The Bossy Prince (Rugged and Royal #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,46

get wasted—and wouldn’t have if someone hadn’t spiked my drink—but I ordered that mojito for a reason. Deep down, maybe I was looking for an excuse to let down my guard a little, just enough to tip Nick off to how much I’d like to touch him, to be touched by him.

Our siblings already think we’re banging like bunnies, and our chances of changing their minds are slim to none. No matter how solid our rebuttal when we get home, we’re going to have to deal with the family fallout for years to come.

And if we’re going to do the time, seems we should at least do the crime…

“The only crime you should be worried about is Stefano’s,” I tell my reflection as I dry off, change into a fresh robe, and brush my teeth.

Wise words.

I would do well to heed them.

But when I step out into the dark room and spot Nick’s long form stretched out on the lounge chair in the moonlight, it takes every bit of willpower I possess not to go to him.

I force my feet to pad across the cool tile to the bed, then I climb through the mosquito nets, get under the covers, and close my eyes. But I don’t expect to sleep. I expect to lie awake for hours, wishing I wasn’t alone on this big fluffy mattress, aching for Nick’s touch.

Instead, I open my eyes after what feels like ten minutes to find dim light seeping into the room and Nick in pajama pants and a white T-shirt sitting on the bench at the end of the bed.

Even through the gauzy bed curtains, I can see the exhaustion tugging at the edges of his face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, voice rough. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not a wink.” He fingers the curtains with a tired smile. “Turns out these aren’t just for show. The second I dropped my guard, the bugs swarmed in to feast upon my tender flesh.”

“Well, that’s what you get for having tender flesh, I guess.” I draw back the covers. “Get in. I’m sober. It’s safe.”

“I doubt that,” he mutters, but a beat later, he crawls through the netting and collapses beside me. He puts an arm around me, dragging me into a little-spoon position with a tired sigh.

Despite the shame trying to creep in at my lack of restraint last night, I go without resistance. I’m still tired, and it feels so good to be tucked against him, where I fit just right.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into my hair. “I don’t remember a thing after dinner. We can pretend it didn’t happen.”

I swallow, heart stuttering as I whisper back, “We could. But…do you really want to?”

His arm tightens around my waist. “You said you were sober.”

“I am. As a nun in church.” I arch my back, shifting my bottom into more intimate contact with the front of his cotton pants. Even through my robe and his pajamas, I can feel that he hasn’t forgotten about last night—and that he’s every bit as tempted by the heat between us as I am.

He curses beneath his breath. “Sleep, woman. Then we’ll talk.”

“Or we can…not talk. Not talking is good, too.” I circle my hips, my nipples tightening as he grows thicker, harder against me. On impulse, I reach up, parting the front of my robe before taking Nick’s hand and guiding it between the open folds.

He cups my breast with a groan, rolling the tight tip between his fingers and thumb in a way that makes my blood rush. “I want to kiss you here,” he murmurs against my neck. “And lick. And bite.”

Desire surges from his fingers to my clit, and I squirm beneath his touch. “Yes. All of that.”

“And then I want to bury my face between your legs and make you come on my tongue.”

I whimper in soft agreement, panting faster as he transfers his attention to my other breast.

“But first, I’ll make you beg,” he murmurs. “Make you beg me to fuck you with my mouth, make you beg me to put you out of your misery. Make you suffer until you confess I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had.”

My breath rushes out. “I believe in praise when praise is due. But, fair warning, I’ve had some really excellent sex.” I reach back, rubbing his hard length through his pants, sizzling everywhere with anticipation.

“Is that a challenge?” His hand skims lower, smoothing over my stomach, moving to where I’m already wet, hot, and dying for him to touch