Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Shea

T he very first thing my brain processes in the morning is not my schedule. It’s wondering what in fuck’s sake is that awful taste in my mouth?

Pushing the covers away, I pad into my bathroom and catch a look at myself in the mirror with bulging eyes. This is how I went to sleep? Topless and a thong?

I peek back into the bedroom and see my gown from last night tossed on a chair. Also not like me. What the heck happened? I wasn’t drunk. I took an Ambien. Oh no, maybe it interacts with the new pills I’m taking to help the fibroids. My gyno knows I’m on Ambien, though. Ack, one more thing to worry about.

Feeling a morning chill, I slip on my robe.

After brushing my teeth, I stretch, wanting to run, but the ache between my legs has my heart racing for another reason.

Right into this tiny thong. Which I only wore because that gown was so unforgiving and if you’re gonna show panty lines, it might as well be a thong.

Had I known Archer would be there, I would have worn something else. Something with long sleeves and a high neckline. The idea of that man’s eyes on me sickens me. But Trace’s reaction felt better than any kind of jealousy Archer could display.

When the pinch in my heart thinking of him doesn’t show up, I relax. Only, it leaves me without a plan. For my life. For eight years, Archer was it. He was my future, and I have to start all over.

At thirty-fucking-seven. With a uterus on life support.

My mind wanders to Trace...

He agreed to the divorce. Why? Other than he’s my bodyguard now. Three and a half years ago, he hadn’t bent the knee to Lachlan.

I want so much to open up to Trace and tell him about my fertility issues. And that’s why I can’t stay married to him. It’s not fair. He’ll say it won’t matter. But it does matter. It will matter down the road. He just doesn’t see it now. It won’t take much to fall in love with him and then I’ll be crushed to see that disappointment in his eyes. That regret from knowing he had a chance at a different life but didn’t take it. And then he’ll be stuck with me.

Too much to think about before coffee. With my hands on the bathroom counter, I lower my head and arrange the day ahead of me in my mind.

But this ache won’t subside. My dildo will help, but plastic won’t do this morning. I slip my finger into my thong and groan at the contact with my hot, slick folds, quivering nerves needing release.

Just a few strokes and I’m already close.

“Christ, Trace.”

“I’m right here, princess.” Trace hovers in the doorway because that man knows no boundaries and has a key to my locked door.

Cinching my robe closed, I bark, “Don’t you knock?”

“Saying my name while you play with yourself sounded like an invitation.”

Air fills my lungs in ragged, uneven breaths. In the glory of his stare, I let my robe fall open.

Nothing he hasn’t seen before apparently. God, what I wouldn’t give for that memory.

Or...

I can make new ones. Sober ones. Yeah, fucking plural. What is stopping me?

Without an invitation or an order to leave, Trace strides into the bathroom. His glare of carnal promises, maybe that’s his death stare, will certainly be the death of me .

“Go ahead, finish,” he whispers into my ear from behind. “Need some dirty talk to get you there?”

“You’re impossible,” I choke out.

“I see you need some help.” He takes my hand, dangling and useless at my side. But he positions my pointer finger and glides both our hands right into my thong. “Eyes on me, princess.”

When I turn my head, he says, “No. Through the mirror. Watch yourself come.”

“This is wrong,” I mutter.

“That’s what makes it hot.”

Damn, he’s right. I start to move my fingers and mewl like a cat in heat.

“Good girl,” he breathes against the shell of my ear. “Now let’s get serious about this.”

Trace lifts my finger and with our hands still attached, he sucks on my skin. “Tastes so fucking good.”

Dripping with his saliva, he slides my finger back into my thong. The warm wetness buckles my knees. “I got you, princess.”

“God, yes, you do.”

“Are you close?”

“So close.”

The pulse builds in my core, but he removes my hand again. “Not so fast. Beg me.”

“Please. I want to come.”

“And you want to come like this? With your hand when I’m right here with a hard cock that can do the job better?” He presses the bulge in his sweats right into my back, and next it’s sliding between my ass cheeks.

Here I am topless, legs spread in front of the mirror, my bodyguard humping my ass.

“What do you say, princess? Want to say fuck it and be bad? Just once?”

“Yes,” I squeak without thinking .

He stills, not expecting me to give in so easily. But how can I resist a painfully beautiful man with a hard, thick cock?

“It’s just this one time, right?” I throw in logic.

His jaw tightens. “Just this one time.”

“Do it. Take me. Fuck me.”

“Here?”

“Right here. Right now.” I pull my hands away and lean on the counter.

“Princess,” he rasps. “Is that an order?”

I chuckle. He’s covering his ass. “Yes, Trace Quinlan, I’m ordering you to fuck me.”

“I don’t have a condom,” he groans. “And I won’t wear one you bought for that pig...”

“He used his own protection. I made him wear a condom.” Because deep inside, I didn’t trust him.

With slow torturing precision, Trace lowers his sweats right below his round ass.

I want to weep because I can’t see his cock. I’m in the way.

He kicks my legs apart and fingers my slit. “Christ, you’re so wet for me. Are you still so tight, princess?”

“Fuck me and you’ll find out I’m not a princess.”

“Outside, I’ll treat you like a princess.” He lines up his cock with my entrance. “Now. Alone in your bedroom. I’m going to fuck you like a whore.”

He pushes inside me with one swift move, and I see stars.

“Fuuuuck,” he mutters like a frenzied man on the edge. Then pulls out in one long agonizing stroke.

No... No, no. He changed his mind.

“What?” I swallow. “What are you doing?”

His chest heaves, and looking over my shoulder, I see his thick, bobbing, glistening wet cock.

“You like that? You want me to keep fucking you like that? Like this.” He pulls my hair, forcing me to look in the mirror again.

“Yes.”

A wicked grin parts his lips. “Say it, filthy girl.”

His muscled, tattooed forearm lifts one of my legs and bends my knee on the counter. I’ve never felt so exposed.

“Fuck me like a whore,” I mutter again, my face resting on the counter, the cool marble lowering my temperature.

As I wait...