Prince Ever After

by A. C. Arthur

  Roland took a little longer with his shoes and his pants, but he wasn’t taking longer to undress. He’d slowed down to reach into his wallet and pull out a condom. Val thought she might just be falling in love with this guy.

  He opened the wrapper slowly and sheathed himself in an even slower movement. Probably because her gaze had fallen to his shaft. Was her mouth hanging open at the glorious sight of him? Hopefully not. But he was definitely drool-worthy, all six feet and one inch of his honey-bronze body.

  “Now?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

  Val looked up at him then and nodded. She licked her lips and spoke in a rush. “Now.”

  When he came to her and lifted her off the floor, sitting her on the counter and spreading her legs wide, the microwave timer beeped loudly. They both paused as if they’d been caught committing some crime.

  He smiled and then she did, too. He grasped her thighs and leaned in to mouth her hungrily. Before the kiss was over, Roland was guiding his length into her center. Val was drowning in his kiss while sucking him deeper inside of her. She was wrapping her legs around his waist while wondering how and why this was happening.

  When he tore his lips away from hers and pulled back until only the tip of his length remained inside of her before thrusting in quickly, deeply, once again, Val whispered his name.

  She was still whispering it moments later as he pumped in and out of her so quickly and deliciously that her thighs trembled with her impending release.

  * * *

  With his eyes closed, his hands gripping her bottom and his head tilted back, Roland could swear he was in heaven. Or, at the very least, on a fast track to getting there.

  When Valora had murmured his name and wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him, her entire body convulsing as her release overtook her, he’d been speechless. There’d been words, all of them rolling around in his mind: fantastic, warm, delicious, wet, need, more. He couldn’t speak any of them, as they’d been running on loop since he’d seen her sitting in her car. Of course, he’d had no way of knowing how good this very moment was going to feel, but he’d guessed. He’d taken a gamble and he’d won. Oh, boy, had he won!

  This was perfect. She was perfect.

  He wanted to curse, but he refrained. Instead, Roland opened his eyes. She had leaned forward, with her forehead resting on his shoulder, and he lifted a hand to rub down the back of her head. Her hair was soft, just like the parts of her body he’d felt. And he felt like an idiot.

  As gently as he could manage, Roland lifted her off the counter. Her legs remained clasped behind him as he walked them through the dining room and finally into her living room where he laid her on the couch. When she looked up at him, he saw confusion mixed with the look of pure satiation.

  “You—” she began, but Roland only shook his head.

  “I wanted to take care of you first,” he replied before coming down over her.

  She immediately laced her arms around his neck. He liked how it made him feel trapped there, with her and only her. He kissed the tip of her nose and then lightly brushed over her lips with his. They were soft. Was there any part of her that wasn’t? He lifted one of her legs slowly, until he could prop it up on his shoulder. When he entered her this time, it was slow because he wanted to watch.

  Roland stared down at her light skin tone. There was a series of freckles just beneath her right eye. Like someone had opened a bag and only spilled a few there. He wanted to kiss them. So he did. And then he eased into her, one excruciating inch at a time. She sighed at first, and then, when she realized he was staring at her, she grew quiet, tensing just a little.

  “It’s just me,” he whispered. “Just me and just you.”

  Pressing farther into her Roland held her gaze. She sighed once more, her lips parting slightly.

  “Just you and just me,” he repeated and moved again.

  Her eyes fluttered shut and slowly opened again.

  “You like that, right?” he asked, hating the possibility that she might say no. “You and me. I like it, V. Do you?”

  “Yes,” she immediately replied in a husky whisper. “I like it.”

  Roland smiled, and then he moaned as he moved and enjoyed the feeling of being completely ensconced in her.

  He rested his forehead on hers now, pumping slowly in and out. Closing his eyes, he relished this feeling, enjoying the slow and definite plunge he’d taken since deciding that he wanted her. It had been a slow revelation, taking him all of six days since their encounter on Friday night. That wasn’t necessarily fast for Roland to decide he wanted to sleep with someone. What had taken hold quickly was the complete and forceful punch of possession that grew each time he stroked in and out of her.

  She shifted beneath him, lifting up just a bit to lick the lobe of his ear. She said his name again and again, and he could feel her tightening around him. Roland gritted his teeth, trying with all that he possessed to stall the inevitable. It simply felt too good to stop, or to think of it ending. But the more she licked and kissed him, the more the warmth of her breath fanned over the damp spots her licks and kisses left, the deeper and deeper he fell, until he was done.

  Moments later it occurred to him that he might be hurting her, so Roland mumbled an apology and moved so that she could stretch both her legs out on the couch. He still lay with her because he didn’t want to leave, and the arm she’d kept locked behind his neck said she didn’t want him to go, either. Just like last night.

  They lay in silence for another few moments as Roland tried to figure out what should be said or done next. This was yet another first. He always knew what to say after sex.

  Thanks.

  That was great.

  Whew.

  Each of those phrases undoubtedly ended with him getting up and heading for a solo shower, which was followed by him getting dressed and leaving. It was a routine he’d perfected over the years.

  This time, he was silent.

  “That chicken is probably going to taste like rubber right about now,” she said.

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it, and he wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong, but it was natural and so he went with it.

  “What?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you like rubbery chicken, because that’s just disgusting.”

  “I’ll tell you what I like,” Roland said after planting a very loud and wet kiss on her forehead. “A nice hot shower.”

  She smiled up at him and there was a quick tightening in his chest.

  “That’s great. I like those, too.”

  Chapter 10

  They never did eat the chicken.

  That was Roland’s first thought when he rolled over onto his back the next morning. He was hungry.

  And he was tired, but rejuvenated at the same time. He lifted his arms into the air and stretched his legs out while taking a big, noisy yawn. His fists hit the wall and his feet were chilly. He opened his eyes and realized why. He wasn’t in his bed. Of course he wasn’t, he recalled with a slow and satisfied smile. He was in V’s bed. In her house. After spending the night.

  After making love in her kitchen, they’d moved to the shower, where the small space and lukewarm water had forced them to stay close while they bathed.

  Roland had stood behind her as she’d stepped under the spray of water, watching as fragrant white bubbles were washed away by clear rivulets of water. Her body was tight in every area, from the curve of her shoulder blades, down the line of her spine, over the hills of her plump bottom, down the stretch of her long legs. He hadn’t been able to watch too long because his hands itched to touch.

  She’d felt like warm silk as his palms moved from her waist down to her thighs.

  “What are you doing?” she’d asked coyly.

  “Helping to get the soap off of yo
u,” Roland had replied.

  “I don’t normally need any help,” she’d said when he moved in closer, his awakening erection pressing inquisitively against the crease of her bottom.

  “I don’t normally shower with women,” he’d replied.

  When she’d turned slowly and met what he knew was his hungry gaze, Roland had to swallow hard. Her hair was wet, her face clear of any makeup, honesty brimming in her eyes.

  “This is a first for both of us, then,” she’d confessed.

  Splaying his hands on her lower back, Roland had pulled her close to him. As if on his silent command, she’d reached her arms up to snake around his neck, tilting her head as if anticipating his kiss. He hadn’t made her wait a second longer, but leaned in immediately and kissed her lips. Softly at first, then with an eagerness he’d never experienced before.

  She’d tasted new and fresh, and somewhere in the dark recess of his mind a door opened and light spilled inside. There was a jolt inside him, one that Roland attempted to ignore.

  “I’m happy to be your first,” he recalled whispering after they’d made it out of the shower.

  He’d gone into the kitchen then to retrieve their clothes. When he returned to her bedroom it was to see her standing by her bed, using the towel to dry her body. Without a word he’d removed another condom from his wallet, smoothing it over his length as she’d looked up to see him standing there.

  She’d dropped the towel and stood there, gloriously naked, the last remnants of the sun dwindling in the window across from her bed. Her breasts were high, dark nipples puckered. The V of her juncture was neatly shaved until it almost appeared bare. Her toenails were painted a bright and vibrant red. Pearl studs were in her ears.

  As he’d moved closer, she sat on the bed, then lay back, lifting her arms to welcome him. Roland had accepted the gesture, moving between her legs and slipping into her welcome heat, whispering into her ear over and over again.

  “I’m glad to be your first. I’m so glad you’re my first. So very, very glad.”

  They’d fallen asleep after another shower and a few moments of idle chatter as they lay in her bed cuddled together. And they’d slept soundly all night.

  At least, Roland had. Just as he had in her bed the night before.

  And, just like the morning before, he was waking in her bed alone. With a frown, he pushed the sheet that barely covered his midsection away and sat up on the side of the bed. His clothes were on a white wicker chair. His shoes were neatly lined up on the floor beneath them. The space was bright with daylight, the valance at her window allowing the outside in. It wasn’t the view he had from his bedroom; Roland stood and went to the window anyway.

  The street leading down this curving stretch of road to her house was cobblestone, as most of the streets in Old Serenity still were. There was a turnoff down a road that used to be grass but was now just tire tracks, and then there was her house. It was a strong structure that was probably one of the original dwellings on the island, but it was no palace. Better yet, it was no cliff house with a view of the mountains and a jaw-dropping fall to the sea. Yet he was comfortable there.

  Noting that he was naked, Roland went to the chair and grabbed his clothes. He opened the door of her bedroom and crossed the small hall to the bathroom. All this was done without much thought, as if he was accustomed to being here. This was among the many things about his relationship with Valora Harrington that continued to perplex him, but Roland wasn’t one to worry. There’d never been any reason to. Something either was or it wasn’t. More often than not in his life, it wasn’t, which was easy for him to digest.

  Now there were uncertainties. As he splashed water on his face and used his finger to brush his teeth he realized that. He dressed in his pants and shirt, tucked his tie into the pocket of his suit jacket and decided to carry that to the car instead of wearing it. He wondered if it made sense to start packing an overnight bag. That spoke to some sort of permanency. He was smiling as he exited the bathroom, not sure why that thought had solicited the reaction.

  The smiling ceased when he noticed a painting on the wall in the short hallway that led to the living room. He knew that place. It was the stretch of beach on the east side of the island that the cabinet had approved for use by cruise ships and their passengers. There were two other sections of beach on that side of the island, as well, but they served as venues for the paid excursions offered by the cruise lines. A very detailed deal had been worked out between the different companies, the tourism board and the ruling cabinet. Roland hadn’t agreed with the idea of sectioning off the beach so that those with a little more money could enjoy a few more amenities while visiting the island. He felt that if everyone paid their fare for the cruise, and the cruise line then paid their fees to the island, then all was well and everyone could enjoy every part of Grand Serenity equally. But he hadn’t bothered to attend that meeting or to voice his opinion. Now, staring at this picture that depicted the beach perfectly, had him wondering if he should have.

  On instinct, he turned to the other wall and was rewarded with yet another painting. This one was a scene from the island, as well. These were the hills behind Serene Mountains. Roland took a step closer. He knew this spot because the Serene Mountains were the first thing he saw when he looked out of any window in his cliff house. This series of hills was covered in lush green grass with the crisp blue sky above, and in the distance, white sand beaches and the roll of the tropical seawater could be seen.

  With a purposeful stride, Roland moved from the hallway to the living room where he recalled seeing more paintings when he’d walked into her house yesterday evening. There they were, a series of three paintings on the wall across from the area where she had a couch, a rocking chair and a small entertainment center. These three paintings were of another place Roland recognized. The palace.

  Each one was a different view, one just as striking as the other. Sure, he was used to seeing this structure, as he’d lived there all his life, but this was different. These views, the way the light played off the gold-topped turrets and the seamless details like blades of grass bending in the breeze, were stunning.

  As authentic as the paintings were, something nagged at Roland as he continued to stare at them. There was a connection, like a personal tug in the center of his gut as he looked from one to the other. Finally, he stepped closer to one and stared at it more closely.

  “I don’t sign the paintings,” she said from behind him.

  He’d thought she was gone and was momentarily startled to hear her voice. Still, he turned slowly, as if her presence had not just jolted him. “You painted this? You painted all of these?”

  Roland knew he sounded incredulous. It was because that was exactly how he felt.

  “Yes. I’m an artist,” she informed him.

  He watched with unfettered admiration as she squared her shoulders, daring him to say anything to the contrary.

  “You’re a phenomenal artist. These paintings are wonderful. Not only do they have depth, but there’s so much emotion hovering over each one. It’s amazing.” He looked back at the trio on the wall.

  “Thank you,” she said and gave him a little smile.

  “I thought you were gone,” he told her when he looked at her once more. “Yesterday you left me here.”

  She was standing with her arms folded over her chest. After a few seconds she moved an arm, using her hand to smooth down the back of her hair. Then she dropped both arms and once again looked as if she were taking a specific stance. Roland wasn’t sure what her body language meant at this moment, so he decided to wait and see how this was going to play out.

  “Yesterday, I didn’t know what to say to you,” she told him.

  And today she definitely knew what she wanted to say? Again, Roland waited.

  She cleared her throat.

 
“I’m not one of you,” she started, then shook her head. “No, that’s wrong.” She stopped and inhaled slowly.

  Roland watched her. He noted the black leggings she wore with a loose-fitting white top that hit her at midthigh. On her feet were fluffy red socks that might have amused him if the atmosphere hadn’t suddenly turned very tense.

  She exhaled while flexing her fingers at her sides.

  “I never intended for any of this to happen. Let me just make that very clear up front,” she said, shaking her head. “This was not some plot contrived by me and my father to finally snag me a prince.”

  Roland relaxed his stance and slipped his hands into his front pockets. “Never thought you had.”

  How many times did he need to tell her that he’d already handled that situation with her father? Was she seriously still thinking that he thought this was some type of plot?

  “Good,” she said with a nod. “Thank you for that consideration.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied.

  Roland did not like this. As a rule, he tried not to predict anything. It was always best—for him, anyway—to simply go with the flow. Today, he wasn’t so sure he liked the direction in which things were flowing.

  “I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together,” she continued. “Immensely.”

  The last was added with a slight tilt of her lips. It was a hollow smile, one Roland didn’t care for because of how sad it made her look.

  “But I think we both know this is where it ends.”

  Her tone shifted now, to that of a cool businesswoman. Only Roland didn’t do business, at least, not with women he slept with, particularly one he’d already begun to crave like some forbidden drug.

  “I’m not sure I received that memo,” he stated, opting to keep this as light as possible. Even though he was becoming more agitated by the moment.

  “It’s an impossibility,” she told him. “You’re a prince and I’m a painter.”

  “Just a few minutes ago you told me you were an artist,” he quipped.