Royally Bad (Royally Wrong Book 1)

It doesn’t have to crimp your party life. Or sex life.”
“You can ride my ass anytime.”
I give up, rolling away from him and setting the alarm on my phone before turning off the light.
Behind me Theo shifts, and presses his body against mine, lining it up behind me.
His arm comes around, wrapping around me over the blanket.
My body is alive, holding its breath. I wait for him to pull me to him, to kiss me and do all manner of naughty things that would shock a porn star, not to mention Miss Mavery.
But he doesn’t, so I fall asleep.
I jerk awake when my phone buzzes like an angry bee.
I grab it, squinting to check it. Three a.m.
“Do you have to keep that thing on?” Theo asks. In sleep he threaded his legs through mine, tangling us together.
I power the cell down, and let Theo take it and set it aside.
His cock probes me as I settle back. He says nothing more, but from his breathing I can tell he’s wide awake.
“Theo?”
“Mmm?”
“Why didn’t your grandmother want to meet you until now?” It’s a blunt question, but the darkness softens it.
“I’ve always wondered that,” his voice is muffled behind me. “My dad told me she hated him. Hated that her daughter ran away and abandoned everything she’d been raised to do.
So she shunned her own grandson? How sad.
“My dad went to work to prove himself. Built an empire. And then he died.” Bitterness laces Theo’s tone.
“I’m sorry. You deserve to have family.” You deserve to be loved.
He holds me tighter, and I find his hand, stroke his wrist. His fingers squeeze mine, and then slide downward.
“What are you doing?” His hand brushes my stomach, breaching my baggy t-shirt before slipping under my yoga pants. I hold my breath as he cups my hot, throbbing pussy.
“Theo—”
“Shhh,” he mutters. “You need this.” I need this, I hear his unspoken thought. Diverting from difficult emotions to promiscuous sex. Story of Theo’s life.
At the moment, I don’t care. His fingers stroke up and down, the lightest of touches. The coil of arousal tightens. I whimper and he delves deeper, soothing the ache even as he makes it worse.
This is a bad idea.
“No, it’s a not,” he says, and I realize I spoke aloud. “Let go. Let me take care of you.”
I relax, all but my hips, which cant back and forth against his touch. His index finger finds the spot next to my clit and flicks it until I shift, restless. Pleasure builds in me, threatening to take over. It’s too much. I want to shy away. Theo drapes his leg over mine, capturing me, keeping me still so my orgasm can catch me.
My climax blooms slowly, spreading through my breathless body, blanking my mind. Theo keeps up the light, fluttering touches until my inner muscles clench and spasm, begging for more.
I sigh and sink further into his body. God in the sheets.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and he kisses the back of my neck.
“Go to sleep.”
I do, wondering if I’ll be able to keep Theo’s dick out of the press—and my pants.
The Kid’s Olympics is at the stadium downtown. We leave the mansion at eight a.m., in a convoy of Escalades. Theo opted to ride with me. I frown at my phone the whole time, scrolling through newsfeeds, but I feel him watching.
The dirt on Pepper Spice Mina found yesterday has done its work, deflecting attention from Theo. Between his demure statement (crafted by me) and his positive photo op at the skate park, he’s looking a lot better in the news. People are willing to forgive a rich, handsome guy and his sexual exploits a lot faster than they would anyone else.
Sexist, but it’s true.
“We’re here,” Evans announces when we pull up to the stadium.
“No press,” Theo mouths as we walk in, and I nod.
He accepts a complimentary volunteer shirt, and my hand itches to grab my phone, take a picture, and send it to my friend at Good News, America.
Instead, I accept a shirt as well, and plunge in.
The day whirls by. At one point, Evans calls me over to tell me the Wall Street Journal wants to do a write up of Theo’s dad and Kensington, Inc. and they want a quote from Theo.
“Tell them we’re preparing for an audience with the Queen, and that we’ll have something to them by Friday.” I can only hope Theo will commit to cleaning up his act by then. At least today he seems to be having fun. The kids flocking him don’t bother him at all. Plenty of parents are here, too, and ask for pictures. Apparently, Theo’s skateboarding prowess is enough to make him popular with the kids, and his status as a scandalous public figure—on level with the Kardashians—is enough to make him a minor celebrity with the adults.
And Theo? He just hangs out with the kids, and enjoys himself. Biceps flexing as he lifts one up to make a slam dunk. Tattoos peeking out from under the volunteer shirt he wears. Sexy smile drawing yoga-pant wearing moms like flies to honey. And these women’s yoga pants are skin tight.
“I thought you weren’t doing pictures,” I grouse to him at lunch.
“I said no press. I don’t care if the kids want pictures.” He offers me his water bottle. I shake my head and he caps it. “Why, you jealous?”
“No.”
He throws an arm around me. I push at him, trying to get free, but he’s too strong. His manly scent washes over me, sexy cologne mixed with the smell of the popcorn they sell at the stadium. He smells like a teenager on a first date.
My cheeks heat, remembering how he held me all night. And then gave me an orgasm.
“Hey,” he calls to his new ten-year-old buddies. “Take a picture of us?”
“Theo—”
“Smile,” he orders, so I do.
Theo has a limo pick up the Bronx kids to take them to the hotel. They’re all wide smiles, brimming with