by S. L. Scott
“I mind now.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m Ally to you, but I have to prove myself to everyone else. Please don’t push on a matter that barely affects you but can destroy me.”
“Barely affects?” I can’t believe it. “Two steps forward. Ten steps back. Wow, Princess Arabelle.”
Our eyes stay locked in a standoff until I release her and let her go. I don’t have to force anyone to be with me. “You’ll make a fine queen.”
“Why do I feel like that’s not sincere?”
“Read between the lines, sweetheart. But if you need it spelled out—you have the cold heart and iron fist part down pat.”
Being on two different pages, even if it is the same book, isn’t doing either of us any favors. We both need a night to think about what this is between us and not only what’s best for her, but for me. If there really is no hope for anything, can I really step back and let her go like she asked me to do?
I get out of the vehicle and join the group at the back entrance. Jakob opens the door, and we all file inside what appears to be a receiving area for parcels and food deliveries.
The group is quiet as we wind our way through several rooms and end up in the kitchen. Marielle says good night, but her eyes stay on Bennett as if having a private conversation the rest of us aren’t privy to. Jakob tells Bennett and me to follow “Belle” the back way up the stairs, but fuck that.
I know my way back to my room, and I’m not fucking sneaking around to get to it. I’m not under house arrest. Let them scatter like rats so their parents don’t catch them drunk and sneaking in from a night out. I’m taking the main stairs.
Jakob pushes through the far door, leaving the three of us standing in the same place where I made sandwiches the other night.
Her expression falls, and the princess starts, “Hut—”
“Don’t worry about your image. I have no intention of tarnishing it. What you said back there,” I grit out, “message received. Loud and fucking clear.”
Shoving the door, I walk through one room that leads me to the great entry hall. I can’t think in this place. It’s too big. I need to ruminate someplace where my thoughts can’t float away so easily. The front door is to my right, tempting me to get the fuck out of this place. The stairs are to my left, calling me to bed.
I need to take my own advice and let things lie for tonight. Bed it is.
15
Princess Arabelle
Hutton sees right through me.
He sees me.
No one else does.
I’ve put on a mask each morning so they see who they want me to be.
Tricks and games don’t work on him. Not that I’m trying to play any, but he refuses to see me for anyone other than Ally. That mask falls the moment his warm browns find me, melting my cold heart.
He doesn’t understand I can’t be Ally, not even for him. She’s not who I am anymore, no matter how good it feels to be free from the shackles wrapped around me as Arabelle.
I still feel like crap after he made me feel so good. I want to return the favor, not just for him but for me. I like pleasing him. I like the way he looks at me like I’m a good girl when I’m doing bad things.
The beat of my heart picks up while I work my way up the dark back staircase to the second floor. Cutting down the staff wing, no one will hear me. These are full front doors to apartments, not bedrooms. I round the corner and look across the long hall and then slide through the shadows of the mural of a family picnicking in a park. It’s one of my favorites, but I don’t stop to admire the details.
Instead, I find myself standing in front of the room I told him was the one where I spent many nights sleeping, mornings watching the sunrise, and hours hiding when I was supposed to be in finishing lessons. It’s the reason I still can’t seem to balance a crown on my head.
Should I knock?
He was mad. “You have the cold heart and iron fist part down pat.” I can’t blame him for lashing out. If it doesn’t all make sense to me, how would it make sense to him?
Should I go in?
We can talk.
Unsure what to do, I pause to decide if I should go in, but the wood-paneled door swings open, and I’m pulled inside, pinned to the wall, and kissed as if he’ll never have the chance again. I understand the feeling, the desperation connecting us.
My lip is tugged and released when he pulls back in angry debate. His head lowers to mine until our temples align. “Why do you torture me?” His lips are quick to my ear. “I have you, and then I don’t. I taste you, and then I’m left wanting more. It’s never enough, and then you tell me we can’t be together like I can walk away unscathed. Like I can somehow forget that this fire between us hasn’t burned my soul to ashes already.”
He’s right. “So right,” I whisper into the agony that I’ve caused. “We’re not over as long as we hold on to each other.” His pain becomes my own. His passion gives me strength. I knew the moment I saw him again, I couldn’t walk away forever. But what do I do? How do I keep him?
My arms go around his neck as his body moves against me. The light switch stabs into my back, the pain worth this pleasure. Our teeth clash as he takes over my mouth, making me forget the apologies and niceties I owed him. Like every other time we’re together, everything becomes about lust and desire, pleasure and release.
I tug the hem of his shirt up until his mouth releases mine, and he pulls it off along with mine. The lace covering my breasts is pulled down roughly, scraping against my nipples and sending a shiver up my spine. His lips are on me, sucking the skin of one breast as his fingers tease the nipple of the other, eliciting a moan that shoots straight up from my pelvis.
“I want you so much, so much . . .” My tone is only a ghost of my voice, want taking over as I hold his head, messing his hair. He made me feel so good in the SUV, even if we were constrained by the situation.
Paybacks are deliciously devilish.
Pushing him by the shoulders, I put distance between us. We pant, breathless as the intensity of lust links us through eye contact. I’ve never seen him look more carnal or animalistic as he begins to pace while watching me, ready to devour me, wanting me more than he knows how to feel, more than he knows how to control.
I feel the same. I’m just better at hiding it. Until I can’t any longer. Moving to him, I press my hands flat against him, tracing my nails through the hair covering his chest. When he leans into me, I kiss him once on his chest over his heart and again on the other side. I say, “Stay right here.”
“Okay.”
As I kneel before him wearing my wedge heels and skirt, my breasts suspended over the cups of my bra, he pushes my hair away from my face. Our eyes meet as I work his belt and pants open.
Shoes come off.
Pants.
Underwear.
When he stands in front of me naked, I swallow from the sight of his erection. Built from kings, Hutton Everest has always lived up to his last name and exceeds it when it comes to his size. I start like he does, with no buildup or foreplay. I take him deep into my mouth and listen to the moans he can’t hold in. Grabbing his ass, I pick up speed. Hearing his melody again makes my center tighten, my pussy wet, and causes me to tighten my lips around him. I can still picture how my red lipstick stained him, claimed him as mine, the last time I was on my knees to pleasure him.
His hand tightens around my hair, my body reacting—wet, hard, need—taking over. I love when he takes control. When he takes.
I love giving to him—me, my body, my power—and watching him fall apart from greed. Tonight is no different. It doesn’t take long before his erection pulses, and I swallow every last drop he gives me.
I’ve needed this release—his is mine, and I take it happily. I’ve never felt so good being bad, so myself than when I’m with him. Freed from propriety’s restraints, I bask in the euphoria.
He pulls my hair, and I suck in a deep breath while running my gaze l
anguidly up his body until our eyes meet again. “My dirty little princess. Tell me you’ve only done that for me.”
“Only you.”
Taking me by the elbows, he lifts me to my feet. He pulls the cups of my bra up until the lace is covering me again and then caresses my cheek. Tilting closer, our lips almost touch, but he stops and says, “Such a good girl.” His hand slides under my skirt to discover how wet I am for him. “You get off on satisfying me, don’t you?”
“So much.”
“Open your mouth.” Bringing his fingers up, he holds them in front of me. “Taste how much you love pleasing me.” He’s about to touch my tongue but pulls back and licks me off him slowly, his gaze glued to mine. “I don’t share you with anyone, not even you. You taste too good not to hoard all to myself.”
Then he kisses me, and I realize he will share but on his terms. Licking my lips when ours part, he asks, “Shall we fuck?” My phone buzzes. “Ignore it,” he says.
“No one texts me at midnight. It might be an emergency.”
“Okay.”
I’m released, a whoosh of cold air coming between us as he goes silently into the bathroom. I grab the phone from my back pocket and see a text from my sister: Emergency.
Me: What’s wrong?
Marielle: Where are you?
I lie: I was hungry. I came back to the kitchen.
Marielle: I need to talk.
Me: Right now? What’s wrong?
Marielle: Not in text.
I glance at the bathroom door, and the light slipping out from under it. God, I want him.
But my sister and I have become close since I’ve returned. Closer than we ever were before. I can’t let her down now. I also can’t tell her what I’ve been doing with Hutton.
Me: Okay. I’ll come to your room.
Marielle: I’m in your room. I’ll wait. Please hurry.
Me: Be there in five.
Tucking my phone into my back pocket, I walk to the closed door. “Hutton?” I whisper.
The light is turned off, and the door opens. “We’re going to have to take advantage of that counter and mirror and that huge shower.” A happy glint enters his eyes along with a smirk sliding into place as he takes me by the hips. “And the tub.”
I rub his shoulders. “We will. I promise, but my sister needs me.”
Concern colors his expression. “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know, but she’s in my room.”
“Ah. And your room is currently empty because you’re in mine.” He kisses my cheek. “I have an idea. How about we find a room that’s ours?”
He’s not just handsome. He’s cute and really sweet to me when he’s not sexually dominating me. We’re a complicated pair, to say the least. “I’d love that, but there’s just a little matter of the monarchy and that I’m not supposed to be with you at all.”
“Screw the kingdom.”
Poking his side, I say, “I think that’s why Marie Antoinette got beheaded.”
He chuckles but knows it’s time for me to go and steps around me. Totally nude. Strapping. Confident. Sexy. Muscular. I’ve never known or seen a more handsome man than Hutton. And he owns each of the six feet four inches of his large build. Just as he owns me—heart and soul—although, for his sake, that’s something he can never know.
Picking my shirt up from the floor, he comes to me and slips it carefully over my arms and head, giving it a little tug so it hangs in place. It doesn’t matter how rough we are sexually or how our roles seesaw between submission and domination, when it’s just the two of us, we’re always Hutton and Ally. That’s when my heart is happiest, because it knows what true love is.
But then his thoughtfulness and the way he makes sure I look okay break my heart all over again. Will the man I marry do the same for me? Take care of me with such gentleness with that four-letter word resting easy in his eyes like it does in Hutton’s?
Duke Dick doesn’t love me.
He loves the power marriage to me offers.
Hutton asks, “Can you come back tonight?”
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be, but if there’s a chance to come for an hour or more, I’ll be here. I promise.”
I’m kissed sweetly on the lips. “Do what you need to do, Ally. You know where to find me. Now go before your sister worries.”
Walking me to the door, he opens it. I almost tell him I had fun, but I think we know we’re well past that. “Wait,” he says, reaching for me. “You have a little makeup smeared under your eyes.” With the skill of a surgeon, he uses the pads of his thumbs to carefully wipe the makeup away. “All good. Pretty as ever.”
He doesn’t realize he’s making everything so much harder for me. Why can’t he be an asshole I can fuck and forget? Why can’t he be like the other guys I dated and make it easy not to love every single thing about him?
Saliva thickens in my throat, stopping me from telling him how I really feel, but the tears don’t want to stay in the harbor of my eyes. So I look down and say, “Good night,” and then walk away.
“Good night, Princess.” This time, when he uses my title with the respect I demanded of him earlier, I’d rather hear Ally.
16
Princess Arabelle
Like a cat, I’m stealthy and make it to my bedroom in a flash. When I open the door, Marielle is lying dramatically across my chaise with her forearm draped over her forehead. “Should I get the fainting salts?” I ask sarcastically, shutting the door behind me.
“Maybe. What do they do?”
I roll my eyes. “What’s the emergency?”
She sits up abruptly. “I kissed Bennett, but it gets worse.” With her hands pressed into the velvet, she just stares at me.
Drama queen. “Worse? Is he a bad kisser?”
“No,” she replies, looking at me like I just sprouted a second head. “The opposite. He’s an amazing kisser.”
“Then what’s worse?”
“He kissed me back.” She takes another deep breath. “And just now before I went into my room.” Pushing up, she starts walking in a circle around my room. “What am I going to do?”
Since the emergency is not a crisis, I stand in front of the vanity mirror and start taking off my earrings. “Well, if it were me, I’d be kissing him. A lot.”
She scoffs, and when I find her in the reflection, her arms are crossed. “That’s why you’ve been in so much trouble.”
“I’m not in trouble.” I turn around and head for the bathroom.
When I pass her, she pinches her nose, and says, “You smell.”
“I know,” I reply with a smirk. I smell of Hutton and unadulterated lust. Since she’s only here to figure out how to deal with her feelings versus what she’s been told she’s allowed to do, I figure I have enough time to shower and get back to Hutton before he falls asleep.
“Gross, Belle. Anyway, back to me.”
“Yes, let’s get back to you and the kissing.” I lean against the doorframe. “What’s the big deal? Bennett’s so cute.” I spin into the bathroom to turn the shower on.
She giggles. “He is.” When I peek back out, she’s touching her lips. “But we kissed, Belle. What’s going to happen?”
“What do you mean what’s going to happen?”
A quizzical look creases her brow as she stares at me.
My mouth drops open. Oh my God. “Is Bennett the first guy you’ve ever kissed?” Tears spring to her eyes, and she starts nodding like a crazed person. How is that possible? She’s grown up attending parties and balls and socializing with men. She’s pretty and charming, a perfect princess. She’s had ample opportunity to kiss and be kissed. For crying out loud, how did she get through school and remain unkissed? Remarkable and quite astonishing. “Awww, Marielle, I had no idea.” I go to her, clasping her face in my hands. “How is that possible? You’re gorgeous. You’re twenty-three.”
“I took our bylaws seriously.”
“Those were written six hundre
d years ago.” I sit on the end of the mattress. “They don’t expect us to follow laws originally put in place to keep women under a man’s control.”
“What are you talking about? Yes, they do. We’re supposed to.” She gasps, her hand covering her mouth. “I know you’ve kissed boys, Belle, but have you—” She gasps again.
“Stop doing that,” I snap, standing up.
“Please tell me you haven’t broken the law.”
“Broken the law? Good lord, Marielle. What are they going to do to me for kissing someone?” A memory flashes—I take him deep into my mouth and listen to the moans he can’t keep quiet—as I move around my room, aimlessly looking for a distraction from the current conversation. “Throw me in the dungeon?”
“Yes. Or worse. They could keep you from becoming queen.”
I worked hard to earn my degrees, but that was to use the knowledge from the throne, to know how to keep world relations as well as understand Brudenbourg’s economy. Being queen is not a backup plan. It is THE plan. The only plan I’ve made. There are no contingencies in place. I never regretted my actions before, but I’m beginning to. But that means regretting being with Hutton, and I don’t have that capability.
But I do start questioning if I can trust my sister, which makes me feel awful. No, not Marielle. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. I’ve seen too many royalty themed movies. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“What if they do?”
I stare at her, my eyes narrowing. “Then you would become queen.” The sound of the shower brings me out of my suspicions. “We don’t have to worry about that, though.”
“You’re still a virgin?”
“Of course,” I reply nonchalantly, lying between my teeth. “I wouldn’t break the law. A kiss won’t get me knocked from my rightful place.” I walk back to the bathroom.
“Right.”
“But you wouldn’t tell, right, Marielle?”
“No. I wouldn’t. You won’t tell on me, right?”
