by Mia Caldwell
Flickering away on the huge screen was an old film with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, two of Paris' favorite people in the world. Before she knew it, the drink was gone, and Alex was holding his arm out, gesturing for her to nuzzle in and watch the film wrapped in his arms.
It was a dream.
He was like a dream, and she was snuggled up against the soft fabric of his sweater before her mind even had time to register what her body was doing. The scent of him was musky, but clean and like the forest after a rainstorm.
Every time he laughed at something in the movie, her head would bounce with the rise and fall of his chest. She loved the sound of his laugh, so close to his heart. How had she ended up here, with this gorgeous man about whom she knew so little? Even as she intellectually suspected there was something strange about this situation, her entire being was lost in the utter romance of it all.
His fingers were stroking her hair, playing with her dark curls, something she normally hated, but with him it felt soothing and calming. As Alex's arms wrapped ever-tighter around her, Paris knew she was falling for this random stranger, and there was no going back.
Paris realized she'd actually been staring up at Alex while she was thinking, and he was no longer looking at the TV, but at her. The smile on his face was sweet, welcoming, and yet somehow, surprisingly nervous. He reached up and ran his hand gently through the length of her hair, seeming to relish the softness of it, its wildness.
When he moved in to kiss her, Paris felt her entire body light up at even the anticipation of his touch. His kiss was tender and loving, all-consuming, enveloping her body and soul. She leaned into him, letting her legs become entangled with his on the couch, relishing the feel of his warm body as it meshed with hers.
Something overtook Paris, an electricity coursing through her veins that she'd never felt in her life, and she pounced on Alex, straddling his strong waist and tightening her legs against his outer thighs. The look on his face was one of pure surprise, first, and then one of delirium, and the total desire to taste every inch of Paris' body.
Paris slid her hands up underneath Alex's sweater, feeling every ripple and curve of his perfectly muscled chest. Alex lifted his arms, allowing Paris to lift his sweater over his head, giving her access to his sculpted shoulders, his wickedly prodigious collarbone. She couldn't stop herself; she kissed her way across his warm, tanned skin, savoring his manly smell, the lingering hint of his cologne at the end of the day.
Paris let her fingertips drift up and down Alex's powerful arms, relishing the feel of his hard body trembling under her touch. As she ran her hands all the way up to his thick hair, he let his own hands drift up the length of her back, lifting her shirt over her head. She didn’t protest, letting herself be swept away in the moment.
With her shirt tossed casually aside, Alex stopped and just began to stare at Paris, now sitting in his lap, clad in only her pale pink bra and jeans. She started to feel a little self-conscious.
“What... are you staring at?”
Alex let his hands drift all over Paris' curves, her soft stomach, her full, mesmerizing breasts, and just continued to stare in frenzied wonder.
“You're just so stunning. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so exquisite as you.”
His words echoed in her brain, hardly seeming real. No one had ever said anything of the sort to her before, and words like “stunning,” and “exquisite,” were certainly not words she would ever have thought applied to herself.
Paris was overcome with affection for the adoration filling Alex's eyes. She'd never experienced anything like it, and she couldn't get enough. She kissed him this time, tasting every bit of him, letting her tongue explore the inner reaches of his mouth, her hands running through his thick, soft hair. They pressed against each other in a mad embrace, her heart pounding as Alex gently bit her lip and softly squeezed her ample breasts. Paris' breath caught in her throat, her sex on fire at the sensation of Alex's rigid manhood against her thighs.
Paris' vision began to blur from desire, her mind lost in a flurry of sensations, as Alex's big hands gripped her around the waist and lifted her effortlessly from the couch and straight into the air, her legs locking around his muscular torso. As he carried her toward the bedroom, she kissed his neck and shoulders as if she were starving for the taste of his skin. His strong arms held her aloft, his hands gripping her curvaceous ass, holding as tight as he could without hurting her. With one quick movement, Alex flung open the doors to the bedroom, and for a brief moment, Paris was distracted from her desire.
The bedroom looked as if it had been lifted straight from a fairytale. A huge canopy bed, draped in gauzy fabric and piled high with lovely satin pillows, sat in the center of the room. Twinkle lights filled every corner, and the art on the walls was like nothing she had ever seen before, elegant and abstract. But most remarkable of all was the view from the huge French doors: the midnight lights of Paris, sparkling and beautiful, the Eiffel Tower massive and bright, almost within touching distance. Paris thought she might cry, wrapped in the arms of a man who seemed intoxicated by her, and her of him, in this most perfect of bedrooms, in this most perfect of cities.
Suddenly, Alex was whispering into her ear, “It's almost as beautiful as you...”
A small voice in Paris’ brain wondered if he had whispered those words to other women in this room before. Was she just another in a long line of pick-ups?
As she felt his touch on her bare body though, she realized she didn’t care. Even if she only had one night with this man—the sexiest man she had ever met—she would enjoy the memories for the rest of her life.
Paris wrapped her arms around Alex's neck and kissed him passionately, letting her fingertips trace the length of his spine, feeling the electric current run through her body. Alex carried her over to the bed and lay her gently down on the downy comforter. Her whole body thrilled at the combination of sensations: Alex's hands on her stomach, the satin sheets on her back, the smell of roses and gardenias filling the whole room. She barely even noticed as Alex slowly pulled away her jeans, kissing and nibbling the soft flesh of her thighs as he slid them off and dropped them to the floor. Before she even had time to register what was happening, Alex had kicked off his own trousers and pulled off the rest of his clothes.
Now, Paris was aware of everything: Alex reaching up and unclasping her bra, his hand cupping the fullness of her breasts, his lips kissing their way down her stomach, bypassing her underwear and moving to her thighs, letting his lips graze the sensitive skin of her legs as his other hand traced the lines of her calf. Paris felt like she was losing her mind, a prisoner of her sublime need. She wanted more of him, all of him. Her hands reached out to feel any part of him she could, her sex practically aching for him.
Alex anticipated her need, and didn't make her wait any longer. In one elegant move, he slid her panties off and sidled up next to her, kissing her deeply, tracing her lips with his tongue. While she was distracted by his soft lips on hers, he ran one hand down the length of her body, and down to her pussy, where he slipped first one, then a second finger inside her warmth.
Paris' body rose to meet every impetus of his long, graceful fingers, playing inside her as his thumb pressed against her clit. He played her expertly, as if she was a glorious stringed instrument, and he was a maestro. Unexpectedly, Paris felt a wave of orgasm washing over her, never having been touched in this way before, with such ravenousness, with such ardent longing. She cried out, her hands tangling themselves in his hair as she begged him for more.
But Alex wasn't ready to let Paris go that easily. With a sly smile, and a quick kiss, he removed his hand from between her legs, licking her wetness from his fingers as she watched on, mesmerized. Then, he began kissing every inch of her body that he could, from her shoulders, down her arms, hands, fingers, chest, all over her breasts, stopping to lavish attention on her pert nipples, then down her stomach, across her abdomen, and coming to rest in the soft, dark curl
s between her thighs.
She was momentarily embarrassed, but that quickly evaporated as she saw the look of unadulterated desire in his eyes. With delicate flicks of his tongue, he began exploring every inch of her, inside, outside, licking up every drop of her, leaving nothing to waste.
Paris' hips bucked, completely enraptured by the feel of his lips on her, the glorious torment of tongue just inside of her. She began crying out, begging for things she'd never asked for in her life.
“Alex, please. Please, I want you to fuck me. Please...” Her coarse language spoke to her need of him, her overwhelming ache to have him inside her.
His eyes met hers from the end of the bed: a flash of concern, a glimmer of compassion. He slid his hands slowly up her body, gently squeezing and kissing up the same path he'd taken down her body, now dripping in the perspiration of unadulterated need.
When he'd met her eyes again, face to face, he softly kissed the tip of her nose, then delicately kissed her mouth before whispering, “Are you sure? I don't want to do anything you aren't comfortable with...”
Paris nodded, and Alex reached quickly into a drawer, pulling out a condom, and slipping it on.
Something about his kindness, his willingness to stop if that's what she wanted, drove her even more mad for him. Her movements were electricity, waves of the ocean, and in one quick twirl, her legs wrapped around his waist, Alex was on his back, and Paris was on top of him.
With her hands on his shoulders, and their lips locked in a passionate kiss, Paris took the length of Alex's hard cock inside of her. It wasn't the first time she'd felt a man inside of her, but it was the first time it had ever felt so perfect. Every pulse of him, every throb of his exquisite manhood in her pussy, brought on another rush of euphoria.
As Paris rode atop Alex, every inhibition, every bit of self-consciousness she ever felt, dropped away. Alex looked up at her with eyes full of adoration, hands that couldn't get enough of just touching her, and Paris suddenly felt like the goddess Alex saw her to be. With her hands in her hair, she slid on and off him, feeling her own orgasm coming on her like summer storm.
He put his hands on her waist and cried out. “Paris… I'm about to—”
And with one epic thrust, they both exploded with delicious rapture. The sound of Alex's warm voice calling out her name made Paris' orgasm that much more intense, paired with the sensation of him filling her up inside, and in moments her whole body was wracked with shivers. She collapsed on Alex, the sweat of their sex soaking both of them head to toe.
As Paris gasped for air, her head resting on Alex's sinewy chest, he wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her as tight as he was able. He whispered in her ear, “I'm not letting you go.”
* * *
With the lights of the city bathing their bodies with a soothing glow, still wrapped in each other's loving embrace, Alex and Paris drifted into an exhausted sleep.
Neither of them heard Alex's phone buzzing insistently from the pocket of his pants in the corner of the room. The screen lit up:
Whitney – 17 missed calls
The In-Laws – 10 missed calls
Mom – 1 missed call
11
Whitney couldn't explain why she was suddenly so pissed. But when the bartender refused to be roused from his drunken stupor, she found herself stewing over the fact that Alexander was planning to blow her off for the rest of their trip.
This wasn’t the first time, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last, and usually she didn’t care. They would lead separate lives, which suited her perfectly, but she also didn’t appreciate being ignored. The more he ignored her, the angrier she became.
They'd specifically come to this god-forsaken city for a few photo opportunities and to show off for the paparazzi, and yeah, he had some stupid political stuff to do, but now he wasn't going to see her at all? For five days? That was unacceptable.
She'd already put in several late night, drunken phone calls to her parents, who were also apparently hammered at some sort of cocktail party. After considerable pouting and empty threats of suicide (her trademark), her daddy had agreed to call Alexander's parents and make him, at the very least, show up at her fashion show the next day.
Once she'd cleared the mini-bar of all its liquor, and put a call in for more, she was starting to feel a little better.
Then, the bartender started to stir.
That was more like it.
* * *
It was 4am in Dalvana. The private line in King Alexander and Queen Catriona’s bedroom was ringing off the hook. Alexander cursed at the ceiling and finally rolled over to pick it up. He hadn't even said “hello” when a drunken Leonard began screaming at him over the background noise of a party. Catriona rolled over, her sleep mask still obscuring her view of the room, but her ears still perfectly capable of hearing every word being shouted over the receiver.
Alexander lay back down and set the receiver on his stomach, letting Leonard yell into thin air. Cat pulled off her mask, sighed, and rolled over to her husband. “So what did our son do now?”
12
The soft morning sun filled the bedroom with light, gently rousing Paris from a dreamless sleep. She stretched her arms out wide into the empty space around her, a deep yawn escaping her plump lips. As she reached out beside her, she realized all at once that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. A dingy little room hardly bigger than a broom closet at the hotel in the shady district of the city she had been staying at, this most definitely was not.
She blinked several times, trying to get her bearings. The events of the previous day came flooding back to her.
“Well, Paris, I don’t think you’re in Kansas anymore…” she murmured to herself, her words echoing in the large bedchamber.
She also realized in that moment that Alex wasn't in the bed anymore. Paris sat up pin straight, searching the room through sleepy eyes, but finding no one. She felt a pang of nervousness in her stomach, briefly afraid that Alex had disappeared and left her here in this strange, although gorgeous, hotel room.
Paris was just about to pull the sheet from the bed to cover herself up, when she noticed a thick robe lying on a chair in the corner of the room, with a calla lily placed gently on top of it. She smiled to herself as she crawled out of the bed and padded across the soft, plush carpet to the armchair, and as she slipped the robe onto her naked curves, she sighed at the feel of the downy fabric against her smooth skin. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—her hair wild in that ‘I just had sex’ sort of way—and she gave herself a wry smile.
Paris opened the bedroom doors that led into the living area of the penthouse, and she was almost blinded by the sunlight pouring in from the balcony windows. The room was filled with the smell of fresh pastries and blooming flowers, and Paris felt her senses becoming overwhelmed in the best possible way once more. At first, she couldn't see Alex anywhere, and that initial feeling of panic returned, the fear that he had left. But then, all at once, he was there, larger than life, filling up every space in her mind. She shivered with delight as she remembered the way he had filled her body as well.
Alex was standing on the balcony, leaning on the stone wall, his long legs clad in striped pajama pants, and his large bare feet crossed over each other. He was shirtless, his muscular torso and back elongated as he stretched out to take in the vista of Paris in the morning. His thick auburn hair was still messy from sleep, but somehow it looked even more perfect that way.
Paris felt her breath catch in her throat, suddenly overcome with the desire to touch him, the same desire she felt next to him on the couch last night. She didn't know how long she'd been staring at him, but when she finally looked up from his perfect back, she realized his head was turned, and he staring back her, smiling.
“You're awake, beautiful! I ordered up some croissants and coffee and juice. And they sent some fruit too. I hope you're hungry.”
Alex's face was beaming, and Paris was drawn to him. S
he walked out to the balcony and stood next to him, her whole body alight at just the closeness of their skin. Alex inched over closer to Paris, so their arms were touching, and kissed her softly on the cheek.
“How did you sleep? Well, I hope.”
Paris let out a long, contented sigh. “Better than I have in ages. That bed was amazing. And you wore me out, I don't mind saying.”
Alex laughed, warm and loud, and gathered Paris into his arms. He kissed her slow and deep, letting his tongue explore her mouth, and Paris let herself melt into him. They were both so lost in the moment, neither of them noticed the flash of a camera from the street below.
They definitely didn't see the self-satisfied smirk of a paparazzo as he mentally calculated how much he could charge for a few pictures of the Crown Prince of Dalvana cheating on his fiancée.
* * *
After a long, leisurely breakfast, Paris found herself wondering if this was going to be the end of her time with Alex, if perhaps, despite all of the romance, maybe this truly was going to be a one-night-stand. As she stared absentmindedly out the penthouse windows, Alex seemed to be reading her mind.
“I know you said you had a few days before your classes started. I'd like to spend the day with you, if you don't have any other plans. Perhaps do some more sight-seeing?”
Paris felt her stomach flip-flop. She knew so little about this beautiful man in front of her, and yet she couldn't bear the thought of being away from him. Now, as she contemplated spending another day with him, seeing Paris through his eyes and learning everything he knew, she was elated.
“Yes, I'd love to spend the day with you. What did you have in mind?”
Alex felt his stomach flip-flop. He suddenly remembered Whitney's fashion show, and the fact that the epicenter of Paris would be taken over by the fashion industry. They couldn't go anywhere where they might be seen by Whitney, her parents, or most dangerous of all, the press. Where is the one place no one in Whitney's crowd will be today? Alex thought.
