Royally Pucked (The Copper Valley Thrusters Book 2)
Royally Pucked: Chapter 32

Gracie may not believe herself to be princess material, but she feels so bloody right beside me.

Her hand in mine as we climb the stairs. The way she twists into my arms and pulls me down for a long, slow kiss the moment we’re behind the closed door. The fit of her body against mine.

“I intend to explore every inch of you,” I tell her while I slide my hands beneath her bulky sweatshirt bearing the logo of my team.

“I’ll be keeping track,” she replies.

Her fingers are tracing my ribs around to my back, expertly playing my body. I’m already hard as diamonds and desperate for her, but her touch is coaxing me impossibly thicker and harder.

I smile against her lips as I claim her mouth once more, backing her into my bedroom and toward the bed. Her skin is softer than finely spun silk, her hums and moans more melodic than an entire bloody symphony, her curves and firm muscle the perfect artwork of a master.

Explore?

No.

Worship?

Yes.

It’s a gradual path across my bedroom, stroking and kissing and pressing our bodies together, until I can take no more and I lift her into my arms, carrying her the remaining distance to my bed. I settle her in the center, climbing onto the mattress with her, unable to keep from kissing those plump lips.

“Your shirt, my lady,” I murmur against her skin. “I must remove it.”

“Well. If you must.”

“That beautiful smile of yours is my undoing every single time.” I lift the hem of her hoodie and the T-shirt beneath it together. She raises her arms, I tug her coverings off and toss them aside, and—“Beautiful, Gracie. Utterly beautiful.”

“My bra’s getting tight,” she whispers.

I attend to the tight nipples poking at the satin—pink again—and she gasps and offers me more of her breasts. “Perhaps you should go without,” I murmur.

She laughs, a lovely breathy laugh that makes more blood surge to my cock. I stroke the swell of breast overflowing its cup, and her laugh melts into a moan. “Touch me more. Manning, please, touch me more.”

“Such good manners deserve a reward.” I lower my head to those lovely mounds and lick at her nipple.

“Ohmydog.” She grips my ears. “More.”

I take my time, stroking, suckling, worshipping until a simple breath upon the wet fabric makes her nipples harden to stiff peaks begging for a closer inspection. I can smell her arousal, and I would very much like to stroke that lovely patch of heaven between her legs to see just how wet she is for me. I unclasp her bra, make quick work of pulling the straps from her slender arms, and lie her back on the bed while I lick the flesh between her mounds and trail my hand down her stomach.

She brushes her hands up my forearms to my shoulders, then my neck and cheeks. “You feel so good,” she moans.

“My lady, you feel exquisite.”

My knuckles reach the emerald stud in her belly button, and my hand stills as it travels lower.

My baby is growing within her. Right beneath my touch.

“Manning?” she whispers.

I move my lips down her abdomen to linger on the soft skin below her navel. “How big is he now?” I ask.

“About the size of a grape.”

My little grape. Bloody hell, fatherhood is such a terrifying and monumental idea, yet everything in this moment is perfect and right. “Can you feel him kicking?”

She giggles. “She barely has legs yet.”

“She? If she has no legs, how are you to know she’s a she?”

“Why wouldn’t she be a she?”

“There’s not been a she born in the palace in at least eight generations.”

She blinks quickly, and though her smile stays on her lips, it fades from her eyes. “Then it’s a good thing she won’t be born in the palace, isn’t it?”

“Wherever he’s born, he’ll be a he.”

Her fingers comb through my hair. “You’re happy about the baby?” she whispers.

I brush my hand over her belly and the waistband of her jeans. “This baby has very likely saved my life,” I tell her honestly. “You—”

I’m unable to finish, because she’s sat up, grabbed me behind the head, and is now kissing me as though I’m her savior.

When the reality is so very different.

“You can’t marry her,” she gasps as she breaks the kiss. “You’d be so miserable.”

“Certainly can’t have that,” I agree dryly. I’d be miserable for an eternity if the trade-off were ensuring Gracie’s happiness.

She laughs, and the sheen glistening in her eyes fades. “I just need to know you won’t be miserable,” she whispers.

As though it’s not even crossed her mind that she would be with me, beside me, bringing more joy to my life than I ever expected and deserve. “To what lengths would you to go ensure my happiness?” I inquire.

“Are you making a blow job joke?”

By the gods, this woman is everything. “Never, my lady. Although I must confess, I’m rather obsessed with a similar goal.”

She grins. “I’ve noticed you’re pretty good with scoring goals.”

“Then allow me a shot at another.” I tug at the waist of her trousers, her eyes go wide, and I replace myself laughing yet again. “Do you truly still not know just how bloody irresistible you are?”

“I’ve never—no one—” she stutters, and I catch a hint of pink staining her lovely cheeks.

“Never?” I ask softly.

She shakes her head.

“Excellent. You’ll not know if I screw up.”

I do so love making this woman laugh. “I listen to a lot of books,” she warns me. “I think I’ll know.”

“Ah, a challenge. Shall we put a wager on it?” I’m tugging her jeans, and she’s helping me, pulling them down her perfectly curvaceous thighs and knobby knees, revealing pink satin hiding that pussy I intend to worship until the sun comes up.

“What kind of wager?”

“If I should fail and you not notice,” I say, pausing to stroke the toned muscle from her knee to her hip and enjoying the pebble of gooseflesh rising beneath my touch, “then I shall owe you three more climaxes and a bubble bath.”

Her belly is visibly quivering, her breath coming quicker, her eyes so dark a man could get lost in them. “And if you succeed?” she whispers.

“Then I suppose I shall owe you three more climaxes and a bubble bath.”

Her laughter washes over me. I’ve made it my life’s mission to smile as often as possible—generally to the irritation of those around me—but I’m certain I’ve never smiled so wide nor so happily in my life as I am now.

“What kind of terms are those?” she asks me.

I succeed in pulling off her trousers and settle my shoulders between her legs, which she opens willingly for me, inhaling her sweet earthy scent and stroking the hot, wet silk covering her mound. “I never said I played fair, my lady. If you wish for better terms for yourself, you’ll have to be in charge of the wager next time.”

I press a kiss to the satin, she gasps, and I lick at the moisture soaking her panties.

“You—” she pants.

I lick her again, her hips buck, and whatever she intended to say fades into a moan of delight.

“This is safe for the baby?” I inquire.

“Yes,” she moans.

I tease my fingers beneath the fabric and stroke the slick skin of her center. “And this?”

“Oh, yes.”

I press another kiss to her satin-covered pussy while stroking her. “And if I were to take you hard from behind—”

“Yes. Oh, dog, Manning, don’t stop.”

“’Twould hate to disappoint a lady,” I murmur.

“You—could—never—oh yes yes yes more.”

These panties will definitely have to go. But not just yet, because she seems to be enjoying the teasing so very much.

Her skin is glowing, her hips thrusting into my touch and my mouth, and there’s nothing in the world I’d rather do than to pleasure her.

All night.

All day.

All forever.

She’s carrying my child. She’s brought hope into my life. And she’s done it all with no thought of what she might gain.

I’d be a bloody fool to not do everything in my power to please her.

She’s pushing at her panties, so I oblige in helping her. The seam tears easily, and soon she’s laid bare, her pussy glistening for me.

For me.

I don’t deserve this woman.

But as I take my mouth to her, licking all the way up those pretty pink folds to tease the hard nub of her clit, suckling it into my mouth while she gasps and pants and calls my name and invokes the heavens, I’m damned well determined to keep her.

To satisfy her.

To love her.

Love her.

Her hips thrust up to meet my mouth, her fingers grip my hair so tight my scalp aches nearly as much as my bollocks, and when I slip three fingers into her hot, slick channel, she comes so hard, so impossibly fast, squeezing her thighs around my head while her walls clench around my fingers. She cries my name.

I lick at her sweet juices.

I want her.

All of her.

I want her to be mine. Here. Now. Tomorrow. Everywhere.

She collapses back onto the bed as the last of her climax leaves her. I press a kiss to her inner thigh, and her skin visibly quivers.

“Oh my holy dog,” she whispers. “You definitely did that right. Thank you.”

I press a kiss to her other thigh. “Oh, no, my lady. Thank you.”