Royal Mate

by Juniper Hart

  “Dammit, Chauncey!” she howled. “Get on your pillow! Bad dog! Bad, bad dog!” She hurried toward Maximus, grabbing his hand. “Why didn’t you listen?” she groaned, looking at the gash. “You’re going to need stitches now.”

  “No,” Maximus assured her. “Just find me a plaster and some alcohol. It will be fine.”

  “It’s too deep—”

  “Trust me,” he told her. “Just a plaster and some alcohol. I can handle the rest.”

  Poet eyed him for a moment before releasing his hand and sprinting toward the bathroom, still scolding her pet.

  “It’s all right, Poet,” Maximus called, glaring at the dog. “It was my own fault for not listening.”

  “Oh, it’s Poet now, is it?” she yelled back. “No more ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Princess’?”

  Maximus felt a hot flush rise to his cheeks. Nothing gets by this one, he thought grimly, unsure if he was amused or worried. Mostly, he was confused.

  He studied the cut on his hand, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw it was already healing.

  “Here,” Poet said, hurrying back to the entranceway with the bandages and rubbing alcohol. “Come into the kitchen and—”

  The piercing whistle of the kettle screeched into the air, and Poet whirled to deal with it as Maximus took the supplies from her hands.

  I have to cover this before she notices the cut closing, he thought, watching her movements out of the corner of his eye as he quickly wrapped his hand.

  “Don’t worry about your shoes!” Poet told him, pulling the kettle off the stove. “Come and rinse off your hand before you wrap it. Chauncey has all his shots, so you don’t need to worry about a tetanus needle or anything.”

  Maximus swallowed a smile and cinched the bandage around his palm. I would be more concerned about what happens to your mutt, he thought, slowly making his way into the kitchen to join her.

  “Oh, no, you can’t just wrap it like that!” Poet scolded him, reaching for his hand hastily but Max instinctively pulled it back.

  “It was just a scratch,” he told her, but she was insistent, yanking his arm toward her.

  “It looked worse than a scratch,” she insisted, holding his arm tightly in her hand.

  As she went to remove the wrapping, Maximus knew he had no choice but to act. Without thinking, he wrenched his arm away. Using his unhurt palm, he pulled Poet in and dropped his mouth to hers, locking her into a deep kiss. He could see her eyes widening in shock, but then she was returning his kiss, her mouth parting eagerly beneath his.

  Oh, what am I doing? Maximus asked himself. He didn’t stop, though, pressing his body closer to hers as their embrace intensified.

  A soft sigh escaped Poet’s lips, and the hotness of her breath caused an immediate stirring inside his loins. Her hands snaked around to ensnare his head, her tongue meeting his.

  Any resolve Maximus had was gone, and he pressed Poet back toward the fridge, both hands sliding against her hips, driving Poet’s pelvis closer to his so she could feel the rising bulge in his groin. Their gazes still holding, Maximus slightly pulled away to stare at her, his pulse racing.

  “Why are you stopping?” she demanded, grabbing his waistband and yanking her toward him. He needed no further encouragement. Maximus scooped her up in his muscular arms, lips meshing once more as he lay her on the couch.

  A low growl of protest emanated from Chauncey’s mouth.

  “Get in the bedroom!” Poet yelled.

  “Me or the dog?” Maximus rasped, his mouth against the lines of her chin, fingers fumbling against the buttons of her shirt.

  “Shut up and kiss me,” Poet ordered.

  Maximus did not need to be told twice, his nose against the hot flesh of her chest.

  In unison, they stripped off their clothes. Shirts, socks, and pants landed in various areas of the tastefully done living room until they were both a naked pile of arms and legs, entwined in one another.

  Poet’s hands fell onto Maximus’ head, his mouth falling across the luscious fullness of her breasts, his mouth sucking on her erect nipples. Poet moaned softly, pulling her thighs up to his shoulders, gently forcing him lower across her stomach.

  The need to taste her was bringing Maximus to heights he had never known.

  He could not understand how this woman he did not know—a woman who could potentially create havoc for him and his family—had such an incredible hold over him.

  He didn’t want to question it, to be concerned that whatever attraction he felt toward Poet would be fleeting. Or worse, that she might be disappointed.

  As Maximus slipped his open hands across the concave of her smooth belly, his fingers digging into her creamy hips, he shoved every single thought from his mind and focused on the movements of his tongue against Poet’s center.

  5

  Poet’s legs clamped around Max’s ears, the first feeling of his tongue against her center causing shivers of heat through her body, like a thousand volts of electricity.

  “Oh, yes!” she purred. “Yes!”

  Max seemed to take her encouragement easily, his movements growing bolder, his fingers meeting the crack of her cheeks to explore her even further.

  What am I doing? Poet asked herself, awe and pleasure overcoming her senses.

  She had never had a one-night stand. Allowing a stranger into her home was odd enough. Stripping off her clothes and allowing him to lick her raw was unlike anything she had ever done in her life. But, as hot pleasure flowed from her to meet Max’s eager tongue, she couldn’t help thinking it felt so right.

  From the moment Poet had seen him in class, there had just been something about him, something magnetic, something—

  “Oh!” she cried out again, her hips bucking upward, her center meshing against his mouth as Max teased her throbbing button. “I’m—I’m—!”

  His mouth sucked harder around her, one finger sliding across the crack of her ass cheeks before slipping inside her, bringing forth her climax. It was all Poet could take, an orgasm erupting through her as her body tensed and quivered, her hands squeezing his head in sync with her legs.

  All caution was thrown to the wind. Her desire to have Max inside her overtook anything else she could feel in that moment.

  With shaking fingers, Poet pulled on him roughly, their eyes meeting.

  “You are so beautiful,” Max murmured, his voice sending shivers of pleasure through her body. Never had Poet felt more wanted, his eyes glittering with sincerity as he slithered up her body, his toned abs sliding against her belly, his chest pressing against her swollen breasts.

  It wasn’t until she felt the tip of his member sweep across the cleft in her legs that she realized how big he was, and Poet gasped, her pupils constricting as Max’s hands encircled her rear, spreading her further apart to prod against her slick opening.

  “Take me,” she exhaled.

  Max plunged inside her, his fingertips still playing with the crack of her ass as her ankles locked against his neck. He raised her higher, bringing her body almost perpendicular against him as his movements grew harder and faster, each stroke seeming to reach her more deeply than the last.

  Poet cried out, the heart of their passion only growing as each thrust drove harder inside her. Her lips parted, and Max took it as an invitation to crush his mouth to hers.

  Her climax built inside of her again, and locking her gaze to Max’s again was all it took. Her body trembled against him, his palms splayed against her ass, and Max grunted, his sack tensing to slap her center with each push.

  Poet’s breath caught in her throat before releasing a high, shrill cry. Her arousal spilled against his rigid shaft, his unit growing thicker inside the walls of her core as his orgasm grew inside his loins. His thrusts became hard and fast as Poet’s legs extended higher over Max’s head, his shaft pushing into her middle.

  Poet stared in disbelief at the frenzied desire in his face. His jaw locked, Max released a low, guttural groan, and Poet wa
s filled with his heated seed. Again, his mouth latched onto hers, their kisses as wet and deep as Max’s heated member.

  With one final thrust, Max dropped his head to her neck, his muscled form quivering slightly as Poet clung to his sweaty, heavy-breathing back.

  They were silent, Poet trying to collect both her thoughts and her composure, her heart refusing to steady. From her awkward position beneath Max’s solid form, she could feel his pulse having the same issue, but she did not move, relishing the feeling of his body pressed against her.

  After a moment, they both became aware of Chauncey eyeing them from his pillow in the corner, exposing his canine teeth.

  “Is it just me he hates, or is it all your boyfriends?” Max asked lightly, very slowly moving back to lower Poet’s over-stretched thighs. She stifled a sigh of disappointment, the walls of her center squeezing around him as if trying to keep him close. He smiled at her, effortlessly sliding out of her.

  Poet scowled at him. “I don’t usually do things like this,” she murmured, a hot flush reaching her already hot cheeks. “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  To her surprise, Max’s smile widened.

  “How lucky for me, then,” he replied, sitting up on the sofa.

  Poet’s indignation turned soft as she studied his handsome profile. She knew she should feel some sort of weird or uncomfortable vibe after what they had just done, but there was none of that, as if she had known Max forever and their act had been inevitable for centuries. It was a ridiculous thought, most likely originating from the heat of the moment. Poet didn’t even try to understand it, slowly rising to a sitting position next to Max.

  “Can I take you out for dinner?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence, and Poet realized she was starving. She nodded, her gaze still fixated on his face.

  “That would be good,” she agreed. “Anywhere but the Cloak and Clock.”

  “I agree,” Max snickered, reaching for his discarded pants. “I have a better place in mind.”

  Poet watched him through her peripheral vision, waiting for embarrassment to overcome her. However, she felt nothing but affection toward him, and Poet almost felt alarmed at how natural this affection seemed to her.

  “Who are you, really, Max?” she asked as they dressed.

  Max glanced at her, his blue eyes clouding over. For a moment, it made Poet wish she could take back the question. She felt as if she had ruined the idyllic feeling between them with her inquiry, but she had to know how this stranger had ended up on her doorstep and what he wanted from her.

  “I told you,” he started to say. “I’m—”

  “You’re going to have to drop the act that you’re my security,” she sighed, cutting him off. “Because you’re going to come face-to-face with my real detail eventually, and then you’re going to have to explain who you are.”

  Max paused, his expression nearly a blank slate that betrayed nothing. After a silent minute, he sighed deeply.

  “I saw you on campus, okay?” he confessed. “And I always thought you were so beautiful, so I found out who you were and thought I could—”

  “Lie to me?” Poet bluntly interrupted him. Despite the butterflies fluttering in her gut, her tone was harsh and sharp.

  “I know,” Max said. “It sounds a wee stalkerish now, doesn’t it? But that wasn’t my intention. I only wanted to know who you were.”

  Poet spun and looked at him, dropping her hands from the buttons on her shirt as she cupped his face.

  “Next time you want to meet a girl, maybe you should just try walking up to her and introducing yourself,” she suggested, her tone teasing. “I hear saying hello is a great icebreaker. Also, it doesn’t require stalking.”

  His full mouth parted, as if he wanted to say something else, but he ended up grinning instead.

  “Where’s the mystery in that?” he joked back. “And if all goes well, there won’t be another woman I will ever feel the need to introduce myself to in this way.”

  Poet laughed nervously, seeing the genuine emotion in his eyes, and dropped her hands. What was happening? Could such a strong attraction between two people happen this fast? It seemed like that only happened in books and movies, and yet…

  Her palm brushed his bandaged hand, and she suddenly remembered his injury.

  “Ah, bollocks,” she cursed. “How is your hand?”

  Max pulled it back, slipping his t-shirt over his broad chest.

  “All better,” he answered, glancing over at Chauncey, who continued to glower at him. “Your mutt will have to do better than that next time.”

  “He won’t do anything like that again, will you, Chauncey?” The Cocker Spaniel growled in response, sullenly turning his head away.

  “Come on,” Max said, taking her hand. “I’m bloody famished.”

  Poet accepted the grip of his unwrapped palm and smiled, her heart thumping slightly as she tried to remember the last time she had held hands with someone in a romantic way.

  Is this romance? she asked herself as she secured her apartment with a stern warning for Chauncey to behave himself. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to question it—at least not for the time being. She deserved to feel like a normal girl for once.

  Maybe, just for tonight, she could simply be Poet Mueller, not Princess of Luxe.

  But as she stole into the elevator with Max, she silently hoped that it would be more than just one day.

  They were ushered toward a table at the back of the restaurant as per Max’s request.

  “Your security has been following us,” he told her, and Poet looked at him in surprise as the maître d’ left them alone with the wine list.

  “How do you know?” she asked, peering toward the entrance.

  Max chuckled. “I did my homework,” he replied. “I needed to know my competition.”

  Poet thought back to his confession of having stalked her, and she was mildly offended. She was also, however, amused and begrudgingly impressed.

  “They aren’t supposed to follow me indoors,” she said. “It’s how I initially knew you didn’t belong in my detail.”

  Max smiled sheepishly.

  “I guess I didn’t do my research all that well,” he said, sitting back to study her face. “But how else does one manage to catch the attention of a beautiful princess?”

  “As I said earlier, a simple hello would have sufficed,” Poet laughed. “How come I don’t recall seeing you around campus?”

  “Would you really have remembered me if you had?” he asked, and Poet’s mouth gaped slightly.

  Does he really not see how attractive he is? she wondered, blinking. Or is he merely fishing for compliments? Oddly, she didn’t believe he was looking for his ego to be stroked. She nervously cleared her throat to keep their conversation going.

  “What do you study?” Poet asked, hoping he would not notice the crimson of her cheeks in the dim French restaurant.

  “Sociology,” Max answered, but Poet detected a falsehood in his voice. Before she could call him out on it, he leaned forward across the table and stared into her eyes. “And you are an archeology and anthropology major,” he said. “A double masters from one of the most prestigious universities in the world. That speaks volumes about you.”

  “You truly have done your homework,” she admitted, impressed he had taken the time to learn so much about her. Other men had tried to woo her by talking about who they knew, as if their political or business connections would impress her because of her father’s standing in the world.

  Never had she been with a man who wanted to speak about her accomplishments.

  It’s almost as if he doesn’t care that I’m of royal blood, she thought, the idea foreign to her. At the same time, Poet knew she was smitten with the idea that Max was invested in her as a person, not as a princess.

  “Both subjects are passions of mine,” she continued, her eyes fixing on his. When their gazes met, she was once more consumed with what felt like electricity. It was
as though Max could look into her soul. Where had he come from?

  “Can I offer you something from the bar?”

  The server appeared, interrupting Poet’s thoughts, and she reluctantly pulled her eyes toward the waitress primly dressed in a crisp, white shirt.

  “I will just have water,” she replied, and Max scoffed.

  “This is a celebration,” he declared. “Champagne. Something French and expensive. Surprise us.”

  “Very well, sir,” the girl replied, turning away, but not before Poet caught a slight glimmer of envy in her eyes.

  I am sitting here with a huge catch, she thought. A gorgeous, intelligent man who is treating me to champagne for no reason in particular.

  “A celebration?” Poet chuckled. “That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Max responded, catching her hands in his. “I have never in my life spent an evening with a woman as beautiful and smart as you. I feel like I should commemorate this event with stupidly expensive sparkling wine.”

  He was really laying it on thick, wasn’t he? Still, Poet couldn’t help being flattered by the attention.

  “So, tell me, Poet,” Max went on, “what are you doing your thesis on?”

  Poet’s instinct when someone asked was to clam up about the subject, and Professor Kincaid’s reaction to hearing about it flashed in her mind.

  So many questions about my thesis today, she thought, fiddling with the napkin on the table before her.

  “Is this a touchy subject?” Max asked. “Most grad students I know are eager to talk about their papers.”

  Kincaid’s words reverberated in her mind. Then again, how well could Kincaid be trusted in his old age? Her other professors would be eager to learn about the existence of dragons among them. Poet knew they obviously had nothing to fear, or the dragons would have taken over them by now. They meant no harm to humans like her.

  “If it’s too personal, forget I asked,” Max said, and Poet’s head jerked up to look at him in surprise.

  “My thesis is on dragons,” she replied.