by Alyssa Cole
“I thought we agreed that I’m the chosen one here, love. That means I get the reward and I have something else in mind, if it’s all right with you.”
He began walking her back toward the bed, his hands sliding down the front of her blouse and undoing the buttons one by one. He slid the shirt back over her shoulders and they both stepped over it when it pooled on the floor. Now she was in just her lace bra and tight pants and heels, a style Tavish seemed to appreciate.
He leaned down and kissed her again, an action that seesawed between harsh and gentle, desire and denial. One of his hands smoothed down over the curve of her breasts, over her stomach, until his fingers had notched into the vee between her thighs. Those thick fingers she’d admired since the first morning she sat across from him in his office began to move now, circling over the fabric of her pants and underwear. The pressure was steady and firm, with no tentative fumbling as he searched for her clit. He zeroed in fast and hard, leaving her gasping with the sudden onslaught of pleasure. He was good with his hands in every situation, it seemed.
Her hips rolled and her head dropped back as she pressed into his touch.
“Do you like that?” he asked, rubbing faster, pressing deeper. Pleasure washed through her in time to his motions, rippling out from her clit to her toes to her fingertips in tingling waves.
“Yes,” she managed before pressing her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from crying out—they weren’t supposed to be doing this after all. Tavish’s laugh rumbled as he alternated the speed of his caressing.
“Good.” He tipped her back onto the bed, a move that was just a step below gentle, and followed her down as she fell backward onto the mattress, one hand still working. The other hand pressed her shoulder down into the mattress and Portia shuddered at the weight of it, which gave her pleasure just as much as the hand between her legs did.
Then he was kissing her as he rubbed, and though they’d been at it off and on for the last half hour, he kissed her like a lover who hadn’t seen his beloved in months. She wasn’t one for romanticizing, but he kissed with the lush, seductive artistry of Klimt, dark passion hidden beneath rich, solid strokes. His fingers pressed and his tongue caressed and she knew when the moisture of her desire had seeped through her pants because he Mmmmed into her mouth with a devilish delight that made her toes curl.
“Fuck, Tavish,” she whispered.
He was settled between her thighs, mouth fused to hers as he got her off with one hand. His other hand tugged at her bra straps, pulled the band roughly down over her stomach before his palm scraped over her breasts, the calluses and scars of his trade adding to the friction. He licked into her mouth, and then his thumb and index fingers closed around her nipple and pinched just hard enough to make her gasp and buck up beneath him.
He pulled his mouth away and his hand stopped moving, making her realize she’d caught his rhythm and had been riding it like she was in was the most important dressage competition of her life. “Too much?” he asked.
Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice told her she was supposed to deny liking such things, but instead she licked her lips and shook her head.
“Not enough.”
Tav groaned a laugh and then his lips pressed into her neck, then her collarbone, and then clamped around her nipple. He lashed it with short, hard strokes of his tongue. Her hands dove into his thick hair as she writhed and fought against the cry rising in her throat.
She didn’t know if it was his added years of experience or just innate talent, but Tav seemed to know exactly what pushed her buttons. His grip was strong and sure and his mouth and tongue moved with one mission: to drive pleasure into her. He gripped her nipple lightly between his teeth and tugged, as if reminding her that he could pleasure with any part of his body he so chose.
“Oh fuck.” Her body slid wildly against his and he did that thing again—pressing her down into the mattress with one hand to keep her in place. She let out a moan and he grinned, eyes on her and other hand at the waistband of her pants.
“More?” he asked, and waited for her shaky nod to tug her pants and underwear both down with one hand. His fingers slipped against her clit without the barrier of fabric, sending sparks of pleasure zipping through her. He wasn’t any more gentle than he had been, but it was exactly what Portia wanted from him. He rubbed hard circles into her wetness, still holding her down by a shoulder.
“I can feel you trembling. Are you close, love?” He slowed the motion down so he was moving his fingers in deep, torturous circles over her sleek nub.
“Yes, Tav,” she choked out. So close. She reached out to grip the length of him where he bulged against his boxer briefs. He grunted a curse as she pulled him through the flap. She stroked him as he stroked her, and watching the muscles in his jaw tense and his eyes squeeze shut almost pushed her over the edge completely.
His gaze was intense as it rested on her face and he pumped into her hand. She picked up the rhythm of his touch between her legs, matching the slide of her hand against his cock. Portia was overcome with sensation, she was so close but she couldn’t . . .
Then Tavish’s hand slipped from her shoulder to her neck, his fingers loosely encircling it, palm resting on her collarbones. His brows raised and she nodded, and then he increased the pressure just the slightest bit. It wasn’t enough to impede her breathing, but the weight of it paired with the two fingers he slid inside of her at the same moment were enough.
“Oh, fuck! Tavish!” Her back arched and she grabbed on to his forearm with both hands as she clamped around his fingers and rode out the impossible sensation flowing through her. Sparks from an anvil, fireworks—all of that good shit—flashed behind her tightly squeezed eyes as her orgasm crested over her. She didn’t know how long she writhed and bucked—and how long he held her down through it—but when she finally opened her eyes, panting and short of breath, he was staring at her hard.
“Okay there, lass?” His voice was hoarse with need.
She responded by tugging him onto the bed beside her and kissing him, her hand frantically searching out his cock and closing over his own—he’d been working himself as he watched her fly apart beneath him.
She leaned back, taking a breath from their frantic pace, and watched him stroke himself. The kernel of a crush in her chest that had grown into a cornfield all simultaneously popped into popcorn from the heat of it. Fuck. She’d already thought him sexy, but now she’d be stuck with this image of him lazily touching himself, invitation in his hazel gaze, whenever her brain wanted to mess with her.
She reached into the toiletry bag beside her bed to pull out a condom, knocking his hand out of the way to slide it onto him. He chuckled at her rush, a sound that was cut short as she slid the condom down. She waited a moment, until he pumped up into her fist impatiently, and then knelt over him and followed suit with her body.
He wasn’t lacking in the girth department, and Portia rested on the tip of his cock for a moment, gaze locked on his as she slowly took him into her. The slow, deep stretch of him felt more intimate than anything Portia had ever experienced. He leaned up on his elbows to watch her, them, though the more she took in, the more tightly his eyes squeezed shut.
She squeezed his torso between her knees as she rode him, loving the thick friction of him inside of her, relishing the way his hips moved as he pushed up to deepen their joining. Her hands rested on his chest as she met his shallow stroke with a deep one, pulling a moan from both of them.
“Jesus, Portia.”
After that there was just the slap and slide of their bodies against one another, their hushed moans. He leaned up, one hand sliding into her hair to hold her gaze with his and the other gripping her hip as he pumped up into her.
“You’re . . .” His eyes closed and he grit his teeth. “You’re driving me crazy. You beautiful . . .”
His words trailed off as she swiveled her hips in his lap, meeting his upward thrusts from a new angle. His hand in her hair guided
her mouth to his for a bruising kiss and his hand gripped her hip enough to cause sweet shocks of pain.
“Tav, I’m gonna—” Then she cried out into his mouth as her body went taut with ecstasy. He let out a series of curses as he pounded up into her and then they both toppled over onto the mattress, a tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving chests.
Shit, Portia thought. Now what?
Of course she hadn’t thought ahead to this part. After the hookup. She would usually get up and go now, but this was her room. They lived in the same building.
And I don’t want to.
“Fuck’s sake,” Tav drawled miserably, and Portia steeled herself.
“This bed really is uncomfortable.” He shifted around a bit until he was cradling her in his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were serious about that?”
She let out a snort of disbelief and he nuzzled into her neck.
“And you called me a princess,” she asked.
He nuzzled some more—he was a cuddler apparently. She tried to ignore how good and natural it felt to be with him like this.
“Eh, so about that simmering and itch scratching and hype and what not?” His voice was only a little playful.
“We’ll see how we feel in the morning,” she said carefully.
His hand slid up her waist and cupped her breast. “Morning’s a long way off,” he mumbled into her neck. Portia allowed herself to sink into his touch. He was right; sometimes it took a few rounds to really fuck a man out of your system. By the time the sun filtered through the fog of Bodotria, they’d be over each other for sure.
Totally.
Chapter 20
Tavish was sleeping; Portia was not. He had his arms around her and was holding her close and, honestly, who slept like that? Holding another human being like a koala hugged up on a eucalyptus tree. Ew.
She batted at her pillow and Tav’s arm tightened around her.
It wasn’t bad exactly, it was just that he was so warm. His chest hair tickled her back each time he inhaled and exhaled. He smelled—it was a good smell, but still. If she was a man-sweat sommelier, she would say it had hints of steel, citrus, and essence of Tavish. But she had never cared about a guy’s smell before unless it was a rando crushed against her on the train. It bothered her that she was sneaking whiffs of Tav’s elbow, partly because there would be no further elbow sniffing.
One and done. He was supposed to be out of her system. She was supposed to be sliding out from beneath his arm, then firmly but politely shoving him out the door, both of them much too mature to feel anything other than a bit of mischievous pride.
She nestled into him a little closer. Inhaled.
“Why is it you don’t allow yourself to become attached to any of these men, Portia?”
“It’s just easier that way. No muss, no fuss.”
She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life, but maybe none so grave as the three words she’d spoken the night before.
Let’s do it.
A chirping sound filled the room and for a moment she thought it was the morning birds, but as it grew more insistent she realized it was the sound of an incoming video call.
Oh shit.
She’d forgotten Ledi was on a flight to Thesolo and had said she would call at some godawful time. Portia slipped out of Tavish’s hold and smiled at the way he grumbled, then caught herself. She glanced at him, against her better judgment, and her breath caught for a moment.
He didn’t look boyish, with his disheveled salt-and-pepper hair and crow’s feet, and he didn’t look serene. He looked like he was dreaming about something salacious, a sly grin quirking a corner of his mouth and creasing the stubble on his cheeks, and the want that should have burned away with hours of sex flared up again, stronger than before.
She pulled on a T-shirt and grabbed her phone, slipping in her earpiece as she accepted the call.
Ledi was staring sleepily at the screen, her braids pineappled atop her head and poking out from her silk scarf. “Hey, girl.” Ledi’s brows went up. “Heyyyyy, girl. No headscarf. Crazy tangled hair. Yesterday’s makeup still on, kind of. Am I interrupting something?”
Portia’s gaze flicked guiltily toward the bed. “What had happened was, we went to dinner—”
Ledi burst into laughter and shook her head. “I knew it! I knew it! Biso, you owe me twenty dollars.”
The camera jostled and swiveled and then Prince Thabiso was on the screen, brows jumping suggestively over sleep-hooded eyes. “Got down and dirty with the duke, did you, Portia? How could you do this to me? I had twenty dollars that said you could resist his charms.”
“You guys bet on me?” Portia wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Actually, she did know, and it wasn’t great. “And only twenty bucks? You’re royalty!”
“I have to reinvest my money into my country, Portia, I can’t go throwing it about gambling on sex acts,” Thabiso said gravely. “Besides, you know how cheap Ledi is. She wanted to bet five.”
Ledi appeared in the screen again, elbow first as she shoved Thabiso out of the way. “I showed Biso that video of Tavish pounding away on the anvil, and said if I were in your shoes, that metal wouldn’t be the only thing getting hit at the armory, so I didn’t know how you were holding out. This wasn’t some judgment on your character. It was vicarious living.”
“How is it that you’ve become more crude since you became a princess?” Portia asked, mentally smoothing her ruffled feathers.
“Portia, if the last few weeks has taught you anything, it should have been that the aristocracy is crude as they come,” Thabiso cut in. “The parties and jewels and ceremony are all to distract the rabble with shiny things while we engage in indecent behavior.”
“We?” Ledi asked archly.
“Sorry, I slipped into French. Must be because I just finished talking to Johan. They.” He winked at Portia through the screen, then his eyes went wide. “Did you say she called him Ass Man, Ledi? That is a spectacular ass. Shield your eyes.”
“Here, we have a male engaged in the rarely captured walk of shame,” Ledi said in a faux nature show host voice, pushing Thabiso’s hand away. “The male is confused by awakening in a strange habitat. Human males are creatures of routine.”
Something pale moved behind Portia in the inset video on the phone and she turned to find a naked, spectacular-assed swordmaker blundering around her room searching for his boxers. She let out a horrified laugh and immediately swiveled the phone away.
“Morning,” he grumbled. “I have to go practice with the weans for the exhibition. It’s their first so I want to make sure they’re good and ready.”
“Oh! Great! I’m on a call!” Portia didn’t know why the words came out as high-pitched squeaks. Probably because her boss had just mooned her friends. Because he was naked in her room. Because she’d spent a hedonistic night with him.
She cleared her throat. “I’m on a call with Ledi and Thabiso.”
“Princess and her prince?” His voice was rough with sleep—his burr more pronounced—and Portia felt a pang that they hadn’t woken up earlier. She wanted to feel the rumble of his growl between her thighs one more time. But that wasn’t part of Project: New Portia, Electric Boogaloo, with the one-night stand amendment.
“Yes. You’ve officially mooned royalty,” she said.
He chuckled. “Ah. Dad will be so proud.”
“Unplug your headphones so we can talk to him,” Ledi urged.
“No. He’s not even wearing any pants,” Portia said. Besides, it would be too weird, her best friend talking to him. Ledi had never met any of Portia’s conquests, apart from being at a bar with Portia when she encountered them. Though Tavish wasn’t a conquest. He was her boss . . . and her friend?
Portia’s brain was muddled. Maybe she had OD’d on sex endorphins during the night.
“My friends want to chat with you,” she said, surprising herself.
Tav scoffed as he pulled on his pants. “Your friends can get in lin
e behind my mum and dad. You know I don’t like video, Freckles.”
Portia tried not to let her disappointment show. Why did she care? It would have been weird, and they didn’t need weirdness. They needed for him to leave and for both of them to act like the night before hadn’t happened.
“He doesn’t like video chatting, sorry guys. Your dreams of conversing with a semi-nude duke have been dashed.” Footsteps approached and then Tav’s jean-clad legs appeared onscreen beside her. She saw his hand heading for her shoulder before she felt the weight of it, before her brain remembered all the things that hand had done to her the night before.
“Hello friends of Portia,” he said much too loudly, as if he was trying to shout toward their plane wherever it was in the sky. “I have to go serve the youth of Bodotria right now, and I also don’t want to overwhelm you with my devilish good looks, but nice meeting you. Cute scarf, Princess. Sweet robe, Prince.”
He ruffled Portia’s hair—what the hell? A hair ruffle?—and turned and left.
“Oh, his voice is even dreamier all gravelly like that,” Ledi said. “And the way he rolled the r in princess . . .”
Ledi sighed.
“I have an accent, too,” Thabiso said petulantly.
“You have the sexiest accent,” Ledi said, leaning her head on his shoulder and looking up at him. She had once been super reserved, but was so open with her affection now. Portia assumed it was because of Thabiso, and then felt a flash of envy. She wouldn’t have that with Tav. She was helping him get a handle on his life, and then she’d be on her way. Mary Poppins, indeed.
“I’m still here, guys,” Portia said.
“Oh sorry,” Thabiso said, his mood much improved. “I was going to tell the Duke of Assman that my friend Johan is going to be in Edinburgh and he owes me a favor. He can stop by to give him some advice.”
“Prince Johan? The Liechtienbourg guy?” Portia asked. “I mean, speaking of asses, his was on the cover of every tabloid after he got caught playing strip poker. Is he the best person to be giving Tav advice?”
