Delayed by Nathan Kingsly (the false prince TXT) 📗

“I thought that your laugh was my favorite thing, but now that I’ve heard your moans and little gasps, I think I’ve changed my mind. I’m addicted to making you feel good,” I say, with my smile.

“You won’t hear me complain.”

“It’s good to know there’s one thing you won’t fight me on.”

When she laughs, I think about changing my mind again. With a sigh, I pull out and flop back onto my pillow. Only a minute passes when Emma moves up the bed. She presses her back against my side, and she knows I can’t resist holding her.

Burying my nose in her hair at the curve of her neck, I breathe her in. Such a sweet, relaxing scent, even mixed with the sex perfuming the room. Trying not to close my eyes will be a losing battle. With her wrapped in my arms, the tension in my limbs is already fading fast.

Jolting straight into a seated position, I look around.

Emma is up, gripping the sheet around her. When our eyes meet, hers are wide and frightened.

“What was that?” Her tone seems far away, as if we were driving a car down the highway with the windows down.

I shake my head, not knowing the answer but having a good idea. The click of the bedside table light garners no result, the only light still coming from the gap in the curtains. Lightning strikes, close, and through squinted eyes, I see it. Getting out of bed, I investigate—the window is splintered at the center; a pinprick is gone from the glass.

My eyes search the floor, and a perfect round globe of ice has rolled halfway into the room.

“Hail,” I shout and point it out. Not checking to see if she looks, I search around to find something to plug the hole. Remembering the kit, I pull it from the closet and rummage in it.

Even with the low light, I can tell there’s nothing in here for this, but I do come across the matches and set them out on the dresser. Looking around again, I see a napkin flapping under our forgotten paper coffee cups.

With careful fingers, I stuff it into the hole after wadding up one end. Relief on my eardrums is immediate. Looking over, Emma still seems rattled.

“You okay?”

She looks up. “To be honest, I forgot about the storm for a while.”

I nod. “So did I.”

I’m a foot away from the bed to comfort her when we jump and look towards the door. It comes again, and then a muffled male voice. “Anyone in there?”

“Yeah,” I call back. Grabbing the nearest piece of clothing, I try and put it on to discover it’s several sizes too small.

“Everyone alright?” he asks.

Emma giggles as I tear her leggings down my calves. The sound of her amusement loosens some of the anxiety enough for me to smile. I throw them to her as I go searching again. Boxers, I pull them over my hips.

“Can you answer the door?”

Looking through the peephole, I recognize the guy from the front desk. He's twitchy, looking up and down the hall. Assessing the threat, I decided to answer the door. It doesn’t escape me that I forgot earlier to lock us in. The deadbolt, with the chain undone, sends cold shivers down the back of my neck making the hair there rise.

“Yeah?” I say as I rub the prickles away.

He takes a step back, giving me the once over, before looking back down the hall. I take a look myself, and I see several people out of their rooms, mostly men.

“Sorry to disturb you sir, but we need volunteers to help with preventive measures. The storm’s gotten … “

“Yeah, it’s getting bad. It cracked a hole in the window.” I point over my shoulder. “What do you need?”

He tries to peer over me, but I shift into his view. He swallows, and his eyes cast down, listing things with his fingers. “Sandbags for the entrances into the building, inventory of the supplies, secure and stock our last resort location--”

“I can help with the inventory,” Emma says around my shoulder while she hands me my jeans.

“Thanks.” He says, and that’s when he looks at me over his glasses. “Will you also be volunteering?”

“Sandbags,” I say flatly. “Then inventory.”

“A--A-Alright.” He walks off and knocks on the door next to ours. I close the door before our neighbor answers.

“I wish you hadn’t volunteered,” I say gruffly.

“But I can help.”

Pulling the jeans up, I button them, then go searching for my shirt. “It could get dangerous.”

“Counting stuff can get dangerous?” Sarcasm seeps into her tone.

“Depending on the location of the things you’re counting, yes,” I growl.

“Calm down, caveman. You, by far, will be in more danger than me. If anyone has the right to be annoyed, it's me. What am I going to tell our imaginary future kids if you die on our honeymoon from hell?” Kids? Now there’s a thought. Fuck, I am in real trouble.

I bite my lip, trying to hold onto my frustration, but it’s useless. “Fine, but don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

“You, happy, never.”

I grunt as she slams into my back. At the last second, I catch myself from falling to the ground as I grip her legs as they come around my abdomen. I swallow around the pressure of her arms before I can adjust her on my back.

“Giddy-up, we got some shit to do.”

Shaking my head, I swing one of my hands back and catch her ass in a sound smack. She squeals and adjusts on my back. “A little warning next time,” I say as I walk to the door.

“Nope, I won’t let you take out the fun.”

“Fun for who?”

“Me, obviously.”

“You’re crazy.”

Swinging the door open, I have to crouch so Emma doesn’t hit her head on the frame. When we get down to the lobby, she’s one of the few women to volunteer. One of them being the older lady from yesterday,