Jenneke

“I was never a fan of golf. It’s too slow. Too quiet. Too bloody boring. I like my sports the way I like to fuck – wild, loud and dirty.
Football is more my game. Or rugby. Full body contact. Polo is all right too.
Hell, at this point, I’d settle for an energetic Quidditch match.”
― Emma Chase, Royally Matched

“I saw your interview,” she tells me. “You should smile more. You used to seem like such a happy boy.”

“I’ll try to remember to pretend to be happier.”
― Emma Chase, Royally Screwed

“Five thousand dollars? For a kiss?”

“That’s what I said.”

“With tongue?”

“It’s not really a kiss without it.
Just say yes, pet. You obviously need the money.”

I gasp before I can stop myself. I didn’t think five words from a stranger could hurt so much. What a dick.

“For fuck’s sake, Nicholas,” Simon says.

But he just looks at me, waiting, those arrogant green eyes alight with anticipation. So I give him what he’s waiting for.

“Hands under the table,” I order.

He smiles wider, puts his flask in his pocket, and does what he’s told.

“Close your eyes.”

“I like a woman who’s not afraid to take charge.”

“No more talking.” He’s said more than enough.

I lean in, keeping my eyes open the whole time, memorizing every angle of that face, feeling his warm breath against my cheek. This close, I can see the shadow of stubble on his chin and for just a second, I let myself wonder what it would feel like scratching against my stomach, my thighs—everywhere.

Then in one move, I pick up his plate—and smash the apple pie in his stupid, handsome face.

“Kiss this, asshole.”
― Emma Chase, Royally Screwed

“King.
Christ my stomach rolls every time I think the word. When someone says it aloud I gag. If’ I’m supposed to be the Great Royal Hope for my country, we’re all well and truly fucked.”
― Emma Chase, Royally Matched