by Nikki Chase
“Speaking of Albert,” I say, “he told me you’ve been locking yourself in your bedroom and refusing his offers to take you on a tour around the palace.”
“Um, yeah.” She pauses. “I, uh, I’m usually always working when I’m at home, so I’ve been catching up on my rest.”
“I see. Well, it’s the weekend and I have some free time, so I’ll show you around.”
“Oh, no, there’s no need. I’m perfectly fine. Thanks for the offer, Sir.”
“Who said it was an offer?” I take a step forward, closing the gap between us. Trapping her gaze, I say, “It’s an order, Rosemary.”
Panic flashes in her eyes, but not before I spot her cheeks growing red, and hear her breath catching in her throat. She’s aroused. She parts her lips now, but no words come out.
“I have something to show you. Something I know you’re going to like.”
“What is it?” she asks. At first, she seems relieved to have finally found her words again. Then, she realizes her voice sounds more high-pitched than usual, and a look of alarm descends on her face. She knows that I’m aware of how nervous I’m making her.
It’s so interesting to watch the changes in her expression when she’s flustered, and I love knowing that it’s me bringing her to such a state.
“You’ll have to come with me to find out.” The corners of my lips tug up and I add, “Unless you want to stay here in your bedroom and just come. We can do that, too.”
Her lips part and she sucks in a sharp breath. Her eyes darken as her pupils dilate. The knuckles on her hand on the door have turned white.
Yeah, she knows what I’m talking about. And she has no idea how to respond.
She’s realizing that it’s been a while since I stopped talking. Now she’s scrambling inside her own mind, trying to find the right words to say.
But she knows it’s too late now. I’ve already noticed the tell-tale signs of her lust.
I already know that something deep inside her compels her to obey me. I know because it’s the same beast inside me that forces me want to control and dominate women.
I need to use a woman’s body for my own pleasure, and she needs a man to submit to, so she can derive pleasure from the knowledge that she has given him pleasure.
We’re two sides of the same coin. We belong together.
But she’s not ready to admit it yet.
“Fine, I’ll go with you,” she says, putting on an unconvincing angry tone.
“Good.”
Her gaze flicks away, and she steps outside into the hallway in unnecessary haste. Pulling the door closed behind her, she asks, “Where are we going?”
As we walk side by side down the wide hallways, Rosemary maintains a distance of at least three feet from me.
It irritates me that she’d stay that far away from me. But at the same time, she obviously doesn’t trust herself to get any closer, which can only mean that I’m winning.
I take her the long way, telling her all about the men who built this palace, about the kings of the past who used to spend their days here in times of war, and about the people who work here despite the fact that they’d have to spend months at a time away from their families.
Even now, the staff members of Ardglass Palace only get to go home every few months. They also have to keep the details of their work a secret. But we’ve never had any shortage of people to fill the job vacancies here.
I show her the grand ballroom and turn on all the lights. I tell her that my mother used to invite her friends to parties here.
My mother was really creative about keeping the location a secret. Once, she made up a murder mystery game that started with all the guests taking sleeping pills and waking up in a strange, secret ballroom.
Rosemary tells me about her family. Her father worries so much about money that he always needs a sleeping pill to rest at night. She’s always the one to wake him up in the morning when he’s home, and he often oversleeps when he travels for work.
This is going according to plan. She’s letting her guard down.
And now, for the pièce de résistance.
As soon as I open the door, her jaw drops.
As if she has forgotten I’m even here, she walks inside, her steps echoing in this yawning space. Her head hasn’t stopped turning. It’s like she doesn’t even know where to look first.
Rosemary
This can’t be real.
A place this marvelous can’t possibly exist.
Maybe I’m hallucinating because I’ve been bored out of my mind and I’ve just discovered how pleasant it actually can be to have a conversation with James.
I look up at the colorful frescos painted on the dome-shaped ceilings. There are blue skies overhead, even though we’re indoors. And angels are flying above us.
Yep, this can’t get any more like a dream.
I walk to my left. My feet tread on solid marble floors, my flat ballet shoes tapping softly with each step. I walk around the big, chunky wooden table, dragging my finger over the grainy surface. This is such a vivid, life-like dream.
I approach the wall, one among many that are lined with rich, dark-brown shelves. I reach out my index finger and put it on a leather spine. As I pull the book out, dust flies into the air and into my nostrils. Automatically, my eyes shut and I sneeze.
Wait a minute, books in dreams don’t make you sneeze, do they? Is it even possible to sneeze while I’m dreaming?
I hear a low chuckle behind me. Prince James.
“Nobody ever comes here,” he says, “so Albert has been focusing his attention elsewhere. He would’ve been embarrassed to know there’s so much dust here it made you sneeze. He never would’ve taken you here on his tour.”
See what I mean?
He’s pleasant. Perfectly nice.
Weird, right?
Okay, so the sneeze has confirmed that I’m not dreaming.
But maybe I’ve crossed over into another dimension? Because here, Prince James is actually a nice guy, and this library is so big and full of books it’s not even funny. My usual library doesn’t even have one-tenth of the books here.
There have to be tons of shelves here, and they all stretch from the floor to the ceiling. It’s not like they’re empty either—each shelf is so jammed full of books I’d have to use a little force to take one out.
“What kind of books do you have here?” I ask.
“All kinds. Too many for me to list everything. You’ll just have to find out for yourself.”
“How many of them have you read?”
The prince chuckles. “I don’t know. I used to spend a lot of time here, but these days I’m too busy working to do that.”
“Can I come here on my own?”
“Yeah, sure,” he says.
“Oh my god, thank you!” I exclaim. Seriously, he’s being such a great guy today.
“You’re welcome.”
I scan the books in front of me, and my eyes land on a blue spine on one of the higher shelves.
“Is that a first-edition copy of The Great Gatsby?” I ask.
I look to my right and see a wooden ladder, the kind that slides over bookshelves to help people reach the books at the top. The local library at Willowdale has one, so I know exactly how to use it.
I grab the ladder and pull, sending dust particles flying everywhere as the ladder slides along the metal rail. I climb up the rungs and—oh my god—see an actual first copy of my favorite novel of all time.
Gently, I pry it loose from the other books on the shelf. It’s an old copy, obviously, and it looks pleasantly ancient. It smells a little musty and the pages have yellowed a little. It has aged well.
As more dust from the book tickles my nostrils, I realize another sneeze is coming. I can’t stop it. But I can’t let go of this book, even though I probably need my hands to hold on to the ladder, unless I want to fall on my ass.
Before my brain comes up with a solution, my body lets out a sneeze and I
lose my balance. I can probably save myself if I threw the book away and grab onto the ladder, but this is the freaking first edition of The Great Gatsby.
I start to drop backward, and I close my eyes, preparing myself for the impact. But instead of falling onto the cold, hard marble floor, I remain in place. When I open my eyes, I’m still holding the book in both hands and in front of me are shelves lined with books.
Something’s propping me up. Something warm around my waist. James’ strong hands.
“Be careful,” he says calmly, as if he hasn’t just rescued me from a painful fall.
But then again, he’s a prince. Maybe he goes around slaying dragons and saving princesses. Maybe this is all in a day’s work for him.
“Thank you, Sir,” I say.
Wait a minute. His face is about at the same level as my butt right now.
“I’m fine now,” I say, self-consciousness creeping into my mind. “It’s safe to let go.”
“No, it’s not. There are other old, dusty books up there, and you’ve already sneezed twice,” he says.
My cheeks grow hot as I realize the precarious position I’m in.
Here I am, with Prince James right behind me, just like he was in the garden a few days ago. But this time it’s worse—not just because his face is right behind my butt, but also because I have nowhere to go.
Back in the garden, I could’ve put down the cup at any time and walk away. I didn’t—which has been a source of embarrassment—but I could’ve.
Right now, I have about one foot of space on the rung of a ladder to stand on.
But he’s right. There are still so many books I want to look at, and I could lose my balance again.
“Um, don’t you want to take a look at the books yourself?” I ask, hoping he’ll get distracted and walk away.
“Nah, I have a good view from here,” he says.
I don’t have to turn around to know he has that cocky, mocking smirk on his face.
I try to turn my attention back to the books, but I can’t ignore his hands, which are still on my waist. I don’t really need this much protection from some old books, but if I’m perfectly honest, I don’t want him to leave either.
He’s only touching my waist, but it’s like there are tendrils of desire stretching from his hands to wrap around the rest of my body, running over my neck, my breasts, my legs, and ending up in my center.
I curse whoever filled the wardrobe in my bedroom full of dresses. I’m not usually a dress kind of girl, but I have no other choice. Other than those, my only other option is to wear floor-length ball gowns, and those are worse.
I understand the regular female guests in this palace might need these fancy dresses and gowns, but normally I live in my jeans, except for special occasions.
The clothes I wore when I arrived here have disappeared from my bedroom, probably because they’re really dirty from the mud. They haven’t reappeared yet, but I expect they will in a few days, unless the palace staff deems them too old and ratty for me to wear.
“Since you seem to like it so much here, maybe it’ll be easier to find you from now on,” James says suddenly, his low voice reverberating in this massive library.
“Can I also bring some books into my room?” I ask.
“Like I said, you can do what you want, as long as you follow the rules. But you haven’t always followed the rules, have you?”
“What do you mean, Sir?” My heart starts to race as I notice the hint of a threat in his words. What is he talking about?
“I mean you’re not always a good girl, are you, Rosemary?” James runs his hands down, over the curve of my hips, until he touches my knees.
The moment the prince’s hand lands on my skin, my desire rises to the surface, reminding me of how I yearn for him when I’m alone in my bedroom at night.
The prince penetrates my thoughts so completely that I can’t sleep unless I soothe the aching between my legs with my fingers, even though it never truly goes away. Fantasizing about the prince until my body shudders in the darkness has become my sleeping pill.
“You’re not answering me, sweetheart,” the prince says. “Let’s try another question then. After our little encounter in the garden, did you have to change your panties?”
I stand still like one of statues in this palace, but I know I’m not fooling anybody.
Prince James knows that I heard him, and I just don’t know how to respond. He also apparently knows about how I ran straight to my bedroom after breakfast just to change. This is not the first time that I feel like he knows things about me that he’s not supposed to.
“Answer me, Rosemary,” he says darkly. “Did you, or did you not have to change your panties?”
“No,” I lie. I can’t just admit something like that, can I?
“I know you’re lying. I’ll ask you one more time. Did you have to change your panties that morning?”
“Y—yes.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Yes, Sir,” I repeat.
“Good girl. You were so soaked you must’ve had to wring them out,” he says as his hands travel up my thighs, pushing the hem of my dress further and further up. “But I’ll have to punish you for trying to lie to me.”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I say, feeling my core clench.
I hate the way he can manipulate my body with only his words. Still, I can’t help but want to follow his orders when he’s talking to me like this, like he already owns me.
“That reminds me, I should also punish you for making me repeat myself in my office your first night here,” he says, in a voice dripping with lust. He sounds like a predator out for blood, and he’s got his eyes set on me.
I say nothing. My mind is blank. All my energy must’ve gone to the nerve endings on my skin, because they’re hyper-sensitive now.
The prince’s hands have reached the top of my legs, and he’s touching my pussy over my panties. Without even thinking, I move my feet further apart, giving him better access to the most intimate part of me.
I’m horrified when I realize what I’ve done, but there’s no time to correct my stance, because the prince’s hands quickly move in to fill the space that I’ve made for him.
As a light shudder runs through my body, I remember something.
“Sir, may I please put the book back on the shelf?” I ask softly, my breathing ragged with desire.
“Of course,” he says, “you don’t want to damage it like you did with the teacup, do you?”
“No, Sir,” I say, half-sighing.
“Put it back if you want. I’ll wait.” The prince stops moving his fingers, but he rests his palm over my pussy, and I can feel the heat from his skin.
When I reach up to put the old, precious book where it belongs, my hips roll and my pussy brushes against James’ palm. Even over the fabric of my panties, the pressure feels incredible.
I didn’t expect this burst of pleasure, and I haven’t prepared myself for its effects. My mouth opens and a moan slides out, echoing in this big, cavernous space.
I quickly shut my mouth again, embarrassed by my own wanton behavior.
“There’s no need to get embarrassed, sweetheart,” the prince says. “That’s a sexy noise that you just made, and I’d love to hear you make more of it.”
The prince hooks his finger into the waist of my panties and pulls down. They fall down my legs and hang around my ankles, all twisted up.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” he says as he runs his hands up my thighs and pulls my hips back so my ass is sticking out.
When he starts to trail kisses up my legs, my knees go weak and I realize I should’ve listened to him.
Quickly, I grab an upper rung of the ladder with both hands. My knuckles are turning white from how hard I’m holding on. I’m starting to feel tingles in my pussy, even though the prince isn’t even touching me there—not yet.
“Good girl,” he says.
God, it drives me so crazy when he talks to me like that.
It’s like I’m his possession to order and control; to praise and punish.
James pushes the fabric of my dress up as his lips travel up my thighs, bunching it up. The fabric gathers and hangs down from my waist, highlighting the fact that I’m voluntarily pushing my ass out, presenting myself to the prince.
Just as I consider retaining whatever dignity I have left and pulling away from him, James’ breath falls on my pussy lips, hot and tantalizing.
And I forget everything. Everything except for those lips, and how close they are to my own lower lips.
“You smell delicious, sweetheart,” Prince James says as he audibly sucks in a deep breath.
I’m mortified. I’ve never had anyone even see my most intimate part, and now the prince has his face about an inch away from it, inhaling its scent like it’s a flower.
But as much as I want to stop this, I can’t bring myself to. It feels too damn good. I keep telling myself I should stop, but then I let the moment linger for a little longer, and the sinful sensations make me forget about my good intentions.
My mind has left the control center. The prince has happily taken over, and he’s now the one with dominion over my body.
“I’m sure you’ll taste just as good,” he says.
Then, something hot and gentle touches my pussy the way nothing has ever touched me before. It’s wet and warm; it’s soft and firm. It takes me a while to realize…
Oh god, the prince is basically French-kissing my pussy lips right now.
James gives me no time to wallow in my shock and embarrassment, though. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing with his lips and tongue right now, but it feels heavenly.
I mean, I’ve seen men give women oral attention before. I do have access to the Internet. And I have been to a BDSM club, even though it was just that once, when I met Prince James for the first time.
An image flashes in my mind, of James with half his face covered by a plain black mask.
Nobody knew who he was that night. But he could’ve revealed himself if he wanted to. He could’ve demanded the VIP seat, the red carpet, and maybe even a few submissive girls to entertain him—in short, the royal treatment.
