Content of Note: Adult 18+. Minor spoilers if you haven’t yet read, Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part 1. Not Safe for Work (NSFW) illustrations by Sunni Rae Art (@sunni_rae_art). You will find NSFW and SFW download links below the excerpt.
I’m steps away from the smaller dining room off the north terrace that my father prefers for lunch when my phone vibrates in my hand. Sunlight is streaming through gold-framed window arches, dappling the thick carpet that runs down the center of the corridor. Unlike the oldest areas of the castle, the newer sections aren’t just long runs of ancient stone corridors dotted with small, mostly windowless rooms.
I glance at the screen, hoping to see a text message revealing that the certain-to-be uncomfortable meal has been delayed or even outright cancelled.
I find something even better.
A text from Rian.
Apparently, he’s noticed that I programmed my number into his phone before I left his rooms. He really should have the phone’s security measures engaged.
And … it’s not just a simple text message.
His adorably simple Hi is paired with an utterly delectable picture of him — bare chested with his hand shoved into the front of his unbuttoned jeans as he stares intensely straight at the camera, straight at me. The essence of his beast rings his eyes in a slightly brighter green. His hair is still damp from a shower. I can see the edge of the still-open window of the loft and a hint of the mountain vista over his shoulder.
My knees go weak. Weak enough that I have to press one hand to the wall, papered in velvet brocade, to steady myself as desire literally floods my entire system. My heart rate jackknifes, then all but thrums in my chest. I actually dampen my panties.
Another text message follows the picture.
>Four new, fucking gorgeous, multimillion-euro horses in my ring. But I can’t stop thinking about your tight cunt wrapped around my cock, Highness.
>The mere memory of you wrecks me.
I don’t know how to answer. Not with words carefully composed and typed into a tiny window. Not with my limbs quivering with renewed desire. Not without taking the time necessary to analyze, dissect, what I’m feeling. Then the extra time it will take to figure out how the fuck I’m going to keep, keep and protect, what has so quickly grown between Rian and me.
So instead, I slip into the next empty room — the silver-service storage area for the north terrace dining room — not caring that doing so will make me late. I lock the door, though the serving staff is likely done in here for the next hour.
Then I break a fundamental rule.
Not quite knowing who I am anymore — the changes, choices, disintegration, and growth is all coming too quickly for me to navigate with any sort of rationality — I strip off the stupid sweater set, mussing my hair and not caring.
I tug down one of the cups of my practically virginal off-white lace bra, exposing my tight nipple and knowing that my otherwise boring cream skin is offset by the dark tip. Then I bite the pearl necklace between my teeth, and I take a fucking selfie looking directly at the camera lens of my phone.
My purple-hued eyes are fucking glowing. Again.
And I look … real.
Shockingly real. Not the painted, perfected facade of the princess. I look playful and … dangerous. It’s the eyes, of course. Not that I can wield the power that underlies the dark deeds those glowing orbs promise.
I look … fuckable.
I don’t let myself analyze the selfie any further than that. Or question the impulse to take it.
I send the photo back to Rian.
If he truly wants to be a millionaire at age eighteen, I’ve just handed him a winning ticket.
I wrestle my bra back into place. I’m reaching for the sweater set when he texts back.
>Fuck.
The memory of him shouting that as I’d licked his warm, hard length last night shudders through my mind. But in an actual attempt to not be too late for lunch, I get dressed instead of answering, smoothing my hair and stepping over to unlock the door.
My screen flashes again.
>I just fucking came.
>Everywhere.
>Just by fucking looking at you.
>Tonight?
I swallow hard. I really, really try to not think about him jerking off to my photo. I’m unsuccessful. Rian is far too easily present in my mind’s eye to be denied.
My hand shakes as I type back.
Yes. Please.
>Come to me. Leave the necklace.
>You’ll be wearing my fucking pearls.
I laugh quietly, but utterly giddy. No one talks to me like that. No one has ever really … wanted me. Rian Callaghan might actually melt my mind.
I can somehow figure out how to do my duty and still have that. Still have Rian. Right? Even if just for these few moments. I can have him, hold him, taste him, right?
No one would blame me or question me for wanting him, keeping him. Just as Anne didn’t question me when she collected me from the stables.
I save Rian’s photo in a triple-password-protected directory on my phone, then delete the text thread.
But not before I text back.
Promise?
And he replies,
>Anytime. Anywhere. With you.
– Mirth, Part 1, Chapter 4
Download full-resolution Not Safe for Work versions (to make your own wallpapers, etc) here: Mirth NSFW Selfie & Rian NSFW selfie
Download full-resolution Safe For Work CROPPED versions (to make your own wallpapers, etc) here: Mirth SFW Selfie & Rian SFW selfie
