by Vivian Wood
“Me? No.” I shake my head. “I would never.”
Pippa shakes her head. “Would it be too dorky to say the first time we had sex? I feel like I wanted it for a long time before it happened.”
My heart thuds in my chest. “Really?”
She pins me with a look. “Yes. Well, it would be a tie. The sex we had on the plane ride here was pretty hot too.”
“It really was,” I say, my imagination kicking into high gear. I let my gaze slide down her body, biting my lip.
“What was your best sex experience?” she asks, frowning just a little.
I smirk at her, pulling her against my body. Leaning down and cupping her face, I kiss her, deep and with tongue. By the time I pull back, I’m breathless.
I lean my forehead against hers. “How about we work on making some new memories instead of talking about the past?”
Her lips curve up. “I think that sounds like a great plan.”
Helping her up, I hustle her toward our lavish rental house, feeling exactly like the desperate man that I am.
29
Pippa
It’s a race to the bedroom, both of us giddy and laughing as we strip off our sandy clothes. Lars looks at me as he takes off his shirt, his eyes glinting.
“Take it all off,” he says, pointing at the clothes I’ve already shed. “I want you naked and ready.”
With shaking hands, I unhook my bikini top and let it drop. Then I push my bottoms down my legs, making eye contact with Lars the entire time. He watches me, his eyes slitted, biting his lip.
I’m left bare, no bra or panties. Lars buries his face in the space between my breasts, pushing them both toward his mouth. He takes his time with each one, kissing and licking it, running his tongue over the nipple. He even uses his teeth, setting me on edge and making me ridiculously horny.
All the while, my hands roam over his body, feeling different muscle groups flex. I wrap my legs around him, pressing my pussy against the outline of his cock through his jeans.
He knows just how to make me crazy. He makes this sound deep in his chest, while his mouth is on my breasts. It’s a rumble, or a growl maybe. I just can’t get enough of it.
He pulls back. “I want you to ride my mouth, Pippa.”
I turn red all over. “I don’t know, Lars…”
“Yes. Come on, try it. I think you’ll like it,” he says. I look in his eyes, blue as the sea in the morning, burning with lust.
“I’m embarrassed,” I admit.
“Don’t be,” he says. Your hair tossed back, your breasts thrusting out, a book of pleasure on your face… I can’t think of anything hotter.”
I pull my lower lip between my teeth, but he’s already getting off of me and laying down on the bed. I guess I’m doing this, then.
One thing I know is that Lars will never laugh at me or make me feel awkward on purpose. As we spend more and more time together, that becomes readily apparent.
I move up the bed to the wall, kneeling beside his head.
“Ready?” I ask hesitantly.
He nods, caressing my thigh with a smirk. “Extremely ready.”
I maneuver myself over his face, straddling him. It’s a balancing act and I’m glad that the wall is right there to lean on for a second. I have never felt so awkward in my life, but Lars’s hands come up to the tops of my thighs, gently pushing me down.
I spread my knees a little wider, biting my lip. I feel the warmth of his breath just before he kisses the inside of my thighs. I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe.
I can feel my pussy growing wet as he kisses upward toward my mound. It makes me squeamish, but at the same time, I bite my lip and think of how hot he’ll look after I come. Wiping my juices from his face?
Ja, that makes me fucking hot.
He presses the tops of my thighs down further until I fully rest on his face. At the same time he kisses my aching clit, ever so lightly. I moan.
“Oh god,” I say as he kisses it again, increasing the pressure a little.
I bite my lip, unsure what to do with my hands. I run my hands over my body, ending up enjoying the sensation of cupping my own breasts. I lean my head to the side, groaning at the stimulation of Lars slowly licking my clit.
I pull on both my nipples at once, and buck against his wicked tongue a couple of times. I keep imagining him after I come all over his face, which makes me crazy.
He shifts for a second, moving his arm. His big hand splays out over one ass cheek, then he coaxes me back down to his mouth. Lars does figure eights with his tongue over my clit, the hand on my ass trailing lower and lower, teasing the cleft of my ass.
He closes his lips over my clit and sucks, which makes me cry out. At the same time, he slips a probing fingertip just to the pucker of my ass. I immediately moan so loud that I embarrass myself. The sensation of him playing with my ass like that just makes me fucking wild. I freeze up, even though Lars sucks harder on my clit. I feel myself blossoming like a flower, a feeling of fullness growing low in my body.
He feels me lock up, and pulls back. “Easy, Pippa. What’s going on?”
I go red as a beet. “I like it. I like it too much, if that’s possible. But I feel like you should get off, too.”
He kisses my inner thigh. “I can, if you want to turn around. You can suck my cock and ride my face at the same time.”
How… dirty.
I nod, awkwardly repositioning myself. When I am facing his cock though, I have something to do. My fingers unbutton his jeans, pushing down his boxer briefs to reveal his long, hard, perfect cock.
As Lars closes his lips over my clit again, I take his cock in my fist. He groans, which is eminently satisfying. I strain to wrap my lips around his tip, which is too far away for much else.
I mmmmm at the male taste of him, salty and bitter earthy in my mouth.
I try to concentrate on his cock, wetting my lips and covering my teeth with my tongue. I try not to worry about what Lars is doing, try not to focus on every single stroke of his tongue.
It’s very difficult, though. I run my tongue around his cock and carefully pump my fist up and down his length. I can feel my inner spring winding up, becoming taut. I am aware of his clever finger slipping down to my ass again, penetrating it with just the tip.
Fuck, I think, it feels good so damn good. I moan against the tip of his cock. He works his whole finger inside my ass, and I am suddenly aware of the sensation of fullness. The knowledge that I’m going to come soon pops into my mind, and it makes it very difficult to try to pay attention to sucking his cock.
I pause and raise my head, eliciting a groan from him. “I’m close,” I whisper.
He moans and doubles down on my clit. I sigh as I sink my mouth down on his cock again, moving my hand in time with my tongue. His taste changes a little, grows saltier as I moan around his cock.
“Oh god,” I whisper. What he’s doing with his mouth and his naught finger up my ass feels so good. I can’t take it anymore. “Oh god, I’m—"
Suddenly I erupt, going over the precipice into a world of pleasure. He starts to come right after me, emptying lash after lash of his salty cum into my mouth, getting a lot of it on my face.
When we finally slow, I slide off his face, pushing myself upright. I finally get that moment I’ve been waiting for, watching him lick and wipe away the moisture from his mouth and chin.
I lean over and kiss him deeply, loving that I can taste myself on his lips and tongue. He starts chuckling, high on endorphins. I giggle sheepishly, laying down beside him.
He grins and holds me close, his breathing still ragged. No words pass between us, but none are really needed. I’ve never been achingly are of the fact that I love someone before, but I would definitely say that’s what I’m feeling just now.
We just lie there, basking in each other’s afterglow. I curl up on my side, laying my head against his chest, and try my best to breathe through my feelings.
30
Pippa
The weekend goes too fast. One minute, I am in Monte Carlo, buried in Lars is arms. The next moment I blink and everything is changed. Suddenly I am looking at a sea of people in the royal palace, blinking as Lars steps close to me, sliding his arm around me. I barely remember getting dressed for this event, but here I am, wearing a shimmering pink floor length gown, blinking into a photographer's flashes. Lars is just beside me, wearing his tux. He leans close, whispering in my ear.
“Are you okay?”
I lick my lips, looking up at him. He looks back down at me, his eyes concerned. I want to do nothing but smooth those worry lines from the corners of his eyes. I smile instead, though it feels a little forced.
“I'm fine,” I say. “I was just wondering how our weekend away went so fast.”
A slow smile spreads over his face. “I can think of a couple of ways how a whole day or two might slip away…"
I give him and knowing look. “I bet you can.”
The photographer who is shooting our pictures calls for our attention. “Your highness? If you could just look over here for a another minute…”
I look forward, repressing a sigh. We are off to one side of the ballroom that we’re in, having our official engagement photos taken. Just outside the thin screens set up by the photographer, the crowd mills around. People laugh, I hear the clinking of glasses together. It's the same as it ever has been, the same as the last five parties that we attended here as an engaged couple.
I glance that Lars, wondering how he doesn't lose his mind with boredom. I thought that I knew exactly what his life entailed, but I had no idea that he was sheltering me from so many boring royal events.
One of the camera flashes catches me off guard and I wrinkle my whole face up. ?Can we be done?” I asked the photographer. “Please, you've gotten at least fifty good photos of us together. Surely that's enough.”
I feel Lars’s fingers tighten on my waist. The photographer looks shocked; Lars quickly steps in, smoothing the situation over.
“We just got off a plane,” he said quickly. “Jet lag, you know?”
The photographer seems a little worried but agrees to let us go. Ofcourse, there is no stopping Lars if he doesn’t want to have his picture taken anymore… But whether or not that privilege extends to me, I don't know.
Lars steers me out of the little portrait studio, immediately taking a hard right turn toward the ballroom doors. I glance up at him, a little anxious. “Where are we going?”
His expression is unreadable as the moves me out of the room. “We need a break. Or I do, anyway.”
Just as we make it to the doors though, a servant stops Lars. “Your highness? The king wishes to speak with you. Do you mind?"
Lars is gaze hardens. He doesn't roll his eyes exactly, but he doesn't look pleased either. He turns to me, apologetic.
“I'm sorry. I'll be right back. I think I saw Nika over by the refreshment table, if it helps.”
My lips twist. “Go. You are a prince, after all. If the king summons you, what choice do you have?”
He gives my arm squeeze and then disappears from the ballroom, following the servant that was sent to summon him. I suck in a deep breath and turn around, eyeing the crowd.
I don't want to be here. I am experiencing something like burnout. Worse, I'm doing it publicly.
How do the royals do it this day after day for their whole lives? I've only been doing it officially for two and a half months and I feel so fragile and brittle that I am about to break.
I clear my throat, looking around the room for Nika's small frame. As I am searching for her, Queen Ida and spots me from across the way. Petite but elegant, with eyes of steel and sleek silver hair, she zooms in on me. I see her coming, her chic black dress looking as expensive as ever. She arches a brow as she advances.
“There you are, Pippa. I was just wondering if I was going to see you here or not. I have something to show you.” She steps forward and takes my arm, towing me along as she makes a beeline for the exit. I don't know what to say so I just clear my throat nervously.
When I let myself be pulled outside the ballroom, I frown. Queen Ida murmurs hello to a passing servant as she toes me along. I finally get up the nerve to speak.
“I don't want Lars to miss me…” I say, glancing back at the rapidly disappearing ballroom behind me. Around me, the soaring white hallways ceilings and majestic red carpeting go on and on seemingly endlessly.
“You'll love this, she says confidently. “I have just had it flown in from being tailored in Milan.”
My brows rise a little. “Milan?”
She sneaks me a look. “Yes, dear. That's what I said. Come on, it's in here.”
She pulls open a random palace door, ushering me inside. I swallow and step through into a small office. The only thing worth seeing is hanging on a dress hanger in the middle of the room. It's a wedding dress, and an old one at that. It's entirely the wrong size and shape for me, a tall and slender person. This dress is made of crepe and lace, so short and wide that… Well, I would call it serviceable if I were being nice about it. I squint at the dress, as if the garment has answers for me.
“Well, what do you think?” Momse asks.
Careful to keep my face perfectly blank, I turn and face her. “I'm not sure what I am looking at,” I admit.
Her eyebrows fly up. “Why, your wedding dress, of course. I thought you would want to get married in the traditional wedding dress that all the second son’s wives have shared.” She pauses, arching a brow. “Are you not pleased?”
I flush, though I'm not exactly sure why. I lick my lips. “No one said anything to me about already having a dress.” I frown. “It's not really my style.”
“Nonsense.” She moves around me, touching the sleeve of the wedding dress with two fingers. “It's perfectly functional. Just like your engagement ring. I took one look at you and I already knew that I would send for this dress.”
I blink rapidly. This has to be some kind of joke. “You have to be testing me or something. Margot didn't wear a proscribed gown. Why would I have to?”
She huffs. “A lot of women would kill for the opportunity that you are turning your nose up at. Lars is my grandson, and he's strong stock. I know that I didn't have much of a choice over this engagement, but I'll be damned if I will be cut out of planning the wedding.”
My mouth opens. I don't quite know what to say. “I was under the impression that you were planning the wedding entirely, and I was only expected to pick out what I'm wearing. I didn't even get a say on what day my wedding date will be.”
I can feel my face growing hot, feel something like rage creeping up in my tone. Queen Ida looks at me, gives another little half smirk, and looks back at the gown. “You'll wear the dress. And while we're on the topic of things you need to do, I think that you and I should sit down and talk about how it is appropriate to comport one's self when you're representing the royal family. Because I for one don't want to be embarrassed any further.”
My hands curl into this. I narrow my eyes at Queen Ida, feeling myself start to shake. “Does Lars even know that you are talking to me right now?”
“Should he?” she shoots back.
It takes everything in me to keep from lashing out. Instead, I press my fingernails into the palm of each hand, speaking slowly and clearly. “I'm not sure what kind of game you're playing. I'm not even sure if you are playing on the same field as I am. But this need for control that you have, this bizarre compulsion that you feel, it won't go on. Not with me. I won't have it.”
My voice rises until I'm almost but not quite yelling by the end of the sentence. An elegant little smirk appears on her face. “I think you will do just exactly what I ask you to do.”
I turn, elbowing my way past her and heading for the door. “This is outrageous. I'm just going to pretend like this little tete-a-tete never happened. You would be wise to do the same.”
Momse clears her throat. “Where are you going
?”
I don't even look back at her. “I'm going to find my fiancé and tell him that I'm not feeling well.” I fling the door open, taking a step outside.
That's when she drops the bomb.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sylvie.”
I freeze mid-step. Turning around slowly, my brow hunches I squint at her. “What?”
She gives me a smirk. “You heard me. What, did you think that I didn't know who you really are?” She laughs. “Like I would just let anybody be friends with one of my grandsons. Fat chance.”
My face is so hot, I'm sure that I must be flushed all over. I take a step back towards her, dropping my voice. “I don't know what you think you know, but I'm sure that you are mistaken.”
She rolls her eyes. Please. “Maybe you haven't been listening for all these months. Apparently my envoy wasn't clear enough for you.”
I give her a puzzled look. “What?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “Mrs. Olson said that you had the nerve to kick her out of a wedding dress shop last week. And I am here to tell you personally, that won't do. You are going to smile and play along and marry my grandson. You’re going to have his kids and go on vacations and do all the royal handwaving that I ask of you. And you do it without being asked. Because I know your dirty little secret, Sylvie.”
She looks a little proud of herself as she says it. “I also know all about Stella.”
At this point, I'm so dumbstruck that I don't even know what I could possibly say. Anything that floats to the top of my mind seems like a bad idea because I would have to acknowledge that I am in fact Sylvie Martin. And something tells me that I definitely don't want to show this woman my belly.
“Pippa?” I turn my head to see Lars zooming over to me, concern for me weighing his brow. Are you okay?
I turn away from Queen Ida, automatically pulled toward the one person I feel the safest with in the world. I tried to force a smile on my lips but I know I have failed by looking at his puzzled expression.
