by Tamara Lush
I draw him close again, seeking his heaviness atop me. Even though I probably won’t orgasm with him inside me, the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of me is heady.
“I’m so close.” He lets out a groan.
“Come for me.” I bite his ear and that seems to turn him on because he lets out a guttural, low noise of pleasure. “I wish you weren’t wearing a condom so you could fill me up with your cum.”
The thrill of the taboo sends a jolt through my lust-soaked body. My goodness. Where did those words come from? I’ve never before talked dirty to a man.
“Fuck, you’re so hot. Give me your mouth, Bella.”
We kiss hard and deep, and he thrusts into me with equal roughness. He presses his mouth into my cheek and exhales, his moan turning into a low, primitive noise.
“That’s it, Tate,” I whisper. “Come for me. Inside me.”
He finishes and rolls away. We lie, tangled together, in silence, as he nuzzles my neck with his nose. The sun’s nearly dipped below the horizon now.
“I like this room.” My voice sounds faraway and hazy. “How you can see the water and the sunset from the bed.”
He kisses my neck. “I almost made this the master bedroom. I chose the one upstairs because it has a balcony attached.”
“Hmm, I guess I’ll have to see the sunset from up there to decide which room I like better.”
He chuckles and sits up, climbing off the bed. “I can arrange that. Be right back, I’m going to dispose of this.”
I turn my head to watch his taut butt as he pads to the bathroom. Then I allow my eyes to flutter shut. Between the post-sex bliss, the fading daylight, and the perfect, warm temperature, I’m more relaxed and content than I’ve been in months. Years, even.
After what seems like a few minutes, I feel the sagging of the mattress next to me, then Tate’s lips on my forehead.
“You want to sleep this early? Or how about dinner? I can throw some chicken on the grill.”
My eyelids open slowly and alight on his handsome face. I reach up to trace his smooth jaw with my finger and notice that he’s wearing a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt that says Dog Dad AF. Somewhere in my body, my heart and ovaries are huddled together, about to explode.
“I think I like you better with the scruff.”
He lets out a soft laugh. “Scruff it is.”
“Mmmm. Did I fall asleep?”
“Yeah, for about fifteen minutes. I went into the bathroom, and when I came out, you were snoring a little.”
“No!”
“Yep. It was a cute snore. Like a toy chainsaw.”
“That’s not very princess-like,” I mutter.
Tate grins. “I think the things you did before that when we were in bed were even less princess-like.”
My face flares with heat as I recall porny snippets from earlier. Goodness, was he incredible in bed. Dangerously so.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“No apologies necessary.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
He shrugs and brushes my hair off my cheek. “I went out into the kitchen to grab my phone. I wanted to check in with Ma on Chunky.”
I open my eyes fully now. “Shouldn’t we go get the little bear prince?”
Tate busts out laughing. “The little bear prince?”
My hands go to his waist, and I tickle his skin with my fingers. “It’s a children’s book in my country. It’s about a bear who finds a magic honey pot and becomes a prince. He’s the same color as Chunky.”
“I see. Oh, right. Your country’s known for honey.”
I nod, thinking about the vast fields of sunflowers near my family’s palace and the pure golden honey that comes from the bees found only in Montignac. A pang of homesickness radiates through me.
“I wish you could see my country. Maybe someday.”
“Maybe someday.” Tate must sense my melancholy, because he kisses me on the forehead. “The little bear prince is fine with Ma tonight. I think she knows I want time alone with you. That I don’t want to give up a half hour to go pick up the dog. And she understands that you don’t want to deal with cameras and reporters right now. Still, she’d love for us to go over for dinner sometime.”
“I wish we could just hop in the car and drive over to your parents’ house, unmolested,” I sigh. “I’m sorry to make your life complicated.”
His fingers trail between my breasts. “It’s not a big deal. Really. I’ll get Chunky tomorrow morning. By the time you get up, he’ll be here. Then you two can spend the day together.”
“Thank you. You’re so good to me.” I pause. “Nobody’s been this sweet to me in a long time. Maybe ever.”
He kisses the tip of my nose. “I have a difficult time believing that.”
“People are nice and wonderful. But it’s always because they want something, or they feel an obligation. You’re the first person who’s treated me like a…person and not a princess.”
“Royalty doesn’t mean a lot to me, Bella. You’re just a woman to me. An incredible, brilliant, caring, and gorgeous woman. But the fact that you won the birth lottery? Eh. Doesn’t register either way. Actually, it’s more of a pain than anything.” He stretches out next to me and scoops me up in one arm.
I frown. “I thought you were done with me. Because of all the crap we went through today at the courthouse.” I wrap myself around his body, wanting more contact with his body.
He turns his head and kisses my eyebrow. “No. I can deal with photographers and crowds. But I had to ask about Jacques. I can’t compete with a guy who’s going to be a king.”
I prop myself up on one arm so I can look him squarely in the face. The last thing I want is for Tate to be insecure, or unsure, about how I feel. Especially not after the deeply intense afternoon we’d just had.
He might remind me of my favorite vintage champagne, which is wildly expensive and consumed only on special occasions. But what if I want him every day, and not just as a once-in-a-lifetime experience? What if I want to take him home to my country?
What if I want something permanent and wake up to him every morning? Sure, we’re from different worlds. But so what? Maybe even my parents would warm to him after they disown me for a few years. My friends would love him, Poppy especially. How could anyone not adore his upbeat charm, his humor, his charisma and intelligence? I’d succumbed almost immediately.
“Tate, I don’t want a king. I want a man. Which means I want you.”
Eighteen
Tate
Dude, check this out
I let out a sigh. My brother Max seems to be my unofficial, unappointed, campaign press officer. Guy can’t stop sending me tabloid reports about Bella.
I don’t care, dude
This one’s about Chunky. It’s actually hilarious.
Chunky? What the—? Scowling, I tap on my phone, over to the article. Then I glance up at Bella, who is reading and drinking coffee on the sofa in nothing but one of my button-down shirts. Seeing her in that shirt makes my balls tingle, like they do when I’m about to get a hard-on.
She looks up. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s great. You okay?”
She grins. “I could use a little more coffee.”
“Coming up, babe.” I set my phone down and wander into the living room to grab her coffee mug.
“I’m really into this book,” she murmurs, going back to the novel she’s reading.
“What is it?” I call out as I pour the liquid into her mug.
“I’m actually reading Outlander. I’m kind of late to the party, though.”
“Hmm, I’d meant to watch that.” I pad back into the living room and set the mug down on the table near her.
“Thanks. Maybe we can watch it soon together. I think you might enjoy the story.”
Her smile makes my chest tighten, and I lean to kiss her. “Sounds good, babe. God, you smell good.”
This morning she’s wrapped in a
delicious coconut-jasmine smell. I think it’s her shampoo. Her hair’s loose and drying into a loose wave, so different from when I first saw her with pin-straight locks. Both are gorgeous, but she looks softer now, as if she’s gotten several good nights of sleep.
She’s had several good nights, all right. Just not a lot of sleep. Thanks to me.
“I wish you didn’t have to go into the office today.” She affects a pout and shifts her legs around.
I groan and step away from her, because if I’m near those bare legs too long, I’ll be between them before I know it.
“Only a few hours, since it’s Saturday. I thought Nat was coming over to hang out?”
“She is. She might bring Kate and Lauren, too. We’re going to have a margarita party.” Her voice has a twinge of pride, and I suspect it’s because it’s been a while since she’s had girlfriends. She’d mentioned that a couple of days ago: how her best friend got married, and she didn’t see her often. “We might also give Chunky a bath. He’s starting to smell a little doggy. Aren’t you, my little bear prince?”
With that, she and Chunky—who spends most of his time glued to her when they’re in the same room—start making simultaneous cooing and snorting noises. She’s cooing. Chunky’s snorting.
“Good deal.” I glance at my phone, then back up at Bella, who is squealing with laughter.
“He just put his tongue in my mouth! Gah! Chunky!”
It’s not like I knew what she was like before, but it appears as though she’s getting more and more relaxed the longer she stays. It’s been twelve days since the court hearing, and her case is in limbo as the judge reviews our lawyer’s motion to dismiss.
Twelve days of her in my house—she’s mostly stayed here, although we did sneak out to Kate’s tiki bar and a few other locations on the island. The paparazzi ranks have thinned considerably, and they’re only a minor nuisance and easily avoidable.
Bella says it’s because some barely legal boy band singer was arrested for soliciting a prostitute in Tampa shortly after our hearing in court. Most of the press decamped from the island to cover the scandal up there, and she’s positively ecstatic about these developments—because it means she can almost be a regular person.
I should send that boy band singer a case of champagne or tickets to the Dolphins or something, because his misfortune has given me the best days of my life.
Twelve days of laughter. Twelve days of long, smart conversations. Twelve days of the most mind-blowing sex of my life.
Yeah, I’m definitely falling for her.
I have to force myself not to think about what will happen when her case is closed. Normally, I’m pretty laid back when it comes to relationships. Well, I normally don’t have relationships, I guess. But with Bella, I’m keyed up, anxious, worried even, about the future.
It’s a weird feeling.
I glance down at the phone again. Oh. The article about Chunky. Right. I tap on it, and a fuzzy, close-up photo of Bella walking Chunky on his black leash takes up most of the screen.
The Plain Princess Takes a Stroll in Florida With Porky Pig
“What the hell?” I say out loud, indignant. Bella is not plain, and Chunky’s not fat. Well, not as fat as he used to be. They should’ve seen him when I’d gotten him from the shelter.
“What?” Bella says, her tone tight and thin.
“Oh, it’s the damned tabloids. They somehow got a shot of you walking Chunky. How did they get in here past the guard gate? When did that happen? And I thought most of them left.”
She rolls her eyes and waves her hand dismissively in the air. “Oh, that? I saw that online earlier this morning. Who knows? It could have been anytime. Things have died down to a more manageable level, so who cares. Let’s enjoy the peace and quiet, at least until the next court hearing in a few days.”
She turns back to her book, one hand stroking Chunky’s back.
How can she be so laid back about this? I guess it’s an indication of how common it is for a royal family.
A text flashes on the screen. It’s another one from Max.
Holy crap. This article’s about you. They’re fucking relentless. Are you going to be able to run for office after this? You sure this is all worth it? You sure she’s worth it?
My eyes widen as I swipe to the article. Sure enough, a photo of me is attached to the top of the article, one stolen from my website. There’s also another photo, one of Bella and me walking on the beach.
Our bodies are close together, and it almost looks like I’m holding her hand. I pinch and zoom the screen. The photo was clearly taken with a long lens, and even if I scrutinize it, it’s impossible to tell if we are holding hands.
Hell. It still looks bad, with me being her former lawyer and all.
Princess Isabella’s Legal Prince Charming is the headline.
I roll my eyes. Couldn’t they have come up with a better headline than that? The story itself is pretty tame, mostly a rundown of the kind of law I practice and the cases I’ve argued. It probably could be worse.
Oh, wait.
“It’s interesting that Princess Isabella chose this Mr. Hastings as her counsel,” said William Hanson, the author of A Royal Romp: One Hundred Years of Scandal. “They share a love of the environment and are close in age. It also should be noted that Hastings is single, and according to my sources on the island, is running for Congress in the United States. Perhaps he’s thinking his famous client might give him a political boost.”
Jesus. Hardly.
I keep reading. “The photos of the pair have been interesting in their body language. When in court, they sat quite close to one another, and as they walked out of the courthouse, he kept a firm hand on her back, like a lover would. It makes me wonder what Prince Jacques thinks of this, considering the impending engagement.”
Now I can practically feel steam coming out of my ears. Even though Bella and I aren’t officially a couple—yet—I hate that the world thinks she’s engaged to that dick face prince.
My phone pings again, another text from Max. Can you answer my text? Call me.
I grunt softly out of annoyance and sip my coffee. My brother is relentless.
“Hey, I need to make a call; I’ll be in the other room,” I call out to Bella.
She responds with a sweet smile. “Okie-dokey, love.”
That’s something she’s done in the last day or two, called me love. My body warms and tingles every time she does it.
I bound up the stairs and walk into the master bedroom—Bella wanted to sleep in there after all, preferring it over the guest room—and spy a pair of her white lace panties on the floor.
Picking them up, I fight a mild urge to sniff them like a pervert. Instead, I toss them into the laundry basket in the closet. As I dial my brother, I wonder if she’ll mind that her delicate lingerie isn’t dry cleaned or hand washed or whatever it is princesses do with their expensive, sexy panties. I’ll have to ask her.
“Dude,” I say when Max picks up. I tap the phone so I can put him on speaker.
“Christ, Tate. What the hell? There’s like fifty articles online overnight. I’m going through them all.”
I flop onto the bed, on my back, and rest the phone on my chest. “Leave it. Just ignore. It’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
“But how? Especially since you’re trying to get donors for your campaign. One of the biggest hotel franchise owners in the state called me yesterday, wanting to know if he should write you a check.”
“Did he ask about Bella?”
“He did, and I tried to downplay it. Which is difficult since the articles about you are coming out. Did I send you the Prince Charming one? This is messy as hell.” Max’s voice has taken on a businesslike, accusatory tone.
“Yeah, I saw that.” I yawn. “Bella says the stories are calming down because of that singer who was arrested with a hooker in Tampa.”
“Christ, if this is calming down, I’d hate to see it when it’s in fu
ll swing,” he grouses. “Seriously, dude. Is this worth it? Is she worth it? Are you two serious?”
“It is, but it’s only been three weeks,” I protest.
“Yeah, but I’ve seen you like once in those three weeks, and we live a mile apart. Every minute when you’re not working, you’ve been with her.”
“Yeah. So? I enjoy her company.”
“You enjoy her company, or you enjoy screwing her? Please say it’s the latter, because then it will be easier for you to cut ties.”
A surge of anger shoots through my gut, making it tighten and twist. “Hey. Go to hell. I like this woman, okay?”
“That’s great. But what will you do when she leaves? Are you going to chase her all over the world?”
“I don’t chase women.”
“This one, you might.”
Of course, I’d chase her. Until the ends of the earth. “Jesus, Max. And what if I do? Who cares?”
“You’re going to care if it ruins your political career. You’re the one who’s had your eyes on this for years now. And you have an excellent shot. You’ve seen the early polls on Floridapolitics.com.”
Polls that I’m still not sure are accurate. “And why couldn’t I run for office and pursue something with Bella? I don’t follow where you’re going. I’m capable of doing both things at once.”
My brother lets out a strangled groan. “If she were any other woman, I’d say yes. If she were a doctor or a teacher or another lawyer, I’d say you were fine. That courting a woman during a campaign might even be a good idea. But dating a European princess who’s in the news for every little thing and one who is getting engaged to a prince? Christ, Tate. What are you thinking?”
“She’s not—” I stop myself and screw my eyes shut. Should I tell my brother Bella’s business? It’s not my story to tell, so it doesn’t seem like a great idea. “I doubt if she’s going through with the engagement.”
“You doubt? She’s living in your house and I assume sleeping in your bed. Come on. How well do you know her, really? Imagine what it will do to your campaign if the press finds out the two of you have been screwing and she goes back and marries that Prince? And he seems like a piece of work, too. Why would she agree to something like that? Why would you go along with this? Let it go, man.”
