“Fucking hell…”
The camera moves from his cock to his face. He looks drunk and dazed. “You’re beautiful,” he rasps. I get a sweet, lopsided smile before the camera view returns to his cock. I can see it’s just a little longer, thicker, darker. His hand squeezes as he pumps it, strong fingers around his gorgeous shaft. I can see his balls just barely from the angle. They look full and taut, bouncing as he strokes.
I imagine how it felt to have all that inside me. God. The sight of him working himself makes me writhe under the bullet. Liam groans again, urging me onward. I can’t help a tiny moan of my own. I push my fingers deeper, rock the bullet over my clit.
“Ahhh.”
“Oh Christ…”
I see his abs jerk, watch his hand stall. As his chest expands, he makes a low, rough sound—and then it happens: creamy cum spills through his fingers.
The sight of that, combined with his ragged breathing, sends me over my own ledge. I squeeze my eyes shut, panting as pleasure consumes me. I hear a low murmur and draw my legs up around my hand.
“Oh God.” I laugh.
He moves the phone to his face, blinks up at the camera. “Lucy Rhodes. You’re stunning.”
I move the phone to my own face, a second late. I give him a shy smile. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You were hotter.” He smiles softly.
“Go to sleep, Prince Liam.” I blow a kiss at the camera and hang up while my heart is still pounding.
ELEVEN Lucy
I stare into the mirror for a long time. My cheeks are pink from sleep. My hair is wild around my face. I let my eyes sweep down my body—naked. It doesn’t look different.
I feel different.
“Can’t do that again,” I murmur as I start the shower.
It’s good that Amelia’s here. I have a plan before I finish washing: shopping on Elkhorn Avenue. Amelia has a thing for Native American jewelry. I’m obsessed with salt water taffy and caramel corn. They have both fresh, made daily downtown.
Back in my room, I divert my gaze from the bed and pull on a flowy Missoni dress with colorful, vertical stripes that fan a little at the bottom. I slide on some platform sandals and grab a lime green clutch, then clomp down the back staircase: a narrow, polished wood affair ending in a tiny back-of-the-house foyer near the kitchen.
Amelia is just finishing a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and takes immediately to my shopping suggestion, hopping off to her first-floor guest room to get dressed.
An hour and a half later, we’re polishing off omelets at a downtown breakfast joint.
“I can un-vegan for one meal, surely,” Am says between bites.
“Surely.” Though I can’t help laughing at her. If memory serves me, Dash was one of those principled vegans who had some spiritual issue with killing animals. Which is sexy. I can see why she would be inspired. But—omelets.
Despite our non-stop chatter, I can hear the ghost of Liam’s voice in my ear. I can see his hand around his thick cock—and I want to tell Amelia.
But I can’t.
And really, I convince myself as we hoof it toward the Native jewelry store, there’s no reason to. It won’t happen again. I doubt Prince Liam will even call again. And if he does… I rub my lips together.
If he does, I’ll just ignore the call. That simple.
“Is that it over there?” Amelia asks, interrupting my thoughts with her finger outstretched toward a corner store on adorable Elkhorn Avenue.
“Sure is.”
My bestie is obsessed with Native American culture. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with her love of Western-themed romance novels. She claims her great-grandmother was a Creek Indian, but that’s what everybody in Georgia says. It’s basically some kind of collectively perpetuated urban legend.
I watch Am ooh and aah over jewelry for almost an hour before she stacks the counter with four necklaces, two pairs of earrings, one bracelet, and a necklace I find when we walk outside is meant for me.
“Look,” she says, pointing to the tiny turtle hanging from the chain. “The turtle is meant to keep you calm and grounded. And this stone on his back—” it’s emerald-ish green— “is malachite. Ancient peoples wore it as a good luck charm to ward off illness and keep the mind stable.”
My jaw drops open, even as I snatch the little turtle from her. “You think I’m not stable?”
She shrugs. “You are preggo now. That’s the illness part. This turtle will help keep you and Little Biscuit healthy.”
I slide the necklace over my head. “Are you seriously calling my royal spawn Little Biscuit?”
“Aww, of course I am! C’mon Lucy, it’s adorable!” Am is beaming as we start off down the sidewalk. “I’m going to be an aunt.”
I nudge her in the ribs. “Shh! Someone might hear.”
“Oops, you’re so right. Sorry.” She leans over to whisper, “You should probably avoid the term royal spawn.”
I’m laughing when we pass an art boutique and my thoughts turn to Dash—as I remember him. I try to add sexy stubble and hipster glasses, but I just can’t picture him grown up. My eyes rise to Amelia’s. “Is your boss missing you?”
She puffs her breath out, wearing the kind of miserable face I know she intends to be a neutral face. Amelia is terrible at hiding her feelings. “No idea.” She rolls her eyes—at herself, I think.
“Well, has he texted?”
She gives me a funny look: slightly widened eyes and a pinched mouth. “Why would he?”
I just about buy it—until I see her nostrils flare.
“Am! He is texting!”
She grins, shaking her head; the smile dims quickly, her expression falling solemn. “I’m a fool.” She sighs.
“I think I need to see a picture of this new Dash. You said something about hipster glasses back in Southampton, yeah?”
She stops mid-sidewalk, scrolling through her phone. Her blue eyes flicker up at mine. Then, with her lips twisted—half smirk, half frown—she hands the phone to me.
“Oh wow. That’s like…really wow.” I bite my lower lip as I look at grown-up Dash doing the same. He’s bending over a big, slanted desk, a pencil in his hand, charcoal lines rising up on his white paper. He’s got black hipster glasses, longish, wavy, honey-brown hair, and an absolutely fucking gorgeous face adorned with stubble. “Lordy. You’ve got my blood pumping.”
She nods. “He’s good with his hands.” Her brow quirks as I hand her phone back.
“Well, I understand your venture into Idiotville a little more.”
Amelia actually looks ashamed of herself, which makes me want to ask more questions. I don’t get a chance before she hits me with one. “What does Liam do? He doesn’t have a job exactly, does he?”