by S. E. Rose
“I’d like to lie in with you,” I think to myself.
“Sorry?” she asks, raising her eyebrow.
Shit, had I said that out loud. “Later is fine.”
I stand and follow her out of my office, inhaling her perfume with each step. I’m not sure what is more intoxicating, her smell or the mere vision of her ass swaying. She hasn’t noticed me approach her, so when she swivels around to say something else, she is nearly knocked over and the envelopes go sailing in all directions.
“Oh, shit,” she yells as she falls to her knees in front of me.
“What was that?” I ask.
She looks up at me. Her face is now eye level with my cock and the vision of what she could look like with those red lips wrapped around it is all I can see at that moment.
Her face reddens. “I…I’m sorry, Your Highness. I…” She trails off and looks down, collecting the papers on the floor. I can’t help but drop to a knee and join her in retrieving everything.
“We’ll have to sort these again,” I say, feigning contempt.
“I’m so sorry. I think I remember most of them. I can do it and follow back up if I can’t remember,” she states as she grabs the envelopes and piles them on the floor next to her.
And that’s when I see it. Her lip trembles and that small reaction is enough to unleash the protective beast inside me.
I reach out and gently take her chin between my forefinger and thumb, urging her to look up at me. Our faces are closer with me on my knee, but she is now on all fours, so I still hover above her. I can see the unshed tears in her eyes.
“Mia,” I breath, “it’s alright. I can sort these. I’m not mad.”
She sniffles as a single tear manages to make it over her lower eyelid. I catch it on my thumb. “You’re not?”
I shake my head and take her face in my hands. We are nearly face-to-face as she rises on her knees.
“W-what are you doing?” she asks.
“I’ve been fighting this since the moment I saw you. I’ve tried, Mia. I’ve tried so damned hard to not want you, but I can’t deny it any longer,” I say in a low voice.
“Your High—”
“Christian,” I correct as I run my thumb over her bottom lip.
She clears her throat, and I can feel her swallow against my hand. My mind goes to a thousand dirty things that I want to do with her.
Her mouth opens and then closes. She is flustered and it only makes her more attractive. I should ask before I take, but I’ve never had to ask for a thing in my entire life. As the heir to the throne, everything has been presented to me on a silver platter. And right at that moment, I want to take her, to make her mine.
I bring my face to hers and whisper, “I shouldn’t do this, but I don’t have any more willpower left.” And with that, I kiss her. She doesn’t move at first, but she also doesn’t pull away. It is when I lick her bottom lip that I unlock the door into her soul. She suddenly responds with fervor like I have ignited a flame within her. The kiss takes on a life of its own as we divest each other of our clothes. The image of Mia laid out naked on my 17th-century Mazarin desk, her legs spread and dangling over the edge is a sight I will never forget. Every inch of her body is perfection, the type of perfection men dream about and fight wars over. I don’t worship her body properly. No, it is quick and rough, and we both take what we need. The languid, slow lovemaking will come later, and it won’t disappoint.
“Your Highness?” the flight attendant says, pulling me from my memory. I glance up and find her holding a tray with a cup of coffee. I nod and motion for her to set it down.
“We’ll be landing in thirty minutes,” our pilot’s voice permeates the silence of the cabin. The only other humans on the plane are Cain and Vince, my bodyguards and two of my closest confidants.
“Anything?” I turn to Cain, who’s been on his laptop this whole flight.
“Not yet, sir. I don’t have any footage of her recently. She may not have left her parents’ home,” he says as his fingers fly over the keyboard.
It’s been less than two weeks since I last held Mia in my arms, but that might as well be two years or two decades because each second has felt like a lifetime without her. I reach inside the satin lining of my suit jacket and feel the letter I tucked away. I was going to mail it. I wasn’t sure if she would want to see me. She hasn’t taken a single call or answered a single text from me in over a week. So, here I am, flying across the North Sea to England because I’ll be damned if I let the greatest thing that ever happened to me disappear from my life.
Only, I fucked up by letting her go in the first place. I just hope that I’m not too late.
Continue Prince Christian’s story in A True King.
