by Imani King
As I retreat her hands run up and down my sides. When I thrust in she cries out and digs her nails into my back. I lose all semblance of control. We fuck with wild abandon. She rises to meet each thrust and retreats as I do. Hot lightning rips through my body. Everywhere we touch is a flare point of pleasure.
Retreating again I pull out of her, and she gasps in surprise. I grab her hips and move her onto her side then lie down behind her. She lifts her leg welcoming me in and I thrust once more into her. She bends forward so that I’m able to drive in deeper, but now I reach over with my hand. Finding her clit, I tease it, moving my cock in and out of her rapidly. She groans as I work her. It takes all my control to not lose myself to the pleasure fast. I can’t hold back for long, though.
My core tightens into a hard knot then I’m exploding inside of her. We cry out to each other in our moment of ultimate pleasure then we’re cuddling together on the bed. Everything is right, and I’ve never felt happier. Having her in my arms makes everything better. Her breathing is fast and ragged. Her heart pounds in her chest, beating against me through her back. I kiss along the back of her neck, and she nuzzle closer.
“Hmm, I love you,” she says breathless still.
My heart skips a beat. She said It. Moving closer to her ear, I nibble on the lobe.
“I love you,” I whisper.
We lie together and the time passes with soft touches and kisses. At last she rolls over, touches my face, and smiles.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“Being patient, waiting for me,” she says.
“You’re worth it,” I reply and her smile broadens. “So divorce is off the table? I’m just making sure.”
“Yes,” she replies and relief floods through me. “And I’ve got a plan.”
She grins devilishly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I love the way he looks after sex. He has a glow that makes me happy. His eyes never stop smoldering when he’s looking at me, which makes me feel beautiful. He smiles and my heart goes into overdrive. I love him. Everything else is what it is and I can’t change it. I can’t fight this feeling any longer.
He grins. “So what’s your plan?”
His fingers trail along my side with a light touch that tingles and tickles at the same time. I giggle as he hits a spot around my hips that makes me squirm. Laughing, I push his hand away before speaking.
“Stop that,” I admonish but he flashes the devil’s own grin in response.
He kisses me and his fingers rove on, continuing their exploration of my body. “Your plan,” he reminds me between kisses.
“You’re being very distracting,” I say.
“Am I?” he says kissing across my shoulder. “So sorry.”
“You’re not!” I exclaim, squirming again as he kisses along my collar bone to my neck.
“Sure I am,” he says. “I can’t resist you, is that my fault?”
I push him away laughing. “Yes.”
“You’re right. I’ll be serious.” He smiles, holding his head up on an elbow.
“Good,” I say. “Okay, we have to figure this out if we’re going to do it.”
“Yeah,” he says but then his fingers are running up and down my leg again.
“Kian!” I slap his chest and he looks up.
“Sorry, distractions,” he says, grinning.
“Pay attention.”
“Sure.”
I shake my head before I continue trying to explain my plan.
“Your parents are dead set against this,” I say, the pain in my chest returning as I recall the single conversation I’ve had with them. “Or at least, we think they are.”
“They can deal.” He shrugs, like their reactions mean nothing to him. But I know better—when you’re the son of a king and queen, the reactions of your parents have weight.
“No, they can’t Kian,” I say. “We have to deal with them. It’s only right. You have duties, responsibilities—to them and your country. If we’re going to stay married, that’s part of the package. We have to both live up to the expectations.”
“I’ve spent my entire life trying to avoid doing that very thing,” he answers, still more interested in the exploration of his fingers than what I’m saying.
“I know, and that has to stop.”
He looks up and meets my eyes. His fingers stop roaming, and he bites his inner lip. “That’s part of the deal?”
“Yes.”
“Non-negotiable?”
“No, it’s definitely not negotiable,” I answer, and he smiles from ear to ear.
“I knew they’d like you,” he says.
“What?” I ask in confusion.
“They’ve wanted me to settle down for years. I never have, never saw a reason to. You’re the reason. I’ll do it for you.”
My chest swells until I’m sure it’s going to explode. He smiles, but I see in his eyes how serious he is. He means every word he says.
“I want to finish my degree, though,” I say.
“Fine,” he says. “I was already planning on staying in Glasgow.”
“Why?” I ask. “After I told you I was taking the divorce why did you stay?”
He doesn’t answer me for several minutes. The silence of the room is comfortable. His fingers trace along the curve of my hip and down my legs before trailing back up.
“I don’t want a life without you,” he says at last. “Staying close, I could try to find a way.”
Tears well in my eyes. My emotions are too much to be expressed in words. I lean in and kiss him, running my fingers through his hair.
“We still have to deal with the press,” I say, breaking the kiss at last.
“They’ll move on. There are always bigger fish to fry, Abby.”
“It’s not enough,” I say. “I won’t have my name drug through the mud like that. My mom has called a dozen times already. I’m not the girl they’re painting me to be.”
“I know.”
“Of course you know, but I don’t want the world to think of me as the greedy American. Especially your people, who I know very little about. What will they think if you bring me home like this? Do they get the papers there?”
“Unfortunately,” he says. “I’ve asked my father if we couldn’t get rid of them and block off the internet. He said it was a terrible idea.”
“You are terrible,” I laugh, slapping his chest.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, slapping my bottom. “You didn’t seem to think this was so terrible.”
Gripping my hips, he pulls me over onto my stomach then puts his legs on either side of me. His cock is amazingly hard again and pressing down between my legs. I part them enough to give him access. He slides in, and I gasp. We make love, fast and dirty. It cuts off the conversation, but I don’t care. We have all the time in the world for talk. As he joins me, I feel more and more like we’re coming together on a level that is so much more than physical. Pleasure wracks my body and then I collapse into the bed, panting. Kian lies down next to me.
“You make it hard to get anything done,” I observe.
“You complaining?”
“Nope.”
“Okay then,” he says.
Once I have my breath back, I sit up and bed and just to make sure we get things done I walk to the shower. Kian joins me, and we take our time washing each other and enjoying our time together. After our shower, we sit in the living room. I have a warm cup of tea, and he has a beer while we cuddle on the couch.
“So, the media,” I bring the subject back up.
“Yeah, they suck,” he says sipping the beer.
“I get that, but we have to work with them,” I say. “Once we have your parents on board we need to get your country behind us. Then we can handle the media storm.”
“Sounds good.”
“How much trouble do you think your parents are going to be?”
He takes a long pull on the beer before answering.
<
br /> “I’m not sure,” he says. “Could be… difficult.”
“I was worried about that.”
“Ah, don’t worry. I’ll handle them. It’s not like they could possibly be any more disappointed in me than they already are.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” I say. “Or this could be exactly what they’ve been hoping for.”
“You’re an optimist,” he says.
“Sure, why not? I’m an American girl from Kansas and I’m married to a prince. What is there to not be optimistic about?”
“You forgot to mention how incredibly hot and sexy the prince is,” he grins.
“Did I leave that part off?”
“Most important part.”
“Well, he doesn’t compete with his older brother, but you know, take what you can get right?” I tease him, and he pushes against me.
He laughs. “Wow, that cuts deep!”
“Well it’s okay. I love you.”
“I love you,” he says, kissing me.
“Do you think love can conquer all?” I ask, doubts and worry swirling deep in my thoughts.
“Before you, I didn’t. Now, yes. I do.”
“Good. We’re going to need it,” I say.
“When do you want to meet my parents?” He gives me a look that suggests he’d rather stay here for the next twenty years and introduce me when our children are graduating from high school.
“Sooner the better I would think,” I say. “They’re expecting me to accept the divorce. I’d rather tell them in person than surprise them with my refusal.”
“Good plan,” he says. “How about tomorrow? We need to get this over with.”
My stomach clenches tight with fear, and my blood runs cold. I take a deep, calming breath, then nod. “Sure, why not?”
“Then it’s set,” he says but his voice is tight and I know he’s just as nervous as I am.
Tomorrow, I’ll be meeting the king and queen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Oh my god,” Abby exhales as we step out of the limousine.
“It’s something isn’t it?”
Standing in front of the castle is impressive, and I enjoy experiencing it with Abby. The wonder in her eyes makes me see things here for the first time. The countryside is beautiful this time of year. The ivy climbing the walls is green and lush. The guards in their sharp red uniforms stand at attention with their firearms polished and ready. I’m used to it, so it’s nothing to me, normally. We walk through the massive double doors that swing open as we approach.
“Welcome home, sir,” Seamus greets us.
He’s dressed as always in black pants, an impeccable white shirt, and jacket, with his hair slicked back into place. I have no idea how old Seamus is. He’s always looked the same age since I can remember.
“Hi Seamus,” I reply. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Abby.”
Seamus stares at Abby with something as close to disdain as you can get without crossing the line. It’s a skill he has to make you feel small while never doing anything that would outwardly get him in trouble.
“The pleasure is mine,” he intones in his rich baritone voice and gives her a half bow.
Abby glances at me. “Thank you,” she says.
“The King and Queen await your arrival in the small hall sir,” Seamus says.
“Thanks,” I answer him.
Seamus turns on a heel and walks away, leaving Abby and me standing in the foyer. She turns a slow circle taking in the opulence with open admiration.
“It’s beautiful,” she comments.
“Yes.”
I lead us towards the small hall. Our footsteps echo on the marble floor, bouncing back to us from the murals, vaulted ceiling, and the statues that line the grand entrance. We pass doors with soldiers at the ready who don’t react to our passing. Watching Abby take it all in gives me a new appreciation of it.
I’ve lived here most of my life, and for me, this is all normal. Which also means I’ve taken it for granted. Listening to our footsteps echo, a sense of the weight of history comes over me. My ancestors have lived and died in these halls for hundreds of years. Guiding our country to this moment through history. Hopefully, in the future, my own children, grandchildren, and even my great-great-grandchildren will run in these halls. Play hide and seek behind the statues as Aidan and I did growing up. One day they will be the ruling family of this country. It’s never meant anything to me before but now I feel it because of her.
“This is amazing,” she says as we get to the end of the hall and I stop us before a set of double oak doors with heavy iron hinges.
“You make it that way.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she says. “The history—how many generations of your family have lived here?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, shrugging.
She shakes her head then takes a deep breath. “Do you think they’ll like me?”
“Who?”
“Your parents,” she says.
“Of course they will.”
She nods, biting her lip. I pull her into an embrace. She leans her head back, and we kiss. It’s passionate without being erotic. It’s a kiss I could enjoy for days. Long, slow, and reinforces how much I need her.
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you,” I say. We step apart, straighten our clothes, then I take her hand in mine. “Ready?”
“Do I have a choice?” she asks with a half-laugh.
“Nope, you’re all in, remember?”
She nods and swallows. I push open the double doors. They swing aside silently giving us access to the small hall. It’s an intimate setting intended for the greeting of noble guests in a quieter, less formal way. Decorated in dark woods with tapestries lining the walls and a fireplace that always has a fire burning. A dais rises up two steps at the far end from the doors with smaller versions of the royal thrones. Before the dais is a long, wide table, designed to seat up to twenty guests. Guests can be greeted formally from the dais or enjoy a meal with the royal family.
Butterflies perform a tap dance in my stomach as we step across the threshold. It doesn’t matter what happens next. If it goes bad, then we’ll return to Scotland and live there. No matter their decision or reaction I’m not going to live my life without Abby as my wife. If they can’t live with that, then they can disavow me.
My parents sit on the thrones, which isn’t a good start. It’s formal and intimidating, a fact I know damn well didn’t escape their notice. Abby’s grip on my hand tightens as we walk down the carpet leading up to the dais. Watching her out of the corner of my eye it’s the only sign of her nerves. I can’t help my smile, she’s so incredibly strong and impressive.
We stop before the dais, and I give a half bow. Abby does a full curtsy. My parents watch us with cold, impassive eyes. Abby remains in her bent position while I stand up. I pull her up, unwilling to let them force her into more formality. I want to take at least some control of the situation. She rises with only a quick glance at me. I squeeze her had to reassure her.
“Mother, Father,” I greet them.
“Kian,” Mother says.
“Son,” Father intones.
They sit quietly, waiting. They’re not going to make this any easier apparently. Well fine—I’ll push my way through.
“I’d like you to meet my wife, Abby Palmer of the United States.”
As if they’re one person my parents’ eyes turn to her. The judgment of us is blatant. Abby is amazingly strong, standing up to their gaze without withering.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says.
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Mother replies.
My Father strokes his goatee and doesn’t say anything.
“You can imagine our…” Mother trails off looking for the proper words. “Surprise.”
“Yes ma’am,” Abby replies. “I can only imagine the shock of all this for both of you. I’m truly sorry for that.”
�
��They’re used to it,” I reply. “I’m always doing something shocking.”
“Kian,” Mother says with a note of shock in her voice. “Your wife and I were speaking.”
The subtle ability of my Mother to make me feel completely out of place hasn’t lessened in my absence. Abby smiles and squeezes my hand.
“Sorry, Mother,” I reply, and she returns her attention to Abby.
“This is an unusual situation,” Mother continues. “We know almost nothing of you, yet you are married into our family. In the best of circumstances, this would be awkward. Our family is not what one would consider normal. It comes with certain responsibilities that must be met.”
“I understand that ma’am, and I’m ready to learn what duties will be required of me,” Abby answers.
Mother smiles. “Well, that’s a good start. Perhaps.”
“A meal would be in order,” Father says. “I’m sure you both must be hungry.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Abby says.
On some invisible cue, doors open on either side of the small hall and waiters pour in laying out a full meal service in moments. Mother and Father rise and holding hands walk down the small dais then take their seats at the head of the table. Taking Abby’s hand, I lead us to Father’s left hand side.
“So Abby,” Mother says. “Tell us about yourself. We know very little of you, though I must say I was quite surprised by your actions so far.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Abby says.
“You refused the money while accepting the divorce,” Father says. “Now you’ve changed your mind?”
“Yes, I have, Your Majesty.”
“What is it you do? You’re in graduate school, are you not?” Mother asks.
“Yes ma’am,” Abby replies. “I’m working on my master’s in literature, almost finished. I intend to be a professor.”
“Well, that’s an impressive goal,” Mother says, and Father nods his agreement.
“Thank you,” Abby says.
Silence sits heavy while we eat, and the minutes drag uncomfortably by between bouts of small talk. This has to be the worst meal I’ve ever sat through in my life. The door to the small hall opens, and Aidan walks in. He’s in the attire he typically wears back home in Sorenia—a suit jacket and casual pants. He looks stiff, uncomfortable. I wonder about him meeting this woman he’s supposed to marry. He’s not in a relationship with her, doesn’t love her, isn’t attracted to her. He doesn’t know her like I know Abby, and suddenly, I feel very sorry for him.
