His Sword

by Holly Hart

Dante’s eyes narrow, and it’s as if the world disappears and only this tiny courtyard exists.

  Please don’t fire me. Please don’t fire me.

  “In fact, it does,” he says. “And just like today, my chance meeting with you yesterday managed to shake me out of my funk and change my thinking, if only for a short time.”

  I’m staring at him blankly now, heart hammering in my chest. My mind is reeling, trying to figure out something, anything, to say.

  “You’re… welcome?” I croak.

  Oh, that was fucking brilliant, Amanda. If you hurry, you can still get a seat on the red-eye back to America tonight.

  I’m beginning to believe in out-of-body experiences. I swear I can feel my soul trying to squeeze its way out of me through my eyeballs and run away. Maybe I should just crumple to the ground and fake a seizure.

  Before I know what’s happening, Dante closes the gap between us and grabs me by my arms. Then his lips are pressing against mine, warm and wet and electric.

  Suddenly he breaks the contact and steps back, holding me at arms length, looking at me with eyes like moons.

  “I’m – I’m terribly sorry,” he breathes. “That was – that was –”

  “Incredible,” I finish for him, yanking him back towards me and covering his mouth with mine.

  Chapter Nine

  9. DANTE

  I know I’m doing the wrong thing, but I can’t stop myself.

  Her full lips accept mine with an eagerness that matches my own. Our tongues meet, intensely probing and searching each other as my arms encircle her waist.

  Amanda slides her arms under my shoulders and grips me even more tightly. Her breasts – those magnificent breasts that overpowered my senses when I glimpsed them full and wet yesterday – press against me, swelling through the top of her blouse.

  Her response makes me throw royal manners to the wind and grip her ass through her skirt. All I want is to pull her as close to me as physically possible. She does her own part, shifting her hips to press her groin against the bulge of my erection.

  “Dante,” she breathes in my ear. “Oh God…”

  My mouth finds the skin of her neck as she twines her fingers through my hair, gripping me tightly. My cock strains with painful pleasure against my zipper as we find a rhythm with our hips, back and forth.

  I gently push her backwards a few steps into the relative privacy of the sentinel shrubs. As we leave the path, she becomes more brazen, pulling down the loose shoulders of her peasant blouse and exposing the creamy skin of her cleavage to welcome my lips. It’s soft and warm under my tongue.

  My hands have a will of their own. They slide under her blouse and practiced fingers instantly release the clasp of her bra. I cup her breasts as they come free of the fabric, squeezing lightly and prompting an appreciative groan in my ear.

  Amanda’s fingers clamp onto my neck as she slides her tongue into the hollow beneath my left ear, sending a thrill of anticipation down my spine. My cock throbs in response, and she grinds her mound into me even harder.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I sigh.

  Suddenly her tongue is back in my mouth and her hand is gripping the bulge under my pants, urgently kneading my cock and sending waves of pleasure through me. My hands reflexively grip her ass in response.

  Her fingers fumble with my zipper and I open my eyes to see her staring at me, biting her lower lip.

  “Amanda,” I whisper, shocked.

  Her eyes are locked on mine as she begins to unbutton her blouse.

  Chapter Ten

  10. AMANDA

  What I’m feeling right now is the total opposite of an out-of-body experience. All I am aware of right now is my body. Rational thought is a distant memory.

  If my rational brain was working, it would tell me that this can’t be real. And if it is real, this is utterly insane, that I don’t know what I’m doing, that I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.

  But my body is telling me it needs to feel Dante’s skin against mine, and it won’t be denied.

  I fumble frantically with the buttons on his shirt as his eyes roam over my body. I’ve never been naked in front of a man before – to have the sexiest man in the world be the first to see my body is so erotic I’m already on the verge of an orgasm.

  Dante helps me unbutton with one hand and unzips his fly with the other. A moment later and I’m staring at his sculpted chest and washboard abs. He could be one of the statues in this garden, a masterpiece.

  His torso is heaving in time with his breathing. So is mine. His smoldering grey eyes, like the embers of a campfire, lock onto mine for one intense moment. Then his hard cock flips free from his pants and my breath stops in my chest.

  It’s the first one I’ve ever seen; so much bigger than I thought it would be. Studying hundreds of nude Renaissance statues didn’t prepare me for this.

  I don’t have time to think about it because suddenly Dante’s mouth is on my nipple, his hot tongue almost burning against the delicate skin there. I have to hold onto his neck to keep from collapsing on the ground with pleasure. He scrapes his teeth along the nub, delicately but intensely, drawing an involuntary shudder from my very core.

  His hands slide into the waistband of my skirt, pushing it down until it puddles around my ankles. There’s nothing left but my panties.

  I couldn’t keep my hand away from his cock now if I wanted to. I reach out and snare it, gasping at the sheer heat of the skin, the unexpected contrast of softness and steel. It twitches in response to my touch and I hear Dante growl like a panther.

  My God, this is really happening. I feel like I must be delirious, but there’s no mistaking the electricity coursing through me right now. Nothing has ever been so real before in my life.

  Then Dante’s free hand leaves my breast and wanders down my belly. The skin there contracts into goosebumps at his touch, and my heart races in anticipation of what’s coming next.

  My knees almost buckle as his fingers glide along the slick outer lips of my entrance. I have to grips his neck with my left hand for support while my right keeps a firm hold of his erection.

  I’ve never been with a man in this way, but I know enough to figure out what I should be doing for him. I glide my hand up and down his shaft, stroking slowly but firmly, feeling the veins standing out against my palm.

  Dante returns the favor, pressing his wet fingers against my swollen clit and sending jolts of pleasure all up my spine. My hips buck in time with his strokes, each motion increasing the pleasure, until he suddenly flattens his palm against my mound. The pressure against my clit is delicious, making me gasp in his ear

  My strokes turn harder and faster, increasing the friction against his cock as our tongues find each other again. Before I realize what I’m doing, I pull him closer and stand on my tiptoes. I guide the head of his cock towards my slit and rub it against the hot wetness there.

  I can’t help it; my orgasm takes over my body like a possessing spirit. When his tip finds my clit, it’s game over. The world explodes in a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations as Dante takes hold of my buttocks and supports me in place, letting me ride the waves.

  “It’s so good,” I pant. “I never imagined…”

  “You make me weak,” he breathes back. “I can’t hold back…”

  All I want is to feel his cock deep inside me, all the way in, to feel it become one with me. I’ve waited so long for this, and this moment is so perfect…

  “Dante!” a female voice cries from somewhere in the gardens. “Dante, are you here, darling?”

  Chapter Eleven

  11. DANTE

  The sound of my aunt’s voice is more effective than a bucket of ice water, shocking me back to reality and surprising the blood right out of my throbbing cock.

  Amanda gasps and nearly falls out of my arms. God, how could I have been so irresponsible?! We’re outdoors in the middle of the day! Thank God the twins happened on when they did instead of now.
>
  That’s right, Dante, conveniently avoid the real reason this was such a ridiculous risk. Imagine trying to pass off another woman as your wife less than two weeks after fucking a virtual stranger in your garden! The media would have a field day, not to mention the chancellor.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper to Amanda as we scramble to get our clothes back on. “I shouldn’t have done this. It was reprehensible of me.”

  “You weren’t doing it alone,” she breathes, clasping her bra and covering up her breasts. Her stunning, alabaster breasts.

  Snap out of it!

  Amanda manages to get her outfit back in place as I finish buttoning my shirt. Thank God I don’t have any royal functions today; otherwise, I’d be trying to tie a bowtie right now, too. At least my raging hard-on has finally gone all the way down.

  She smooths her hair with her hands; luckily, she never wears make-up – it would be gilding the lily, as far as I’m concerned – so she needn’t worry about any smudges.

  “How do I look?” she asks, eyes pleading.

  Like I imagine an angel must look.

  “Fine,” I say. “And me?”

  She swallows hard.

  “Same.”

  “All right. Follow my lead.”

  I check the lane to see if Isabella is near. We’re in luck; the coast is clear, so I take Amanda’s hand and we step into the courtyard mere seconds before my aunt rounds the corner and discovers us.

  “There you are!” she cries. “Didn’t you hear me calling?”

  “Hmm?” I say, turning to face her. My elbow is in one hand, supporting my chin in the other. “Oh, hello, auntie.”

  Amanda smiles, hands clasped in front of her.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” she says sheepishly. “The prince was indulging my curiosity about this particular statue of Minerva. I didn’t know it existed.”

  Isabella is the embodiment of the term “handsome woman.” Still very attractive in late middle age, but her features are more angular than softly feminine. It gives her an air of power and sophistication. I imagine Amanda is somewhat intimidated, despite the excellent act she’s putting on.

  Hell, I’m intimidated and I grew up with the woman.

  Isabella smiles and waves a dismissive hand. “No matter,” she says. “And you are?”

  “Where are my manners?” I say. Where, indeed. “Duchess Isabella Steiger, please meet Amanda Sparks, from America. She’s in charge of planning my birthday celebration. Amanda, Isabella is my maternal aunt, the former regent of Morova.”

  They clasp hands. “I’m well aware of your contributions to Morova,” Amanda says. “There are many who say you held the kingdom together during its greatest challenge.”

  Isabella bows humbly. It’s an act – my aunt is about as humble as a professional wrestler – but she’s very good at it.

  “Maria has told me all about you, dear. I’m sure Dante’s fate is in capable hands.”

  She turns to me. “Assuming my nephew is kind enough to show up, of course.”

  I favor her with a wincing smile. Isabella has never been one to dance around the point.

  “I’ve learned my lesson, auntie,” I say, dripping with contrition. “I will not leave the palace until after the ceremony. This I swear on my honor as the defender of the realm of Morova.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I don’t have any tricks she doesn’t know. “Just be there on your birthday, defender of the realm.”

  It dawns on me that she was searching for me earlier, and I use it as a way to distract her from wondering why Amanda and I were out here alone.

  “What can I do for you?” I ask. “You were looking for me; I assume you needed me for something?”

  “Yes,” she says, looking as if she just remembered that herself. “I’m trying to find the family sword.”

  Ah, yes. That fucking sword.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” says Amanda. “Maria mentioned to me that Signore Ferrare has the sword. I actually need to keep track of it myself, as it plays a key role in the birthday ceremonies.”

  “Well, then,” says Isabella, cocking an elbow. “Shall we track down Carlo together? It will give us some time to discuss Dante’s birthday.”

  And it will give Amanda an opportunity to get away from the boss who just mauled her in a courtyard.

  “By your leave?” Amanda asks, unspoken volumes in her eyes.

  “Of course,” I say, bowing. “We’ll, uh, talk again soon.”

  She takes Isabella’s arm and they amble their way out of the courtyard towards the main gardens.

  And that’s all we’ll be doing – talking, I tell myself as they disappear from sight.

  Chapter Twelve

  12. AMANDA

  Isabella’s voice is like Charlie Brown’s teacher in my ear: Wah wah, wah wah wah waaaahh.

  I make out just enough of what’s she’s saying to know when to nod, but my mind is still in the arborvitae shrubs with Dante, his skin still hot against mine, our breath still mingling together.

  How do I feel about it? I mean, the most eligible bachelor in the world just gave me the first orgasm outside of my own hand. We were this close to sealing the deal. I spent my prime sexual years moldering away in dusty old libraries, and then, out of the blue, my first time is almost with Prince Freaking Dante of Morova!

  Where do we go from here? My heart knows what it wants – so does my body – but it’s all too much to wrap my brain around.

  “What do you think, dear?”

  Shit. The old bird asked me a question. What do I do?

  “Oh,” I say, nodding. “I agree, a hundred percent.”

  “Excellent.”

  I hope I didn’t just commit myself to clipping her toenails or something equally horrendous. Pay attention, girl! This is no time for distractions.

  Distractions like a prince’s hard cock bringing you to climax…

  I manage to suppress the urge to slap myself, but just barely.

  The halls of the palace are bustling as usual: people milling about, doing the seemingly infinite number of jobs that are required to maintain the palace, the monarchy and the illusion that it’s all easy.

  “I don’t know how I managed to lose track of the sword,” Isabella says as we turn down the hallway that leads to Carlo Ferrare’s office. “It’s been in my charge since I was named regent. I love my nephew, but I swear, if it was left to him, the sword would have been gambled away in a card game long ago.”

  I wonder. I probably would have agreed a few days ago, but after getting to know him – and seeing him with the twins – I’m inclined to believe Maria. The image is made up. Maybe he plays it so close to the vest that his aunt never figured it out.

  Or maybe I’m the one who’s being played. That hadn’t occurred to me until right now.

  “I’m sure the prince realizes how important the sword is to protocol,” I say. “After all, it turned the tide of the battle that ultimately led to Morova becoming a principality.”

  There’s very little humor in Isabella’s smile.

  “Yes,” she says. “At least as far as the popular history is concerned. Of course, the real weapon has always been the gold in the Trentini vaults. Or in their computers nowadays, I suppose.”

  She has a point. The family banking interests go back to the Middle Ages, having survived countless wars through diplomacy, warfare, or a combination of the two. Some scholars believe Napoleon came close to stealing the fortune during his campaigns, but there’s never been any concrete proof of that.

  “I made the mistake of leaving the sword in the care of the Trentini family’s chief historian a couple of years ago,” Isabella continues. “Now we need it for the ceremony, and here I am searching for it in a panic like I imagine a commoner would search for his missing car keys when he’s late for work.”

  Commoner. Well, I guess I know where a Montana girl with shit-stained boots stands with the former regent. Actually, that’s unkind. It’s the proper term to
describe those without titles. It just tends to stick in the craws of the people on the receiving end. Like me.

  I open my mouth to tell her the story of Peter and me in the vault in Malta, but she walks straight into Carlo’s office without knocking. If he’s put out by such rudeness, I can’t see it in his face.

  “Your Grace,” he intones, standing slowly. I imagine those big, knobby joints of his aren’t his friends at this age.

  He turns to me and smiles. “Ms. Sparks. What a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Signore Ferrare,” I smile back.

  “Feel free to call him Carlo,” Isabella says absently as she takes a seat in front of his desk.

  “I couldn’t,” I say shyly.

  “Please do,” he says. “I’ve no title, outside of Chief Cook and Bottle Washer. In fact, I insist.”

  “All right, then I’m Amanda.”

  He nods his agreement.

  Isabella sighs. “If we have that all straightened out, can we please discuss the sword?”

  Carlo reaches into a huge teak cabinet behind his desk and emerges with the item that’s been at the center of all this fuss.

  “I believe this is what you’ve both been looking for.”

  He holds up the Trentini schiavona, a type of broadsword with a basket-style guard of polished silver that protects the user’s hand in battle. The gleaming steel blade ends in a handle sheathed in ironwood, which has been wrapped in the finest kid leather. It’s an absolute work of art.

  You know – if you’re into post-Renaissance swords, which I totally am.

  “Excellent,” Isabella beams. The look on her face makes me think of a mother admiring her child. She reaches out to Carlo, who returns the sword to its tooled leather scabbard and hands it to her.

  “Where did you end up finding it?” she asks, running a hand along the scabbard to the handle.

  “Actually, I was going to answer that before we came in,” I say. “A colleague of mine was studying it at a vault in the royal archives in Malta. I don’t know how it came to be there, but –”