Page 72 of Royal Desire

“Had I known, I would’ve hidden these until tomorrow. You wearing my clothes would’ve given me great satisfaction.” He stands and doesn’t stop until we’re toe-to-toe. I’m forced to suck in a breath when he touches my shoulder with the tip of his finger and drags it all the way down my sensitive, damp skin. “Get dressed. We have things to talk about. But tonight I’ll be the one doing all the talking. There will be no tequila for you. I need you stone-cold sober for all of it.”

I lick my lips. “You make it sound so ominous.”

He grabs me by the hips this time, but not to pull me close. To push past me. “That’s because it is. I’m going to shower so I don’t smell like a chimney. Just a warning, I shower ten times faster than you. I’m coming out whether you’re dressed or not.”

I step into the bedroom to give him privacy. He flips on the water to the walk-in shower. What he does not do is shut the door.

He’s really not going to shut the door. I hurry to the bed and dump the bags unceremoniously into a pile.

Wow.

Harlow Madison is a billionaire. I get that she doesn’t have a shopping budget. But if this is what she just “threw together” from her closet to lend me at the last minute goes to show I have no clue how the other half lives. Heck, there’s even brand-new panties with the tags on them, and not just one pair. There are three.

Who keeps brand new panties around just in case someone’s house burns down?

I guess billionaires do.

I remember who I’m dealing with and that I’m on the clock. I scoot to the edge of the bed, drop my towel to the floor, and rip the tag off a pair of panties. I feel like Cinderella, because they fit just fine.

I barely have the chance to pull a tank over my head with a pair of pajama shorts when the water to the shower flips off.

I shouldn’t do it.

I know I shouldn’t.

But what woman wouldn’t?

So I do.

I tiptoe two steps to the side. Through the open door, I have a clear view of the shower opposite the vanity mirror.

Dear God, sweet Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

I’ve seen that man naked before, but times have changed.

Muscle.

I had no idea muscles were the work of the Lord, but Payne is proof they are.

Yes, I knew he was bigger and bulkier than he was when we were twenty. But bigger and bulkier in clothes is vastly different than when he’s naked. Payne is a work of art.

One could chisel a diamond on his ass.

His back looks like he competed in the Olympics ... in a pool ... doing that butterfly thing.

My hand flies to my mouth to cover my gasp when he turns.

It’s been over a decade, but there’s one organ on Payne that is just as impressive as it ever was.

His cock.

I remember the first time I saw it. It didn’t matter how many times I researched the male anatomy, how it works, and what it looks like. Because when the time came, I was determined not to be stupid, innocent, or the worst, a disappointment.

Payne was my first, but I was also his. I wanted to rock his world as much as I counted on him to rock mine.

If cocks could age like fine wine or good bourbon, then Payne would be on every billboard. Can they become thicker? Bulkier?