Royally Not Ready (Royal, #1)

by Meghan Quinn

“Wow, you really are a little, little man. I hope karma comes back and deliberately places a painful zit on the tip of your dick.”

Grandmas into smut are my favorite kind of grandmas.

Keller joins me, takes a seat, and then turns toward me while I feel around the shared bench seat. “What are you doing?” he asks, irritated. “My nipples. I think they fell off. Do you see them?” “Jesus . . . Christ,” he mumbles before strapping his seatbelt on.

“Fine,” I say as I walk up to him. “But you need to slow down on your pace unless you feel like giving me a piggyback ride all the way back to the castle.” “Fine,” he shoots back at me. “You set the pace . . . a running pace.” I tap the side of my head. “Smart man, adding running in there because I would’ve walked.” “I figured.”

I spent a good portion of time learning how to shower without spraying water everywhere. I found if I held the sprayer with my legs while I lathered, that worked best, but at one point, the surprisingly hard water pressure shot straight up the vag and it felt . . . nice.

Like if I gave him the slightest of nods, he would mark me, claim me, own me. It’s distressing, but not in the way that you might think. It’s distressing my soul, because oddly, that pinch of possession, it’s what I’ve always wanted in a man.

Dear God. Keller isn’t just a grump. He’s a sexy, dirty grump . . . the best kind.

“Not wanting to spend time on the beautiful comment, huh? Okay, fine, but that’s logged in my head.” She raps her temple. “But just to return the favor, I think you’re incredibly hot. The whole briefs thing was a refreshing new fantasy I didn’t know was essential to my personal rub club, if you know what I mean.” She waggles her eyebrows.

“Made you uncomfortable, didn’t I? Are you a shy one, Keller? Strong and mighty, but squishy and soft? Can’t take a compliment?” She shrugs. “Sorry to say, but facts are facts—you’re a hottie with a body . . . and a weenie that’s not so teenie.”

“You want to get married? Fine. Brimar is an ordained minister.” He crowds my space. “I’ll get married right here, right now. But I’ll tell you this—you’re not going to enjoy being my wife.” He crowds me so much that I’m pushed up against the castle now, hands behind my back so I don’t succumb to sweaty skin. “I take what I want, when I want it. And if my wife dares disobey me, there will be consequences.” Ooo, so hot. Does he realize that’s more of a turn-on than a turn off? Mr. Tattooed Man Meat wants to own me? Where’s the marriage license? I’ll sign right now.

Although, a freaking orgasm might help the tension. It would help the tension between everyone. And when I say everyone, I mean Keller and me. There’s no tension between Brimar and Lara, and it’s probably because they’re giving each other ORGASMS.

He moves toward the sink, and I can’t tear my eyes away as he loops his fingers into his shorts and drops them, revealing those briefs again. And the side angle does not disappoint as I take in the bulge between his thick thighs. Curved, the head of his cock pressing tightly against the fabric, it’s so tempting. If it’s this big flaccid, how large can it be when erect? Curious minds want to know. Curious hands want to touch. Curious mouths want a solid fuck. “Lilly?” “Yeah?” I respond, my gaze snapping up to his. “Are you going to stay and watch me?” Can I? Don’t mind if I do. Let me grab some popcorn first.

“Why couldn’t the lizard land a girlfriend?” When Brimar doesn’t answer, I say, “Because he had reptile dysfunction.”

“I’ve set a plate holding a cup of water on your head. Anytime you slouch, lean too far forward, rest your arms on the table, or have any sort of improper posture, you will get wet.” Little does he know, I’m already wet.

“All you want is to get under my skin.” He lowers his head so his lips are at my ear, as his thumbs stroke the underside of my breasts, causing me to nearly melt in his grasp. “Guess what, Lilly. You’ve been under my goddamn skin since the moment you showed up at the Moxy in that dress. You don’t have to keep trying, you’re there. You’re buried in my goddamn veins, pumping my blood, causing me to go fucking crazy in my head because I’ve never wanted to fuck a woman as much as I want to fuck you.”

But here’s the rub—I doubt Theo understands that offering her a shoulder to lean on isn’t the same as taking her from behind over the couch in her bedroom. Offering her everything she needs isn’t making her kneel before me so she can take my cock down her throat.

“That feels more accurate.” I take her hand in mine and then help her in, only for her to trip on God knows what and fall forward, straight into my arms. Her tits press against my bare chest. Her hard-as-shit nipples rub against my skin. The cold steel of her piercings causes my entire body to break out into a sweat despite being in a pool of warm water. “Oh, dear heavens,” she says, gripping me by the shoulders. “We, uh . . . we’re touching.” “We are,” I say past a tight jaw. “My boobs are against your manliness.” “Yup. Are you intending to remove them?” “I am . . . I am, just trying to figure out how to do this in a classy way.”

“Uh . . . Keller, you kind of have this murderous look in your eyes. Now, as someone who finds that whole possessive murder look enticing, I’m okay with it, but you know, on the off chance that maybe you’re actually considering murder, can I ask what’s wrong beforehand?” “You, that’s what’s wrong.” “Ah, I see. Let me guess—naked woman, possible boob show, hard penis? Am I right?”

“But you know . . . we’re not going there,” she says in a man’s voice. She’s right, unfortunately. “We aren’t going there. So, please keep your tits under the water.” Smiling, she pops up out of the water and points to her breasts. “These tits?” “Fucking hell, Lilly,” I groan, covering my eyes again. “Jesus.”

“Tell me more about you and Keller.” I can’t help the smile that pulls across my lips. “It started as enemies to lovers, and slowly over time, I wore him down.” Katla laughs. “I like the start of this story.”

A man doesn’t define your ability to stand on your own two feet. Your brain and your heart do. Perhaps continue to use them in the right way.”

Before he releases my fingers, he gives them a gentle squeeze . . . three times. My breath stills in my chest as my pulse roars through my veins. Three squeezes. It’s what my parents used to do to tell me they loved me. Is that what he’s doing? When his eyes connect with mine, from the forlorn expression in them, I know that’s exactly what he’s doing. Three squeezes . . . he loves me.