Striking (Red Lips & White Lies Book 7)

Drunk me might be a lot of fun, but she’s feisty. I don’t trust her.

—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts

Oh. My. God.

As a woman with a master’s degree in nursing and four year’s experience working in hospitals, I am absolutely positive my brain is not actually about to explode, but then again, maybe I’m wrong. That’s the only logical explanation for the pain pulsing behind my eyes, like an entire drum line is doing their best routine before the biggest football game of their lives.

Ouch.

This is why I don’t often drink. It never agrees with me.

Maybe I should have remembered that last night.

Why do I feel like I’m about to stroke out?

Definitely not my best diagnosis, but it’s going to have to do.

I kick off the blankets, trying to cool down, and my heart sinks when the weight around my waist doesn’t move. Even worse—it groans.

Oh no.

“Sleep, love. It’s early.”

No. No. No, no no, nooooooooo.

I force my eyes open and close them just as quickly when the room spins around me in a flash of color. “Rhys,” I whisper. It’s not a question. More like a plea. “What are you doing here?”

I really should open my eyes again, but if I do, this somehow becomes real. And I’m not ready for real. I’ve never had a one-night stand before. I really didn’t want to start now. Not with him. How am I ever going to look at him again?

Easy. I won’t. I’ll just keep my eyes closed forever.

This headache is going to kill me anyway.

There we go. Problem solved.

“You’re in my bed.” God, that voice. How’s it fair that it sounds even better first thing in the morning.

He pulls me back against him, and that answers at least one question. The t-shirt I hadn’t realized I was wearing slides up my back, and my panties slide up my ass. There is absolutely no way I’d be dressed right now if I slept with this man. I’m fairly certain we’d probably still be having sex if we’d given in.

And while that doesn’t seem like a horrific idea, my pounding head disagrees.

I try to shimmy away but somehow manage to rub up against his incredibly hard dick instead, and there goes that groan—again. It’s deep and gravelly and somehow doesn’t hurt my head.

“I was a gentleman last night. But I’m not sure how much control I’ll have if you keep doing that.” He flips me onto my back, and the weight of his gaze is just too much to ignore. Gentle hands push the hair away from my face, and I finally force my eyes open. “There she is.”

That voice . . .

“Hi,” I whisper, and Rhys’s sleepy smile turns hungry as he leans over me. His bare chest just out of reach as I soak in every inch of his golden skin. With the tips of my fingers, I trace a line of his tattoos along the arm that’s propping him up and follow the corded muscles along to his face, where it’s too easy to get lost in the way he’s looking at me.

My thumb skims his lip, and I feel myself falling but forget to care. To breathe. To think. About anything. Not how different we are or what a bad idea this is. The throb in my head falls away, and the only thing I feel is him and this magnetic pull between us.

Rhys kisses my thumb, and I feel. It. Everywhere.

Pulling at every electric spark arcing between us.

With a lazy, sexy smile, he takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles.

And I suck in a breath at the contact⁠—

Wait . . .

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

My heart hammers inside my chest as I try to refocus my eyes.

Am I still drunk?

I blink, hoping I’m seeing things.

Oh God . . . it’s still there.

“Rhys . . .” Hysteria works its way up my throat until I’m choking. “Why do I have a diamond ring on my finger?” I try to pull my hand away, but Rhys refuses to let go.

“I’m fairly certain I demanded to be let in the royal vault after . . .” His words die off as he smirks. Smirks, like he’s not telling me he put a royal ring on my finger.

“After what?” I demand.

A curse falls from his lips as a muscle in his jaw tenses. “After we got married.”

“We what?” My voice cracks as I sit up, and the room spins around me. “Oh God.”noveldrama

My heart beats so fast, I feel like it’s going to explode out of my chest.

“I can’t . . . I can’t breathe,” I whisper.

He presses his lips to my temple. “Shh . . . you’re okay. Breathe, love. In through your nose and out through your mouth.”

“I’m a nurse. I don’t need to be walked through calming a panic attack,” I snap and refuse to admit that I’m doing exactly what he said because nurse or not, I’m pretty sure my brain isn’t firing on all cylinders right now, and breathing isn’t coming naturally.

His big palm slides under my t-shirt that I’m realizing is actually his.

Hmmm, that smells good.

Okay, focus on that.

Focus on him.

On the feel of his hand on my back and his lips pressed against my skin.

I can do that.

A whisper of a memory slowly comes back to me.

Atticus insisting he could marry us.

That he was ordained online.

He showed us the license on his phone.

“It wasn’t legal though . . . right?” I plead. This cannot be happening. There’s absolutely no way I got married to a prince—in a bar. “Atticus couldn’t really marry us, could he? Not officially, right?” I might be grasping at straws, but as I stare at the hand holding mine, and the platinum band on Rhys’s finger and what I’m realizing now is actually three rings on my ring finger, my heart speeds up again.

“No, love, he couldn’t.” His eyes soften, and I take my first deep breath. “But we stopped by the bishop’s house on the palace grounds.” Rhys grimaces and looks away from me for the first time, and my heart sinks. “I believe I demanded he marry us.”

“You did what?” I shriek, horrified.

“You really don’t remember any of last night?” He kisses my palm, and it’s like an electric current jolts through me.

A current that feels familiar.

One I felt on the island.

One I felt last night.

“Do you remember?” I ask.

“Every fucking second of it,” Rhys growls, and something about that sound and the feral look in his eyes sets my body on fire.

Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I know this is a bad idea.

I’m positive getting closer to him isn’t going to help anything.

And maybe later . . . I’ll care.

But right now . . . with him this close . . .

Fuck it.

“Then make me remember too.”

“Fuck, Bellamy . . .” he pulls back and those sapphire blue eyes stare into me like he’s seeing into my soul. “I’d trade my next fucking breath to kiss you, but you better be sure.”

Rhys

There’s not a damn thing about this that’s sane.

It shouldn’t make sense. But somehow, it does. She does.

I’m not sure I’ve ever done anything for myself before, but this woman . . . this woman is for me.

With heated eyes and a smile I’m not sure I want to live without, she pulls me down. “Kiss me, Rhys.”

I fight the urge to crush my mouth against hers.

To take what we both desperately want.

What we’ve been fighting for days.

Instead, slowly, I lean down and brush my mouth over hers, groaning when her sweet taste explodes on my lips.

Bellamy moans, and the electricity that’s been between us since the first minute I laid my eyes on her ignites. A living, breathing thing between us.

My cock jumps in my boxer briefs as I slide one hand in her soft hair and tug, tilting her head and deepening the kiss. My other hand slides under my t-shirt that’s covering her body and molds to her soft curves as I drag her closer.

Craving more.

Demanding everything.

My princess.

My wife.

Dragging my mouth along her jaw and down the column of her throat, I graze my teeth over that sweet spot where her shoulder meets her neck, and her back arches as she claws at my shoulders, desperate to get us closer.

Her sexy sigh is barely more than a whimper as her hands coast over the planes of my back and her nails score my skin.

The electricity between us burns hotter and higher, threatening to engulf us.

And my dick throbs, hard as steel, desperate for her heat.

As if knowing what I need, she wraps her legs around my waist, and we both moan at the first contact, and I grip her hips, holding her to the bed.

“You are intoxicating, little bee.” My fingers bite into her smooth skin, memorizing the way her soft curves fit perfectly against the hard planes of my body. Like she was meant to be mine. “Your body was made to be worshipped.”

“Then worship me,” she commands like no one ever has or will again.

Our tongues dance a slow dance. Discovering. Exploring. Setting every fucking nerve ending ablaze until this thing between us is a towering inferno, threatening to burn out of control and destroy everything in its wake.

And fuck if I wouldn’t welcome the flames.

Bellamy moans as I slide down her body and press a kiss to the curve of one hip and stare up at her. Silently asking for permission before sliding my hands under her shirt.

Her fingers pull at my hair, and her heels dig into my ass, urging me on . . . and then she smiles . . . and that smile is all the permission I’ll ever need.

I’d give my last fucking breath for that smile.

I slide her shirt off and take one perfectly peaked nipple in my mouth as her hips lift, seeking relief.

“Shh, love . . .” I swirl my tongue, and my cock fights the constraints of my boxers as she moans. “I’ll give you what you need.”

“Please,” she pants, grinding against me.

The heat of her pussy is so fucking tempting. “I’ll give you everything you ever want, Bellamy. But your body . . .”—I slide my hand down and cup her sex—“your cunt, is mine. And I’m going to take my time with you.”

My fingers trace the edge of her panties before I push them aside and tease her smooth pussy. And damn, the sound she makes is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. “You’re going to come on my hand.” I stroke her once, and her back bows off the bed. “And my mouth.” Gently . . . so fucking gently, I rub a circle around her clit without touching it. “And my cock.” A beautiful, guttural moan falls from her lips when I finally push a finger inside. “And then you’re going to get on your knees⁠—”

A phone rings somewhere in my room at the same time someone pounds on the door.

I ignore it all. “Fucking drenched for me.”

“Rhys.” She throws her head back and moans as a knock comes again.

“Go the fuck away,” I command, and press my lips to hers as I push a second finger inside her.

Bellamy’s legs tighten around me.

“Your Royal Highness, it’s urgent.”

My phone rings again, but I fucking refuse to stop as Bellamy’s thighs tremble. “That’s it, little bee. Let me have what I want.”

Her eyes are heavy and unfocused as I press my thumb against her clit, and she comes apart for me for the first time. The first of many, if I have my say.

“Fucking beautiful.” I drag my fingers from her body and trace her lips, then lick them clean. “Fucking delicious too. I’m going to feast on you⁠—”

“Your Royal Highness,” whoever the hell is on the other side of my door calls out as my phone continues to ring.

“Someone had better be dead,” I growl and brush my lips over hers as I push up from the bed. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”

A beautiful, sex-drunk smile slides into place on her face. One I put there. One I plan on keeping there. “I don’t think I could move if I tried.”

“Well, that’s enough to make me feel like a king.” I force myself away and open the door, furious to see Devon standing outside. “This had better be the most important news of your life.”

He dips his head in a heavy bow. “Sir . . .”

“Spit it out, man. I have better things to get back to.” Things I make sure I’m blocking any view of with my body because as much as last night was impulsive and kind of perfect, it was also rash and will definitely lead to a royal-sized headache when I’m forced to deal with it in a few hours. Grandfather is going to kill me when I tell him what I’ve done and that I have no intentions of undoing it.

“The king is dead, sir,” he stutters. “And you are . . . in fact . . . Sir . . .”

I stand frozen in place.

What did he just say?

He bows again.

“Long live the king.”