ROYAL DISASTER
Royal Scandal Book 2
by Parker Swift
(April 2, 2017; Forever Yours eBook; $3.99;)
Add Royal
Disaster to your shelf on Goodreads
"He's not who you think he is . . . "
Meeting Dylan Hale has turned my life upside down. I'm dating an
actual duke who's devastatingly handsome and deliciously naughty. On the
surface, I'm living the high life. But this surreal world of royalty and
paparazzi is getting out of control.
Someone knows way too much about Dylan and me-about the moments
when we're alone, about how his hands leave a trail of fire over my skin . . .
about the complete control he has over me between the sheets. And worse, it's
starting to become clear that Dylan's keeping secrets from me, too . . .
Dylan urged me through the door to his
bedroom, his palm spread widely across my lower back. “In you go,” he said
firmly.
I stepped into the dark room, lit only by
the light coming from the bathroom door.
Dylan moved behind me, to the side, and
stood me in front of a leather club chair. I waited as he poured himself a
glass of water and placed it on the table next to the chair after taking a long
swig.
“What? No more Scotch?” I asked, following
his eyes as he circled me, coming to stand behind me.
“I want my senses about me for this. You
were bloody gorgeous tonight,” he said into my ear, his fingertips stroking my
arms. “So perfectly yourself. I want to reward you. I want to sink into you. I
want to goddamn consume you,” he said slowly, taking his time, and I gulped in
anticipation. “And no more talking,” he said softly, finally settling into the
chair before me and gazing up at me. “Undress.”
I giggled a little. “So it’s going to be
that kind of night.”
He tsk-ed at me, wagging his finger as he
sat down. “Shh, damsel. This will be better if you follow instructions.”
My skin was singing—it felt like there were
a million little weather systems moving in the air around me, all electric, all
feverish. My breathing was picking up.
I walked up to him, put my hands on the
armrests of the chair where he sat, leaned over, and kissed him slowly on the
lips. No tongue, just firm, warm lips.
“Can
you unzip me at least?” I whispered, our faces centimeters apart, the air
between us warming. Our eyes met, and my little challenge added heat to this
game. He was getting ready to devour me.
I stood and turned, so my back was to him,
and I felt him rise behind me. He dragged the zipper slowly down my back and
slid his hands into the dress. They were so warm and felt so big, like he could
grab me fully around my middle. His thumbs stroked my underarms, and the subtle
movements caused a ripple, a shiver of anticipation.
The dress, now loose, slumped off my
shoulders, making room for his hands. He unclasped my bra, and it fell into the
dress. Then he pushed the whole thing off my arms and down my body, so it hung
in front of me, and my bra spilled to the floor.
“On the bed, damsel.” He smacked my
ass—hard. I smiled, eager, scurried to his majestic four-poster canopy bed, and
perched myself on its edge. I bit my lip between my nervous teeth and sat on my
hands. My hair drifted around my shoulders. The pit in my stomach and the round
ache between my legs were getting sharper, firmer, more demanding. I wanted his
hands on me, all over me. He was taking this too slowly, like he was stalking
his prey.
Dylan reached into his bag, parked by the
base of the bed, and lifted out a long coil of velvety-looking fabric, wider
than rope, softer looking. “You game for this, sweetness?” I nodded hungrily,
shamelessly. “Good. Then up at the headboard. Now.”
I crawled on all fours and turned back to
look at Dylan stalking me. “Thought this through, did you?”
Smack.
Another crisp slap to my ass.
Right, no talking. But if that was my
punishment, I might have to keep rebelling. I couldn’t stop the eager smile
forming on my face, and Dylan shook his head. “Incorrigible.”
Parker Swift grew up in Providence, Rhode Island, and then
grew up again in New York, London, and Minneapolis and currently lives in
Connecticut. She has spent most of her adult life examining romantic
relationships in an academic lab as a professor of social psychology. Now,
she's exploring the romantic lives of her fictional characters in the pages of
her books. When she's not writing, she spends her time with her bearded
nautical husband and being told not to sing along to pop music in the car by
her two sons.
No comments:
Post a Comment