The Princess I Hate to Love: A Steamy Romantic Comedy

by Iris Morland

  “Right now? Are you sure?”

  “I cleared my entire schedule just for this.”

  She laughed, a little maniacally, I had to admit. And when Niamh started driving, her movements quick and nimble with the stick shift, the sound of the car like the purr of a big cat, she looked so sexy that my trousers quickly became uncomfortably tight.

  “What’s the speed limit? Ninety kilometers?” Niamh looked at the dashboard.

  We were currently speeding down a four-lane road, the ocean to our left, the wind whipping through the open windows. “More like seventy!” I yelled over the wind.

  “Oops.” She shifted gears, letting the car slow gradually. But she was soon passing another car, then another, zipping in and out of traffic like she’d been driving this car for years, not twenty minutes.

  “The handling on this is amazing. God, I love it. I want to marry this fucking car,” she said.

  “Too late, you’re already married to me.”

  She shot me a grin. “I’ll just make her my mistress.”

  “You do that, and I’ll take you over my knee.”

  “I’d love to see you try.”

  If we weren’t currently in a moving car, I would’ve done just that. Niamh’s hair was a wild mess about her face now, and her cheeks were bright red from excitement. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her this happy.

  It also reminded me that she hadn’t been happy during our marriage. There had been moments, perhaps, but it had taken months for her to exhibit this kind of joy.

  I gritted my teeth. Torn between lust and heartache, I felt like my body and my heart were pulling each other apart.

  “You look like you’re going to throw up,” said Niamh as we slowed to a stop at a stoplight. “Do you get car sick? Sorry, I should’ve asked.”

  “Yeah, I’m a little car sick,” I lied, not remotely nauseous but figuring it was better than telling the truth. “It’s fine.”

  “Well, tell me if you’re going to puke. I’d rather not get this beauty dirty.” She patted the dashboard like it was a horse.

  “Like I said, I’ll be fine.”

  We kept driving for a while longer, until Niamh admitted that she had to “pee like a racehorse,” as she put it. She finally pulled over to a cafe that overlooked the beach. It was busy with customers, most of them sitting outside to enjoy the warm weather.

  Our car attracted attention immediately. Some people watched Niamh park; by the time I exited, more had realized who we were. The whispers began like a slow wave, people’s eyes widening as they pointed at me. I held up a hand in a brief wave, hoping that we didn’t get mobbed. Although I’d gotten used to being in the public eye long ago, sometimes it would be nice to stop at a cafe without getting mobbed.

  A boy and girl approached, their parents somewhere nearby, I hoped. The girl was probably no more than five; the boy, who I assumed was her brother, was a little older. The girl stared up at me with unblinking eyes, rather like an owl. It was unsettling.

  “Are you the prince?” said the boy, speaking in French. “You look like the prince.”

  Did I admit to who I was? Considering that people were already taking photos, I couldn’t get out of this one. “I am,” I replied.

  The boy eyed me, his gaze narrowing. “You’re dressed weird.”

  I was wearing jeans and a button-down shirt. I glanced down. “I’m wearing the same thing as you.”

  “I’m not a prince, though.”

  “Have you adopted some stray orphans already?” Niamh joined me, finally. “That’s very Hallmark movie of you.”

  The boy scowled. “I’m not an orphan,” he said in English.

  “Not sure I believe you. Where are your parents?” Niamh put her hands on her hips. “Or are you runaways? I always wanted to run away from home, but I never had the guts to go through with it.”

  The boy scoffed. “That’s dumb.”

  “Um, no, it’s not. Besides, you’re just a kid. You don’t know about a lot of things.”

  My wife was about to get into an argument with an eight-year-old. I took her arm, squeezing it—gently.

  “Let’s not encourage kids to run away from home,” I said.

  “I didn’t say he should run away, just that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” countered Niamh.

  The little girl was still staring up at us with her wide eyes. Had she blinked at all in the last five minutes? I honestly wasn’t sure. I waited for her to turn her head one hundred and eighty degrees and to start hooting.

  Niamh whispered in my ear, “Is that girl creeping me out or am I insane?”

  “I think she’s going to suck out our souls,” I whispered back.

  A moment later, the girl reached out and touched my hand, her fingers clammy. “There are ghosts in our attic,” she said in French, to no one in particular.

  Niamh backed away slowly. “Yeah, that’s a nope from me. Let’s get out of here.”

  Fortunately for us both, the duo’s mother came hustling over to retrieve them, speaking in rapid French. When her eyes widened, realizing who we were, we made a hasty exit.

  Niamh was laughing like a lunatic as she started the car. “Oh my God! That kid was terrifying! Why are small children so scary sometimes?”

  I shuddered, making the sign of the cross, despite the fact that I hadn’t attended mass since I’d been a child. “Why the hell was she talking about ghosts? Fucking ghosts!”

  Niamh cackled. “That was amazing. You looked like you were about to sprint for the hills. I had no idea you were freaked out by ghosts.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Lies.” She poked me in the arm. “You’re probably wishing you had a rosary in your hand right now.”

  She wasn’t wrong, which meant I had no reply.

  My wife kept laughing the entire way back to the palace. She was laughing when we went to dinner that evening; I heard her laughing as she took a bath. She even opened the door to our adjoining chamber just to look at my face and begin cackling for the thousandth time.

  “Will you desist?” I threw a cushion at her head.

  “Prince Olivier is afraid of ghosts! Boooooooo!”

  I finally just shut the door in her face. But then a moment later, I swung it back open to see her reaching for the doorknob.

  “You’re a menace,” I said.

  “But I’m a cute menace.”

  “Debatable.” I scooped her up into my arms and carried her into my room. I then dropped her onto my bed, and she let out a squeal when she bounced.

  “Don’t throw me around like a sack of potatoes!”

  She scrambled to a sitting position, but I climbed on top of her, preventing her escape.

  “I can do what I want with you,” I said. I inched her nightgown up her thigh. “Because you’re my wife. Besides, I gave you a Bugatti. I own you now.”

  “Oh well, then I don’t want the car.”

  I laughed at her. “Now you’re the one lying. You nearly creamed your panties when you saw it.”

  “You think way too highly of yourself. You have absolutely no effect on my panties, sir.”

  I parted her thighs. She was right: I had no effect on her panties, because she was, once again, not wearing any.

  “What is it with you and no panties?” I clucked my tongue. “That’s not very seemly of a princess.”

  She parted her legs further. “Never claimed to be a good girl.”

  “Thank God.”

  I kissed her as my fingers delved between her legs. She was already slick, my fingers coated within minutes. She bucked her hips as I quickened my pace. But before she reached her peak, she somehow managed to slide from my grasp and maneuvered us so that she was on top of me.

  Her pussy pressed against my pelvis, my cock aching. I reached forward to free her breasts, pinching her nipples.

  “No, no,” she said, breathless, “I want to do something for you.”

  I sat up. I k
neaded her ass, pressing her harder against me. “I want to fuck you, Niamh.”

  She wiggled. “I can tell.” She kissed me with a loud smack before crawling down my body, her busy fingers freeing my cock from my underwear. When she licked the tip, I nearly came out of skin right then and there.

  “You don’t have to do this.” I said the words, even as I prayed that she didn’t listen to me.

  Instead of stopping, she merely took my cock further into her mouth, her hands working me in tandem with her lips and tongue. I tangled my fingers into her hair, which made her moan.

  My hips bucked, pushing further into her throat, but she didn’t stop. She merely looked up at me through her lashes and sucked the tip harder.

  I felt my balls draw up. I gritted my teeth. I was about to explode inside her mouth. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever enjoyed a woman sucking my cock like this. Only Niamh—my wife.

  “Are you going to come?” She swirled her tongue around the tip. “Because I think you’re going to come.”

  My toes were curling. I was going to come, but not like this. I lifted her on top of me, and I didn’t need to explain what I wanted her to do. She took me inside her completely, and we both let out loud groans.

  Her breasts bounced as she rode me. I had to force her to slow down, laughing a little at her enthusiasm.

  “I think somebody’s desperate,” I said. I nipped at her bottom lip.

  “Me? I’m just thinking about you here, buddy. I’m a good—” she rose up “—and loyal—” she slowly sat back down, filling herself to the hilt “—wife.”

  She continued that slow rhythm, grinding her pelvis against me. I played with her sensitive nipples. Her pussy fluttered around my cock. I could tell she was close and trying to keep her orgasm at bay.

  I pinched her nipples harder. Niamh bit her lower lip. She was getting tighter and tighter around me.

  I reached around and spread her ass cheeks. She let out a surprised breath and then began to bounce faster. When she tilted her head back, I knew she was gone. Her eyes were glassy, her breath coming in pants. When I pressed my thumb against her pucker, she squealed, her release barreling into her with all the subtlety of a thunderstorm.

  I didn’t know how I managed not to explode right then. But I wanted to watch her ride out her own orgasm, the way her chest was flushed red, her cheeks just as rosy. Her nipples tight buds that I couldn’t help but suck inside my mouth to extend her pleasure.

  “Olivier.” She ran her fingers through my hair. “Did you—?”

  I didn’t get a chance to answer. She reached behind herself and cupped my balls then kissed me hard. I groaned, my own release finally hitting me. Her pussy drained me entirely, and it felt like my orgasm would never end. By the time I’d finished, I felt like my heart was about to explode.

  Niamh was smiling impishly. She wiggled her hips a little. “I’d get up,” she whispered against my mouth, “but then I’d drip everywhere.”

  My cock twitched at the thought. Tugging on her hair, I licked the sweat from her throat. “Where did you come from?” I found myself asking.

  She didn’t answer, because I didn’t let her. I kissed her, plunging my tongue into her mouth, massaging her shoulders, her back, her ass. I didn’t want this to end. Even when she finally dismounted, I was still half-hard.

  She snuggled against me as we simply lay in contented silence.

  “Was that enough to pay for the Bugatti?” Niamh asked some time later.

  I just stared at her. Then I spluttered into laughter.

  “Well, now I’m offended.” She wrinkled her nose.

  I patted her delicious ass. “Sweetheart, that just paid for an entire fleet of Bugattis.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was early hours when I awoke. Rain was falling softly against the window. Yawning, I glanced at the clock: five a.m. I wouldn’t need to be awake for another two hours.

  I considered going back to sleep, but then Niamh opened her eyes. She stared up at me, her gaze hazy, like she wasn’t sure who I was.

  “Bonjour,” I said, brushing a few strands of hair from her forehead.

  She yawned widely. “What time is it? Oh God, it’s way too early to be awake.” She turned over and hugged a pillow closely. “Wake me up at a reasonable hour.”

  “So, noon?”

  “I don’t sleep in that late.”

  “Oh, then eleven a.m.”

  I could hear her rolling her eyes. I slung an arm over her waist, capturing her hand in mine. I kissed her ear then blew a raspberry against her shoulder.

  “Go away! You’re annoying.” She pushed me away, albeit half-heartedly. Our struggle soon devolved into a wrestle match that I won within ten seconds.

  My wife now pinned beneath me, I had both of her wrists in my grip. “You were saying?” I said.

  “I was saying that you were trés annoying!” She said the word annoying in a French accent.

  “All those French lessons and you can’t remember the word for ‘annoying’?”

  “Apparently they banned it from being taught, because a certain prince got mad about it.”

  I ground my hips against her, mostly just to tease her with the idea of morning sex. I was currently torn between simply continuing to annoy her or fuck her senseless. Perhaps I could manage both simultaneously.

  “I’m flattered that you think I’m so powerful that I could effectively ban a word from the French language,” I said.

  “Powerful or arrogant. High-handed. Overbearing. See, I can list plenty of English adjectives.”

  “And what husband doesn’t want that in his wife?”

  I could see Niamh’s expression shutter. Getting off of her, I waited for her to roll next to me. But she kept space between us now, and it hurt more than I cared to admit.

  “What’s going to happen to us?” she said finally.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this. This marriage. This thing we decided to do. Are we just going to keep the big secret a big secret for eternity? Stay married and act like it doesn’t exist?”

  “Divorce is always an option.”

  “And if your real father is revealed? Then you’re back at square one.” Niamh flipped over to face me. “So that doesn’t make sense, and it’ll mean Liam is roped into this.”

  Had I thought about the future? What our lives would become? I’d assumed we’d play our parts and then live separate lives, as most royals did eventually. But now the thought of that was almost too painful to contemplate.

  “Do you want to leave?” I said the words through gritted teeth.

  “No. For some insane reason, I don’t.” Niamh’s tone lightened. “I can’t take the Bugatti with me, anyway.”

  “Ah, so you’ve seen through me.”

  She blinked. I wondered if I’d said too much, revealed my hand too early. But then she shoved at my shoulder. “So that’s why you let me have it? As a way to make me stay? No wonder you didn’t get me some huge diamond necklace. Can’t take a Bugatti on a plane.”

  Niamh went quiet, picking at a stray thread on the duvet. “What about kids? Aren’t you supposed to have at least one, for that whole ‘keeping the throne’ thing?”

  I felt like I was suddenly on thin ice. One wrong move, and I’d plunge into freezing, heart-stopping waters.

  “Would you believe me if I said I hadn’t thought about it?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t believe you.”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “I knew I’d have to do it someday. I had a few thoughts about how I could persuade you to bear my child, I’ll admit. Beyond that, children had always seemed like something that would happen to me, not something I’d choose to have.”

  “That’s kind of depressing.”

  “What about you? Do you want children?”

  She kept pulling at that stray thread. Laurent would have a conniption if he saw what she was doing to the poor duvet.

  “I never honestly thought about
it until my niece Fiona was born. She was the first kid I actually wanted to see photos of, you know? With anyone else’s baby, it was like, ‘Okay, that’s nice, but it looks like a red, squishy potato.’”

  “Please don’t tell me you called someone’s baby a red, squishy potato.”

  “Not to their face.” She smiled. “But then when I first met Fiona, she was also a red, squishy potato, but she meant something to me, you know?”

  I had to admit, I didn’t know. As an only child—as far as I knew, perhaps I had dozens of siblings I’d never meet—I wouldn’t have any nieces or nephews.

  Niamh reached over and began scrolling through her phone. “Here’s Fiona when she was born.” She began to show me photos of first Fiona, and then Dahlia, her second niece. Fiona was red-haired like her mother Mari, while Dahlia looked like Liam. She even had his frown. In one photo, she was frowning while wearing a flower costume, ostensibly for Halloween. I’d never seen a young child look so cute yet so ferocious.

  “I mean, I’m biased,” said Niamh, “but they’re pretty fucking cute. Fiona is so smart. She loves to be read to, but if you read a line wrong, she’ll correct you. She’s memorized all of her favorite books.”

  “And Dahlia?”

  “Let’s just say my sister-in-law has to put her on a leash to keep her from running off. Usually after somebody’s dog. Or after a pigeon. She’s not picky, really.”

  “She sounds like she’ll be a menace, just like you.”

  Niamh grinned. “Exactly.”

  I kissed her forehead. Taking her hand, I admitted, “I think I can see children in my future. Maybe not any time soon, but it’s more than a vague idea now.”

  “Yeah, I know. I feel the same.”

  The ice beneath my feet was cracking. I could hear it, the sound ominous, yet I found myself not feeling scared. Instead, as I kissed my wife, I found myself only excited to see what our future would bring.

  Weeks passed. Niamh essentially moved into my chambers, sleeping in my bed—our bed—every night. I attended a handful of engagements, while Niamh continued with her lessons and joined me at a few of the engagements as necessary. She much preferred to stay out of the spotlight, and as the public seemed not quite as fascinated with her as they’d been earlier in the summer, I didn’t try to change her mind.