong because I swear to God, I saw stars. Weirdly blinking, wrongly shaped ones, but stars, nonetheless.

Smiling to myself, I roll onto my stomach, the soft sheets causing my nipples to pebble, my body still overstimulated. Apparently, my cunt is a needier bitch than I gave her credit for. And I gave her a lot of credit. The bitch is maxed out of credit.

A heavy throb builds between my legs and I allow my hand to travel south.

My fingertips brush over my sensitive center, dipping between the sweet spot to see just how rough we played last night, and I moan at the memory.

“God, I could—” My voice is cut from another at the other side of the room.

He grips my ankles and forces me down the bed. “You could what, Little L?” His eyes pierce mine in a way that bleeds through my veins. A deep humming vibrates through the marrow of my bones the longer he holds my stare. I can’t pull my eyes away from him, afraid that if I do, I’ll wake up and this will be a dream.

“How the fuck did you get in?” I grip him by the strands of his hair, forcing his eyes up to mine. My heart rattles against my ribcage as he stares up at me from below.

The corner of his mouth curves upward slowly, and a flicker of silver flashes over his eyes. “Who said I left?”

I sink my top teeth into my lower lip, and before I can stop him, his mouth covers my pussy. Shivers rack through my body as I fall onto my back, arms spread wide. Warmth disappears and I lean up on my elbows and watch as he grabs himself through his thin basketball shorts. They’re doing nothing to hide the feeling of him. Not that I could forget how thick he is.

Before I can say another word, he crawls up like a hunter and I’m the prey.

My eyes find his and he bends, skating his lips along mine. “Do you want me?”

I nod.

“Say it. Say”—he leans to the side, his lips grazing the side of my neck—“I want you.”

A low whimper leaves me as I reach for him, but he blocks me, lifting a brow. “Fuck me, how is that for saying I want you?”

His smirk is slow as he finally takes my lips with his.

The kiss is teasing and not what my body wants, the heat in my belly doubling, but it knots rather than spreads. I yank on his hair, tugging him away, but before I can say another word, he dives into my neck, kissing a trail down my body until his mouth is hovering over my clit.

Heat covers me at once as his tongue dives into my entrance. I grip the sheets once more, my back arching off the bed. His tongue flattens against my clit and I lift my hips to chase friction when I’m met with air.

I push up from the bed as I see a body crash into Knight’s. A dark hooded man, and any time I try to chase what he looks like, he shifts, tackling Knight to the ground. Flesh being pounded filters through the air and I quickly jump up, screaming.

Blood splatters over my face when I reach for the shoulder of the intruder, and his body stills beneath my grip. Knight peers up at me from below, blood that both is and isn’t his dripping over his face and split eye. Whoever this dude is, Knight got him good enough to make him bleed. Just hopefully not the blood that’s in my mouth.

He slowly turns, and my blood starts to run cold.

“Hey, asshole! Get the fuck out of my room before I”—my mouth falls open and my stomach twists like hot coil—“what the fuck?”

I look down to Knight, who’s now flashing me a wicked grin, before going back to the hooded creature, who is staring right at me now. A straight copy and paste of Knight. “I’m dreaming again.”

Stepping backward, I shake my head and tuck my hair behind my ear. I am fucking dreaming again. Did I ever even wake up?!

“You’re not dreaming, London.” Knight’s voice cuts through.