The Dare (Truth or Dare Book 1)

“Again, I’d like to offer my utmost apologies and beg forgiveness from the Royal family,” Colton says from the television in his penthouse apartment. “There are no excuses for my behavior, and I’d like to reiterate that Miss Stryker is entirely blameless in the entire incident.”

“Is it true that you’re moving home to London, Colton? Bringing not only your sweetie but an American company with you?” The Good Morning, Britain host is digging for dirt, hoping for first run at some juicy gossip.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss business matters, but yes, I am coming home. And I’m bringing Elle with me.”

Even through the screen, he looks like a man in love. And that has been our saving grace in the media circus. It’s one thing to badger someone over sordid acts. It’s quite another when Colton and I have stood up and apologized profusely, stating that we are in love and were celebrating.

It seems ‘we got carried away’ settles quite a few feathers as new lovebirds who are committed to one another and to London. Who knew the British were so enamored with love?

Or at least that’s how I’m choosing to see it. Colton is a bit more practical and thinks they’ve just all done some public snogging and are feeling ‘right jammy they weren’t the ones caught with their arse in the air.’

Luckily, it also seems that the princess didn’t see as much as we feared. She was fitted for glasses just a week after the whole incident and debuted the chic pink frames at a belated birthday celebration. Thank heavens for small favors.

Whatever it is, I’ll take it because I do not want to see my O-face on the cover of a tabloid ever again.

Colton’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “Turn that thing off. I don’t want to hear myself playing nice again.”

I don’t do it right away, instead freezing the frame so I can appreciate just how gorgeous he is. Back when he used to walk past my lobby desk, I thought he was the big, bad Wolfe and wanted him to eat me up. Now, I can see the many facets of him. Yes, he is a monster in the boardroom, and even occasionally in the bedroom. But he’s also the little boy who needs some assurance sometimes, the serious man who needs an injection of fun, and the one who holds my heart with tender care.

“Busted!” he calls out, coming into the room with a tray, which he sets down on the coffee table. I quickly turn off the television in favor of the treats he’s brought. He’s got a decadent spread of cheeses and slices of meats, strawberries, and tiny bits of toasted bread crackers for us to celebrate his proposal win. It’s a small, at-home celebration, just the two of us, which feels right after all the hard work we put into it. Even if Nan was the true savior. “Hope you’re hungry?”

“As a horse,” I say, stuffing a cracker, cheese, and meat stack into my mouth all at once.

His brows jump together. “Are horses particularly hungry? Like compared to say, a cow or a sheep? What makes horses so starved?”

I laugh, spewing crumbs everywhere. “I don’t know! It’s just a saying.”

He nods, eyes dancing. “Ah, more of these American idioms so obsessed with animals.”

We both laugh, falling back onto the couch. I kick my feet a bit, accidentally knocking the edge of the tray like the graceful swan I am. It spills his tidy display of dinner into a mess of food. “Oops! My bad.”

He shakes his head. “It’s quite alright, love. I’m finding I rather like a bit of your brand of crazy in my day. And my night. It’s all still edible. You just have to search a bit to find what you want.” He demonstrates by exaggeratingly looking for a slice of cheese to add to his cracker-meat stack. There are at least four slices of cheddar right in front of his face that he purposefully overlooks in favor of looking under my shirt.

“Definitely not any cheese there. But there might be a little something you could nibble on.” I lift a brow, daring him.

He shoves his own unfinished stack into my mouth. “Hope you got enough, horse. Let’s go.” He stands, pulling me to my feet as I try to chew the too-big bite.

“Diff yu juss call me a horf?” I say, or try to say. I swallow and try again. “Did you just call me a horse?”

Colton smiles so big his rarely seen dimple pops out. I’m a lucky bitch because I get to see it all the time. It feels like my own secret.

He shrugs. ‘You did first. Hungry as a . . .’ he leads me. Before I can smack him, he bends down to toss me over his shoulder as I sputter. “Tally-ho!” he yells, spanking my ass.

From my upside-down vantage, I bite his cheek through his cotton sweatpants. “Don’t call me a ho too!” Truthfully, I don’t care in the least. He can call me whatever he wants because I know where he’s going as he takes the stairs two at a time.

He’s getting a workout today, and we haven’t even started.

As he tosses me onto our tennis-court-sized bed, I scissor my legs, already feeling the heat building there. “Hey, Colton?” He’s shoving down his pants, rock-hard cock in hand as he looks at me.

“If I’m a horse . . .” His lips quirk, doing that no-smile thing that tells me he’s laughing on the inside. “Then I dare you . . . to ride me hard all night long.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Elle. Tally-fuckin’-ho!”

He grabs my ankle, pulling me to the edge of the bed and spinning me around so that my head hangs off. With his cock right in front of me, I lick from his balls to his crown, enjoying his hiss as a sign of my good work. “Yes, suck me, love.”

He slips into my mouth, into my throat easily at this angle, and I moan against him. His hands pull at my nightgown, gathering it up to expose my body to his eyes, his hands.

He plucks at my nipples, and I arch, begging for more. With a groan, he folds over me, shoving my legs wide so he can lap at my pussy. The new angle pushes him deeper into my mouth, and I almost gag, but he sucks my clit hard and I cry out. The distraction and cry are exactly what I need to open my throat and let him in comfortably.

We work each other like that, him in my mouth and his mouth on me, getting closer and closer to the edge. Of the bed, and of coming. But I know he won’t let me fall, except into bliss.

“Arr-vung,” I say around his cock as I spasm. He loses his pace for a second but picks back up, his fingers blurring across my clit.

As I float back to earth, I realize he’s fucking my mouth hard and fast. His thighs go tight under my palms a split second before he fills me with his cream. I swallow and swallow, fighting gravity to keep it all.

With a shudder, I hear him growl, “Wow.”

I preen, pleased with myself, but pretty damn pleased with him too because my whole body is tingling with what he did to me. It’s rainbow-coated unicorn sprinkles every time with him.

He pulls out of my mouth slowly, helping me sit up.

“Oh, fuck, hang on.”

So blowjobs, or jobbies, as I’ve taken to calling them too, can be messy business. Saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth, eyes watering, and cum everywhere if it’s too much, too fast. And that’s when you’re right side up and it goes down your chin. Upside down, it goes the other way.

I’ve got tears in my hair, spit going up my cheeks, and I’m pretty sure I just blew a snot bubble.

I don’t care in the least. Sex is sloppy, sweaty fun if you’re doing it right. Colton offers me a warm, wet washcloth, and I wipe my face as he strokes along my skin . . . across my collarbone, down my arm, and back up to trace my neck. I know where he’s going. Ear lobe loving man. Sure enough, he holds it between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it like most men would appreciate a hundred-dollar bill.

“What did you say as you came?” he says softly. “I wasn’t sure you were okay, but you damn near chased me with that hungry pussy.”

I grin behind the washcloth. “It’s sort of an inside joke. It just came out unintentionally.”

His brows knit together. “What did you say?”

“I’m arriving?” I say, knowing I’m blushing ten shades of red. “It’s a British thing, right?”

He laughs, but I’m not sure he gets the joke because he says, “You Americans are quite funny sometimes.”

But it’s not Americans. It’s the British who crack me up, with their properness and fancy pinkie-finger tea parties, who curse like sailors and talk about snogging all the time.

I think they’re pretty perfect. Or at least Colton is. And Lizzie and Nan, too.