Ruthless Empire (Royal Elite #6) by Rina Kent

He hooks his fingers inside me and teases my clit. I fall apart around him, my thighs shaking and my moan mixing with his groan.

At first, I think he has come too, but he didn’t. He stands up with my hand still around his cock. “Put me in your mouth.”

My thighs shake at the image as I part my lips and guide him inside. I can’t stop staring at him, at the rippling of his chest muscles and his God-like presence. I only glide my tongue over him a few times before he comes all over my tongue. His cum drips down my lips and chin.

He gathers it with his thumb, his eyes shining with raw possessiveness as he smears it over my lips.

“Hmm. You look marked and mine.”

Cole thrusts his fingers inside my mouth and makes me swallow every drop. He licks his fingers that were inside me at the same time.

As I stare up at him, I realise two things.

One, he’s ruined me for anyone else.

Two, I’m screwed.





25





Silver





We don’t go home right away.

Instead, Cole says we have to eat. When Derek showed because I might have forgotten to text him, Cole told him to find a way to drive my car back as I was going with him.

All the way, he’s been trying to finger me under my skirt because I stole my underwear from his trousers when we changed back. I’ve been slapping his hand away, to no avail.

But that’s the thing about Cole. He never gives up. If he wants something, he doesn’t stop.

Not even close.

We end up at a secluded restaurant that’s not on the main street. It’s like he knows all the hidden areas, which shouldn’t be a surprise, considering the secret life he’s leading through that club.

My core still tingles in remembrance of that couple, of their ecstasy — and mine.

It’s an experience I’ll never be able to forget. I never knew I liked voyeurism until I came undone around Cole’s fingers. He’s slowly but surely ruining me.

The restaurant is Italian and has wooden decor with tables and chairs in the shape of trees. We settle across from each other and order wood-fired pizza. I placed an extra order of French fries with mayonnaise.

If I’m getting in the calories, might as well go all in. I’m too hungry after that experience in the club and I can’t trick my stomach into accepting salad.

“We could’ve eaten at home.” I study my French-manicured nails to not look at Cole.

Even though he’s reading from a book, he’s also been watching me in this intense way that turns me into a self-conscious fool. I’m not the type to get self-conscious. Ever.

Except when this wanker is involved.

“I’m hungry.” His voice drops with clear seduction.

“Well, you could’ve eaten at home.”

“I can’t wait until home.”

“Stop it,” I hiss, watching our surroundings. Thankfully, the place isn’t full at this time.

“Stop what? I’m only saying I’m hungry.”

“I know what you’re thinking, okay?”

“I doubt it.”

“You’re recalling what just happened in the club.” I lower my voice. “Don’t you dare bring it up to anyone.”

“Yes, Miss Prim and Proper,” he mocks. “But that’s not what I was thinking about.”

“No?”

“I was actually picturing eating you instead of the food we ordered.”

My lips part and I gulp, the image stabbing through my mind without permission. Just like Cole. He’s toying with my brain in more ways than one.

I clear my throat, opting to change the subject. “Is that book as depressing as the other book from that author?”

He’s reading Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. When I was fourteen, I read Norwegian Wood by the same author after that quote. I spent the night crying with how the story turned out. I loved the hero so much, and I hated how fate dealt with his emotions.

“Haruki Murakami’s books aren’t depressing. They’re unique.”

Cole doesn’t read much fiction, if at all. He usually has his head buried in philosophy and psychological books. I know he loves Helen’s books, but they’re mostly psychological crime thrillers. I take a pause when he says he loves a certain fiction author who doesn’t write in the psychological vein.

“What’s so unique about them?” I ask.

“It’s his imagery. He wrenches you out of the world and he offers riddles without solutions, letting the readers solve them themselves. Everyone’s interpretation is different from the other. It’s art.”

I see it then. The gleam in his eyes whenever he reads said books. Cole likes the challenge and being immersed in something so deep, he forgets his surroundings. It’s his own form of chaos.

“Most find it frustrating, of course, and bombard the publisher with endless questions.”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

He lifts his head, raising a brow. “You do?”

“Yes, I think many people need surrealism and to be able to find their own solutions.” Like Cole.

I like Haruki for producing books that keep Cole invested and excited. I even forgive him for breaking my heart in Norwegian Wood.

The waitress brings us our pizzas and bats her lashes at him. Bitch.