by Kati Wilde
Her restraint and patience must rival a saint’s, because it’s been less than twenty-four hours since I’ve had her against me and I’m ready to toss her atop the conference table, spread her sleek thighs, and devour her mouth while I fuck my way into her hot, luscious cunt.
But I want that smile as much as I want a kiss or a fuck.
Slowly I trace the curve of her cheek with my fingertips. Her eyelids fall to half-mast and she turns her face toward my hand, as if seeking a firmer touch. I bend my head and she attempts to turn back and meet my lips, but I sink my fingers into the coil of hair at her nape, preventing the movement.
A quiver races through her muscles as I press my mouth to the hollow beneath the corner of her jaw. Her pulse thunders beneath my lips and, with my every breath, I fill myself with her soft floral scent.
“Your Majesty,” she pleads in a voice thickened by desire, then moans as I drag my tongue up the side of her neck.
That sound coming from deep in her throat seems to stroke all the way up the length of my cock. Straining against the front of my trousers, my thick shaft isn’t just erect but in fucking agony, needing more than the pressure I’m giving it by holding her close.
But if she can have patience than so can I. Reining in that raging need, I press a light kiss to her jaw. Her breath shuddering, she fights the grip of my hand in her hair, restlessly seeking my mouth with hers.
Holding her still, I tease the corner of her lips. “A kiss is also worth the effort.”
That produces a slight smile, followed by a soft laugh. “Yes, it is… Your Majesty.”
So it will be a battle then. Loosening the leash on my arousal, I tilt her head back, exposing the vulnerable length of her throat. The two buttons she already unfastened reveal the delicate hollow at the base of her neck.
She goes utterly still as I unfasten the next button. And the next. I feel her gaze upon my face but I’m riveted by the skin I’m slowly uncovering—the ripe swell of her breasts, the shadow of her cleavage. She’s breathing in ragged shudders that lift her full tits against the silky fabric of her shirt. Her taut nipples protrude through both the silk and the lace of the bra that I discover past the fourth button.
Just tracing the scalloped edge of that lace has my fingers shaking with need, the sensation of her soft skin against mine making my balls draw up tight and full. As if my cum’s ready to explode out of me, though there shouldn’t be anything left. I’ve fucked my fist so many times since I saw those pictures in her dossier that my palm, my bedsheets, and my shower drain should all be pregnant. The next time I come, I want my cock deep inside her, but more likely it’ll be right here in my trousers while I’m stroking the soft curve of her breast. But I’m not going to stop at touching. Not this time. I’m too fucking hungry for that.
My cock’s already dripping cum as I tug the lacy cup aside. I glance at her face to make sure Victoria’s still with me, because aside from her shuddering breaths, she’s been silent. But one look assures me that she’s as far gone as I am, gazing back at me with desire glazing her sapphire eyes. When I reveal her breast, her rosy nipple looks as stiff as my cock. Maybe it aches just as much.
I know what my cock wants. And I know what’s not enough. A touch is nothing but a delicious tease, because that stiffened flesh needs something hotter, wetter.
Her breast fills my palm. As I softly stroke that taut peak with the pad of my thumb, she trembles and bites her lip. To stop herself from pleading for more, maybe. Or to stop herself from giving in and saying my name.
In a gruff voice, I tell her, “Say it. And I’ll use my mouth.”
Her next shuddering breath deepens into a little laugh. “Please… Your Majesty.”
Fuck. Because that sweet nipple will continue pouting up at me, begging for my mouth. And she’s not going to give in.
I am.
With a growl, I lower my head—but the height difference that served me well when denying her a kiss is a problem now. She’s too small. Or I’m too big. But there’s an easy fix.
Letting go of her hair, I grip her ass in both hands and haul her up. She gives a little cry of surprise, then she grabs hold of my shoulders to steady herself, wrapping her legs around my waist. Her cry melts into a throaty moan as I latch onto that rosy bud, too hungry to go slow, to lick and tease. That’s what I meant to do. To tease. To drive her so fucking wild that she’ll be screaming my name. Instead it’s me losing all control. Because she tastes so fucking sweet but her responses are even sweeter, a heady drug that I can’t get enough of. With every pull of my mouth, her hips roll to the same rhythm, harder and harder, until she’s grinding her pussy against my cock. Her back arches, her breasts lifting toward my mouth like an offering, like she wants me to devour her—and I do. I abandon her nipple, leaving it ruby red and glistening, seeking the other. Lace rips when I roughly free her breast from the confining bra. She cries out again, her fingers digging into my shoulders as I suckle her deep into my mouth. I blindly turn, searching for a table or a chair or I don’t fucking care what, and finding a wall. I brace my shoulders and lean back, shifting the angle so she’s riding the ridge of my cock, her curvy little ass filling my palms, her nipple hard against my tongue.
Then she gives a sobbing little moan, her fingers dive into my hair and she yanks my head up. For an instant, our gazes clash, the sapphire fire of her eyes burning with sheer need…and longing.
A husky “Maximilian” parts her lips in the moment before her mouth captures mine.
And I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, waiting to kiss her. Denying myself the heat of her mouth, and the soft helpless sound she makes in her throat when I suck on the tip of her tongue.
I should have been kissing her this entire time. Because my control continues to crumble with each stroke of my tongue past her lips, with each undulating roll of her hips. And if I don’t end this now, I won’t stop at all. I’ll taste her mouth, then every inch of her skin, then her cunt—but only after I’ve fucked her against this wall.
Not our first time. She deserves better than a mindless rut.
With a tortured groan, I tear my mouth from hers and bury my face against the side of her neck. Hoarsely I command, “Tell me when and where I can have you.”
She’s shaking against me. Breathlessly she replies, “Any time and anywhere that Your Majesty wishes.”
Your Majesty again? I bark out a laugh against her throat. “What about all that effort I put in?”
“You stopped.”
“Stopping took even more effort than the rest.” And I still haven’t put her down. Letting her go might take more strength than I have. “What would you say to a man who wasn’t a king?”
“I would tell him exactly the same thing.” Tugging on my hair, she tips my head back until I meet her solemn gaze. “Any time, Maximilian. Anywhere. As long as it’s with you.”
“Then it’ll be soon. But not against a wall. In a bed.”
She nods.
“My bed.”
That possessive demand makes her smile. “If that’s what you want.”
“What I want is to lick your pussy until you come all over my tongue. I’d make you so damn wet, then feel your virgin cunt stretch around every inch of my cock.” But even as her gaze lights with a new fire, I force myself to finally set her down. On a heavy breath, I tell her, “But what I need to do is apologize.”
She doesn’t ask why. Because she knows. That tight wariness returns to her expression, and the way she subtly withdraws to refasten her shirt is a spike through my chest.
“Forgive me, Victoria. When I called that meeting, I held it in my study, which is open to most of my office. I don’t know how many of my staff came and went during that time, and I didn’t stop to think how many people might overhear us discussing you.” I hadn’t thought there would be any discussion at all, but that’s not an excuse. “I should have taken proper care to make certain it would remain private. I am sorry for that, and it won’t ha
ppen again.”
Her eyes soften. “Thank you.”
I hadn’t expected her to forgive me so easily. Because that’s not the only apology that needs to be offered. “As for what Jeannette said—”
“That I’m a horrible choice?” Amusement lights her face. “And several of your advisors agree.”
Remembering everything they said pisses me off all over again. Harshly I say, “Because their priorities regarding this marriage are not the same as mine.”
My anger seems to deepen her amusement. “Did they give you other choices? Let me see if I can guess. Who’s the right age and has something to offer Kapria?” Her eyes narrow as she ponders for a moment. “Felicity Pfieffer? Or maybe Adele von Schuster? She’s very sweet, you know.”
“I don’t know.” And don’t care. I can’t even remember the names given to me…although those do sound familiar.
But Victoria’s having fun—and I can’t resist that smile when she asks playfully, “So, who else? Tell me.”
Shit. I do remember one. “Elsa zu Danzig.”
“Elsa?” Her eyes widen, her tone teasing again. “She’s definitely not a horrible choice.”
I can’t fucking play this anymore. “Neither are you.”
“I know.” She studies my face for a moment, then steps closer, reaching for my tie. I don’t know which one of us loosened it, but I’m glad one of us did since it brings her within kissing distance again. But her eyes don’t meet mine, remaining focused on the tie as she continues, “The article didn’t mention that we were betrothed.”
“I don’t know why.” But even as I make that claim, I’m pretty fucking sure that I do know why. It’s because Victoria was the target. So they wanted to tear her down without touching me. “I suspect they didn’t want the world to think that Kapria’s king can be bought.”
Dryly she responds, “I’m thankful they kept the betrothal secret, then. I don’t want to the world to believe that the only way I can get a man is to buy one.”
No one would believe that anyway, because the opposite is true. A man would sell the world to have her. Or sell a throne.
I frown as, for the first time in twelve years, it occurs to me that is exactly what Victoria might think. “It was your father who made the agreement. Do you feel as if you were sold to me?”
Her surprised gaze flies to mine. “No. I never thought that.”
“Good.”
She looks down again, eyes on her fingers as she tugs the end of the tie through the knot. “What about you? If you feel bought—”
“I don’t,” I cut her off before she can finish that thought. “And I got the better deal at both ends. I gave your father nothing but my word and received both a fortune and a queen. And my advisors could not have chosen better for me than your father did.”
“Of course not. He was a genius, after all.” And despite my attempt to stop her, she finishes her earlier thought anyway. “Still, if you have any doubts about whether I’m the queen you want, I would never make you keep your promise.”
“You are the queen I want.” And I’d like to strangle not just the source of the leak, but also Jeannette, Philippa, and Frederich for ever saying a word to make her doubt it. “My advisors will soon see you are the best choice, too. As will the press. But even if they don’t, it will having nothing to do with what is between us.”
“What is between us?” The stark emotion in the depths of her eyes is unfathomable when she glances up again. “Duty and obligation?”
“Yes. Along with mutual respect, I hope. Dedication to Kapria. Attraction.” My voice deepens, and I cup her face in my hands, tracing my thumb along the plush curve of her bottom lip. “I look forward most of all to the duty of producing an heir.”
She goes utterly still. “Because even sex is a royal duty.”
“A pleasurable duty,” I remind her, because in that moment something within her withdrew again. But this time, I can’t follow and apologize because I’m not certain what caused it. I’m only certain the smile that curves her mouth now isn’t as deep or as true as the ones that came before. And although she doesn’t pull away from me, the flat and faraway look in her eyes tells me that she’s somewhere else, anyway.
Softly she says, “And it will be my duty and pleasure to help you serve Kapria. Because you’re advisors aren’t wrong. At least, they aren’t wrong in their reasoning. A royal wedding is lavish and expensive, but it will also boost interest in the kingdom in the short term—and in the longer term, offer another source of income. Especially from tourists. A royal wedding would receive free publicity on an international stage while the world’s eyes are already turned our way, thanks to the reactor. So the last thing you want is to bore everyone. But with a bride who’s beautiful, or flashy, or important, then the world’s interest will only be heightened. Just like it was when Prince Harry decided to marry. That’s why your advisors suggested that you marry Elsa.”
I stare at her. She captured every reason clearly. “You might as well have attended that meeting, too. You just said everything my advisors did.”
Now she gives me a dour look. “Your advisors are idiots. They think the prince’s engagement in England captured the world’s attention simply because she’s beautiful? It’s because they are clearly in love. And it helps that she’s not the typical royal bride. She’s divorced and was an actress.”
“Just like Elsa?” My voice is low and dangerous, because if she suggests again that Elsa would be a good match—
“Elsa would be nothing like her. Because you don’t love Elsa. Don’t you see? A divorced actress should be a horrible choice, too. But in that case, her past and her occupation only makes it all more enchanting because love conquered all. It conquered tradition—and there are few things more powerful and more oppressive than tradition. So their love is like something out of a fairy tale. And that is what captures the public’s imagination.” A bitter little smile twists her lips. “But do you know what’s boring? State marriages that are based on duty and obligation. If you want this wedding to keep the world’s attention on Kapria, then you should pretend to be madly in love. Then all the awkward photos and horrible headlines that a tabloid can publish about me won’t make a difference. Looking at me through that lens—the lens where you love me—the world won’t see me as horrible, but adorable. And it will be part of the fairy tale, because your love conquered all, even over the wishes of your advisors and the insults from the media. So can you do that, Your Majesty? To serve Kapria, can you pretend to love me?”
“I don’t think that would be a hardship,” I murmur, still reeling from her speech. I also don’t think that I’ll have to pretend. Jeannette could not have been more mistaken about her. Victoria is every bit as brilliant as her father had been. Perhaps not as an inventor or a financier, but in her own incisive manner. “And I should have had you in that meeting.”
Her voice seems thick as she says, “With one word, you could have had me there at any time.” A sharp emotion glitters in her eyes before she averts her gaze. “We have not yet officially announced our engagement. If you prefer to find someone you can truly marry for love, I will release you from this obligation.”
Fuck no. I catch her chin and force her to meet my eyes again. Harshly I say, “This is the second time today that you have offered to back out of our engagement. Are you hoping I will ask you to?”
Her breath trembles, and her reply is a strained whisper. “No.”
“Then never speak of it again,” I command roughly. “Some men might chase after a fanciful promise of love. I prefer what is standing right in front of me. And I will have you as my queen.”
Because I can’t bear to lose her now.
But when she closes her eyes and nods, then offers a stiff smile when she looks up at me again…it feels as if I’ve lost her, anyway.
Victoria
This should have been one of the happiest moments of my life. After letting the press speculate for a week, with Maximi
lian showing up at nearly every event I attended, today the royal palace officially announced the king’s engagement. This afternoon, we stood together in the palace gardens and smiled adoringly at each other for the press. Now we’re standing at the head of one of the ballrooms within the palace. Today isn’t the engagement ball—that public event celebrating our upcoming nuptials is scheduled for next Sunday—but instead a more ‘intimate’ event for the army of staff and residents within the palace who probably won’t enjoy a full night’s sleep from now until the wedding.
While gazing down at me with an enraptured expression, Maximilian raises a toast to his future queen. The fiancée he’s pretending to love.
I don’t know why this hurts so much. This was my idea—to show the world a couple in love.
I didn’t know he would do it so well. When the toast is over, he bends his head and gently touches his lips to mine—and for a moment, all the pain is gone, washed away by the pleasure of his touch. It happens every time he kisses me…which is often. As often as a man in love would. And not only chaste kisses, as now, but kisses that are hot and deep and so full of need that I forget sex is a part of duty and obligation. His every caress sweeps that knowledge away.
Until it’s over, and I remember again.
Now he lifts his head and I can’t stop myself from rising up on my toes, trying to hold onto the pleasure just a little longer. Trying to delay the pain.
As if sensing my reluctance, he kisses me again. So gently. So sweetly. As if he can’t bear to let me go, either.
He’s so very good at this. If I didn’t know the truth, I could almost believe he loved me, too. He breaks the kiss but still doesn’t let me go, instead wrapping his strong arm around my waist and pulling me in against his side.
“How are you holding up?” he asks me quietly, his gaze shining with concern as it searches my face. “This isn’t too much?”
“Of course not,” I murmur back.
