The Royal Rebel (Dirty Royals Book 1) by Vivian Wood

Author:Vivian Wood [Wood, Vivian]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2020-03-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Margot

The Uber ride to his hotel could take forever or it could be just a few short minutes. I don’t actually know because Stellan has his tongue down my throat and his hand on my thigh. His fingers brush under my negligee and over my pussy a few times.

I’m in the grip of the mushrooms and the MDMA. But more importantly, I’m into him. My hands rove over Stellan’s chest and back and clutch at his shirt. My eyes practically roll into the back of my head every time he touches my breasts or teases the silk-covered triangle between my clenched legs.

The lobby of the hotel seems fancy; I glimpse gold and marble as he hustles me to the elevators. Once the elevator doors glide closed, I gasp as he picks me up and backs me against the mirrored wall.

My eyes sink closed. I pant as he leaves hickeys all over my neck and breasts. His hot mouth is everywhere, his hands rucking up my negligee. He pushes my knees apart and presses between them. If it weren’t for a little denim and silk, we would be fucking right now.

I wrap my legs around his back as the elevator rises. When the elevator chimes and the doors slide open, he carries me off and walks straight into the penthouse suite. I pause, my eyes opening.

“Holy shit,” I say. Stellan doesn’t stop moving, but I can’t help but notice the floor to ceiling windows with their exquisite view of Manhattan. “Jesus. What are you, rich? Or is it that you’re a rebel? Hmm? Did you steal the keys to this place?”

No response to that from him, except for to suck on my neck extra hard. He keeps moving through the space, dodging the low gray modern furniture until he gets to the bedroom. I take that to mean that Stellan somehow borrowed the keys to this suite.

I’m not exactly worried about it; I like a little danger mixed with my fucking. As he lays me down on what has to be the softest mattress ever made, I grin. Such opulence should be used and shared by everyone; just a few hours ago I was wearing a ripped t-shirt that declares EAT THE RICH.

He backs off, pulling his dark t-shirt up over his head. My eyes widen at his well-built chest and muscular arms; he even has a taut six pack, which I didn’t think actually existed outside of the movies. He’s actually a giant, descended from the Vikings… that’s what my overheated brain tells me, anyway.

I lean on my elbows, watching him strip his shoes and jeans off, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs. My gaze trails up and down his body, ravenous for his touch.

“Fuck. You’re hot,” I say. Tossing my hair, I bite my lush lower lip.

He grins, flashing me that dimple again in his cheek. “I take that as a compliment, coming from you.”

I blush. “Thanks.”

His eyes glint. “Now for the love of everything holy, get fucking naked.

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