Perry and Her Princes

by Serena Akeroyd

  The laughter had broken down more walls, and Perry was content with the hazy laziness of the atmosphere between them.

  Still, George had yet to speak.

  “George, your turn. But start with Xavier. You told me nothing about him in all the time we were friends. Time to rectify that.”

  “Jesus, you’re as bad as Edward with your brutal honesty,” he complained, rubbing his chin. “I only didn’t talk about him because we weren’t speaking.”

  Xavier’s mouth pursed, but she sent him a warning glance that told him to keep it pursed.

  “Go on. I want a story.”

  She swam over to Xavier and took a seat at his side. He curled an arm over her shoulder as she huddled closer to him. For a second, she reveled in the press of naked skin to naked skin, but it was overwhelmed by the glory of being naked out here.

  She knew there was no chance of anyone seeing them. This territory was private, and there was no way the men would have stripped off if there had even been a chance of being spotted by the public—she didn’t have to fear a long lens would snap her bare ass, either. Journalists could go to jail here for invasion of privacy.

  Cuddling into Xavier’s side, she felt his tension as George started, “Xavier was never as busy as Edward. Not that that was Edward’s fault. My parents had him so busy with duties because he was intent on fucking wrecking the DeSauvier name with his crazy stunts, that I felt sorrier for him than I did for myself.”

  Edward sat up at that. “Why did you feel sorry for yourself?”

  Perry tried not to drool over his washboard abs which bulged at his motion, and instead, focused on the concern on his face for his younger brother.

  “You remember when they moved me to that new school? One where my identity was secret?”

  Edward nodded. “Xavier attended too, didn’t he? Probably caught his last year there, right?”

  “Yeah. Well, without the crown, and because I was so fucking skinny, apparently, I was open season. There were these three kids who were bullying me. I went to Xavier, and he didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease me. Just asked me to point out which kids. He went to them, whispered something, and then strolled back toward me. They never bothered me again. But, he refused to tell me what he’d said…. I was always curious.”

  A smile played about Xavier’s mouth. “I remember that.”

  She nudged him in the side. “Well? What did you say?”

  “I told him our family had ties to the mafia, and that anyone who messed with us had a habit of turning up dead.”

  George gaped at him, then roared with laughter. “Why the hell didn’t I think of that?”

  Perry shook her head in amusement as George strode back toward the shore and sat down beside Xavier. He rested his hands on his bent knees and with a smirk, demanded, “They thought because of our accents…?”

  Xavier nodded. “Yeah.”

  The Veronian tongue reminded her of a more romantic version of Portuguese. There was distinct Cyrillic accent, but at the same time, the sweet song of a Romance language softened the tones.

  George’s smile was smug. “They left me alone after that.”

  “Good. I had a friend in the year below warn them after I’d left. Said he was the son of my father’s right-hand man.” Xavier snorted. “They believed it.”

  At his words, George began peppering Xavier with questions, and Perry knew the tension she’d sensed from them. A tension that stemmed from a stupid, years-old row was slowly dispersing.

  One thing she’d seen was how protective they were of each other. How they defended one another, and she was glad she’d reminded them of that shared trait. That exercise had done exactly as she’d hoped—created a new bridge between her men. One forged on the past, but one that would help them in the future.

  One thing she’d realized from all that?

  The love between them was a powerful bond. If they let her inside that tightknit union, she knew she’d be the luckiest woman on earth. The longing that came with that desire surprised the hell out of her. But what about her time with these three didn’t constantly befuddle her?

  Chapter Twenty

  Edward stepped into his office, relieved to be away from his PA, and also, intrigued by the report he was reading.

  Perry’s ideas on water conservation were fascinating. Her expanded report on why Veronia needed new dams, a report their shortsighted Environmental Agency had requested, made for interesting reading. She had a clear and concise voice, and was unashamed of her opinions on the previous administration’s inability to maintain the dams.

  He guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Before she was George’s friend, she was a professional. And though George had recommended her to his father, had said she was an expert in her field, Edward knew Philippe had run a thorough background check on her credentials.

  They were unsurpassable.

  As he closed the door behind him, reading more into her suggestions of how to successfully encourage the Veronian people into saving water, he heard a slight noise and jolted to attention.

  Peering straight ahead, he saw Perry seated at his desk.

  Behind it.

  He couldn’t stop the smile from curving his lips at the blatant disregard for decorum as well as her rudeness.

  She wasn’t even sitting in the damn chair properly. Had her legs swinging over one side.

  He shook his head at her antics. “You’re a nightmare, do you know that?”

  “A nightmare who might be Queen one day,” she mocked, her eyes narrowing at him, daring him to hide from her, daring him to prevaricate.

  But he had no need of the dare.

  She was right. He just hadn’t realized she was aware of that yet.

  Rubbing his chin, he murmured, “You’ll hate the classes you’ll need to take on decorum and royal protocol.”

  “Classes, I can handle. It’s the whole ‘putting classes into action’ thing I have an issue with.”

  He smirked. “Yeah. That’s pretty much what I meant if I’m being honest. Still, the people won’t like you if you have a stick up your ass. Trust me, I’ve seen the dislike they have for people like that. You’ll be a breath of fresh air to them.”

  She narrowed her eyes as he took a seat at the side of her. Perching his ass on the edge of his desk, he placed the report behind him, and watched her track his movements.

  Her chin jerked up into the air. “What did you think?”

  “I think it’s very informative.”

  She huffed. “I’ve rehashed everything from the first report, but stacked it with shit loads of statistics to shore up each and every argument I had. Let them try to bullshit us now.”

  His mouth quirked up in a half grin. “I actually like this version. It’s much more you.”

  “It is?”

  “The other was informative and educational. This has everything backed up with statistics, like you say, but your opinions spill through. You were angry when you wrote it,” he predicted, and though he knew he was right anyway, saw by her sheepish, and rueful, grin she wasn’t too ashamed to admit to it.

  “They pissed me off.”

  “I know they did,” he sighed. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay. George has been explaining some things to me.”

  Like he hadn’t been able to figure that out.

  “Like what?” he asked instead of saying that and probably pissing her off again.

  But, she surprised him by pursing her lips and stating, “You’re not an idiot. I’m sure you can hazard a wild guess and come up with the answer.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah. I could. But it would probably be better if you told me rather than have me guessing and getting it wrong.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, squinting. “When are you going to kiss me?”

  His eyes did the opposite of hers and grew wide in further surprise. “When the time’s right,” he told her carefully.

  “And who makes
this grandiose decision?”

  His lips curved again. “Both of us, I suppose.”

  “A mutual decision or does one have the power of veto?”

  He blinked. “Mutual.”

  “Yeah? Well, I call your bluff.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I veto your decision to wait on kissing me.”

  He stilled. “You do, do you?”

  “Yes. I do,” she replied, so utterly confident at that moment, and so goddamn cute with it that she was sweeter than sugar to him.

  “You’d better put your money where your mouth is then, hadn’t you?”

  She grinned. “I guess I had.” Perry crooked her finger at him, then murmured, “Come here.”

  “You do know I’m not used to being bossed around, don’t you?” he told her even as he bent at the waist and rested his hands on the armrests of his desk chair.

  “That’s because you’ve been without female company for too long,” she teased, staring him square in the eye, not letting him back off or evade her.

  “Ah freedom, thy true name is bachelorhood.”

  “Ah, bachelorhood, thy true name is aching hard-on. Or should that be aching fist?”

  He chuckled at that. “Carpal tunnel hasn’t become a problem as yet. But yes, it does ache after a while,” he admitted, lips twitching.

  “I can believe it aches. Womankind is fortunate. We just get crabby when we’re horny. The ache isn’t as acute.” She snickered. “And I’d know. I’ve had a long dry spell that seems to be looking up.”

  They were inches away from one another. His mouth hovered over hers, his body shielded hers from the room. They were close as could be without physically connecting, and then she made a connection.

  Her hand slipped between them to cup his cock.

  Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been that. Stunned by her move, he tensed, then his nostrils flared as she shaped him through his pants.

  “Yes,” she breathed against his lips. “My dry spell is certainly over.”

  He swallowed. Thickly. “You know what happens to teases?”

  “No. I’m not a tease. I back up words with action.” So saying, she fiddled with his fly, managed to get the zipper down, then slipped her hand into the gap she’d made.

  He let out a long, slow hiss as she touched him. Skin to skin.

  A slow chuckle escaped her. “Commando. Interesting. I never took you as the sort. Especially when you were wearing briefs under your board shorts when we went skinny dipping at the lake.”

  He’d have grinned but was too busy focusing on what she was doing to him with those clever, nimble fingers of hers.

  He hissed when she squeezed his base, then shifted her fingers to grab his balls and gently tug on them. In response, his hips jolted forward and he groaned.

  “I bet you taste like fine wine, and trust me, I’ve only tasted the good stuff since I got here. Earthy, potent…” She trailed her tongue around the line of his mouth, and his lips parted when she pushed into him. Her tongue tangling with his as she squeezed him, not moving her hand, keeping it in place.

  He shuddered, lost in the gentle aggression that was so contradictory it suited her down to a tee. She was acting on her desire, but not being forceful, and the combination was enough to bring him to his knees. He wasn’t used to this in the women he dated or, of late, fucked. He wasn’t used to their taking the first step, making the first move. He guessed it made sense that Perry would break that particular rule too.

  As she fucked his mouth with gentle parries of her tongue, tasting him and sampling his flavor, his fingers further tightened around the armrest. The muscles in his belly strained as she stroked him, taking him to the edge with only her touch.

  Jesus, it had been too long since someone had touched him like this.

  As though they had the right.

  As though he was hers and she his.

  Arabella had been useless in bed. More worried about mussing her hair. The last time he’d had a decent fuck was back with George; a woman they’d shared long enough for it to be considered serious in the real world, not that he and George inhabited that kind of sphere.

  Mara had been sexy and sinful and, thankfully, fully aware of who they were and with no desire to be a part of the game that was life at court.

  She’d touched him with tenderness and affection. Had loved everything he and George had wanted her to experience… Perry touched him like that, but this was better. This wasn’t secret. This was open and, dare he say it, happening. He and George were about to pull the biggest con on the country, and he didn’t care about the lies.

  George was right. Edward did need him. He needed his brother’s support. Edward did need Perry. He needed her steadfast manner, her blunt ways and frank talk. He needed her to cut through the bullshit, to ground him.

  He shuddered and finally, leapt into the fray. And when he did, she shivered and tension flooded from her, making him realize she hadn’t been sure if he’d pull away.

  He thrust his tongue against hers, loving the drag and the shivers that slid down his spine as a result.

  He pressed his hands to her waist and with one move, jerked her up to a standing position. She squeaked in surprise, but was surprisingly docile now she’d garnered a response from him.

  He grunted against her lips when she molded herself to him, her full-length lining against his to perfection. But not for long.

  He pushed against the desk, grabbed her legs so she had no choice but to lean against the desk, then perch her ass on the edge when he boosted her further.

  Thanking God she was wearing a skirt, he shaped her legs, sliding his hands down their short length and letting the skirt fall back and down to her hips. He spread her legs by hooking his hands under her knees, then pulling them wide.

  Moving into the space he’d made, he bit her bottom lip, then pressed his forehead to hers.

  “You wanted to play, carilla,” he whispered against her mouth, teasing her with the Veronian word for ‘tease.’ “Play.”

  Her hands had fallen back against the desk where she’d used them to support herself, but now, she left one hand there and slipped the other between them.

  Their bodies were close and their clothes got in the way, but the intensity of the fire sparking between them was insanity.

  He groaned when she grabbed his cock, then grunted as she squeezed him.

  “Don’t tease,” he warned. “I want to be inside you.”

  Her laughter should have stirred his ire, but instead, it fired his blood. With a grumble, he bit her lip again, aware that he’d done that hard enough to mark.

  The desire to mark her throat, to cover her in hickeys was a childish urge, but he acted on the urge nonetheless.

  As he nipped at her throat, licked here and there, then stroked across sensitive flesh with his tongue, flesh that had already been marked by his brother, he slurped down against her skin as she pressed his shaft against her panties.

  Fumbling the fabric aside, she wriggled, jerked her hips up to loosen the fabric and to create enough give to work his cock into her pussy.

  When the tip was inside her, she let out a strangled moan as he sucked down hard against her throat. Her head fell back as he thrust his hips, letting all of his cock fill her as he slowly invaded her every inch.

  Her hand moved between their bodies, and his blood heated with the knowledge she was touching herself.

  He wanted to touch her too, wanted to own all her pleasure, but he enjoyed keeping her legs splayed with his arms, loved the feeling that she was open to all his passions.

  He could feel her fumbling fingers brushing the front of his pants, loved how frantic they were as they worked at her clit.

  “Move,” she groaned huskily, rocking her hips and trying to urge him into thrusting. But he didn’t, he let her work herself up, loved the struggles of her legs as she tried to nudge his ass with her feet.

  He laughed as he carried on suckin
g at her throat, needing to mark her, needing, in the most adolescent of ways, to see proof of his possession of her.

  Only when he pulled back and saw the dark mark there, only when he could smirk because he knew how furious she’d be when she tried to cover it and that he’d be reminded of this moment for days after, did he pull back.

  He enjoyed the way her eyes widened then grew slitted as he pulled almost all the way out, then fucked back into her. Hard. Fast. Deep. A low sound escaped her as she touched herself, her eyes glued on his all the while.

  He wanted to pull away, wanted to watch her fingers touch the pretty pink cunt he couldn’t wait to mark with his seed, but she ensnared him.

  And as a result, the blaze in his blood turned into a wildfire. He had to have her, had to burn her with his heat, brand her with the blaze that was a part of his soul.

  The low wail became louder, harder. Enough that he knew someone would hear in the hall.

  It pained him to do so, but he leaned forward and kissed her. Robbing her of air, stealing the sound from her lungs.

  As he tongue-fucked her, he kept up the intense pace. Maintaining the deep and fast thrusts that had her on fire for him.

  He felt the telltale clutch of her muscles. Knew release was imminent, and felt like a fucking king when she clenched down around him so hard, he felt sure his cock was going to turn purple with her ferocity.

  As she milked his shaft, her hands came up to grab his shoulders. Her fingers dug into him, the nails tearing into the luxury silk-blend covering his back. She didn’t rip the fabric, but he felt the points and couldn’t wait to feel them dig into his muscles.

  Skin to skin.

  Tension filled her as she soared, her hips carrying on rocking as she experienced the bliss he’d given her. One she was intent on returning.

  As release came to him, aided by the milking muscles, the relentless squeeze of her around his shaft, urging his cum from him, he pulled back from her mouth. He nipped at her bottom lip once more, then, as release poured through him, he realized this wasn’t enough. That this would never be enough. She was fire, she was flame. She was his. And it was about time she knew that.