by Tara Wylde
“Not as beautiful as you,” I say, gliding my fingertips along the exquisite sleeves of her dress.
“Andreas is a genius,” she says.
“I like you better without it,” I say, pulling her to me and taking her face in my hands.
Her lips are as sweet and warm as mulled wine on my tongue. Her hair, so perfectly coiffed, comes loose from her wedding stylings with just a few strategic moves of my hands. Once free, it spills down to its natural place on her shoulders.
We take it slow and easy, despite the raging need inside me. I haven’t been able to stop fantasizing about this moment since we got of the plane from Cannes. I’ve dreamt about it every night since, except for the drunken night of my bachelor party.
Her hands undo the buttons of my uniform’s tunic, letting it slide open. I shrug out of it and drape it over the back of a chair.
“I apologize for the sweat,” I say. “That thing is hot as a brick oven.”
“Then we’d best get you some air,” she says.
She deftly opens my shirt and strips it off, leaving my naked torso gleaming in the candlelight. Her hands find my chest and stroke the hair there. My cock is already straining against the pants of my uniform, even though I’ve barely touched her.
We kiss again, more urgently this time. Even though it’s only been two weeks, it feels like I’ve been waiting an eternity for this.
“Don’t go anywhere,” she says. She keeps her eyes on mine as she slinks behind the antique changing screen just outside the bedroom door. The candles cast a shadow on the fabric of the screen, showing me a perfect silhouette of her body as she glides out of Fortuna’s dress.
My cock is throbbing in time with my heart.
She takes something else off a hanger and slides into it, zipping it up in the back. When she emerges from behind the screen, I swear I almost come on the spot.
An ivory-colored silk negligee hangs from her shoulders by a pair of spaghetti straps. The neckline drops just enough to give me a tempting look at her breasts, and the hemline comes just above her panties.
It’s enough to make a man pass out from desire.
“Do you like it?” she asks nervously. “I found it in a shop in Milan and I thought maybe – ”
The animal in me wants to rip it off and toss it into the candles, but the prince wins out.
“It’s exquisite,” I say. “Come here.”
Amanda does as she’s told and meets me for another lingering kiss. With this one, she undoes the buckle of my belt and lets my pants drop to the floor. I know, I know, the uniform is an heirloom. That’s what the royal dry cleaner is for.
After a few moments, I sweep her up off the floor.
“Oh!” she gasps.
I plant my lips on hers again as I carry her across the threshold of our bedroom. It’s a long way – the room is almost 1,000 square feet – so I enjoy a long, slow kiss.
When we reach the bed, I lay her down on the coverlet. As I kneel beside her, the head of my cock makes an appearance through the fly of my silk boxers.
“Why, hello,” she says, with all the decorum one would express from a princess. “I was wondering when I was going to see you.”
She reaches out and takes hold of it lightly, stroking down until her hand disappears into my boxers. It’s all I can do to keep from losing control.
I can’t let the animal take over. This has to be special. Gentle.
My hands caress the delicate fabric of her negligee, tracing circles around her breasts. I can feel her heartbeat under my fingers. I lean in to run my mouth along her neck.
“My queen,” I whisper. “I am your fool.”
She sighs and lies back, allowing my mouth to explore her ears, then her throat, and finally down the neckline laid bare by the lingerie. The taste of her skin is salty and sweet, her scent floral mixed with her own musk.
Her hands undo the laces under her neckline and the negligee falls open, revealing her belly and the inner sides of her breasts. Below that are a pair of silk panties that barely conceal the junction of her thighs.
I can’t take much more of this.
As if reading my mind, she brazenly grabs the waistband of my shorts and yanks them down, allowing my cock to bounce free.
“That’s much better,” she purrs as she turns on her side and rises onto all fours. I catch a teasing glimpse of her nipples just as she slides the head of my cock into her mouth.
“Mmmmm,” she moans. Or is it me? I can’t focus, the pleasure is too much.
She’s becoming bolder with each encounter, trying new ways to please me. Her tongue slides up and down the underside, making my knees tremble.
“Please,” I beg. “I have to see you. All of you.”
Her eyes widen and her cheeks flush as she lets go of my shaft and rises to her knees on the bed. She slides off the negligee’s top, finally giving me a full view of her milky skin and shapely breasts. Like my cock, her nipples are at full attention.
I drop my shorts all the way to the floor and kneel beside her on the bed. My hands find the waistline of her panties and my thumbs drag them down, exposing her entrance. She quickly drops onto her back and wriggles the rest of the way out of them.
“Finally,” I breathe, covering her body with mine and closing my mouth onto hers.
Chapter Two Hundred Sixteen
39. AMANDA
I shudder as the skin of Dante’s torso touches mine. His muscles are like stone underneath.
“I want you,” I breathe in his ear. “I’ve never wanted anything so much.”
Our hands explore each other for a few moments. He caresses my tits as I stroke his cock, both of us moving in time to the other’s motions. Finally, his fingers reach my outer lips.
The sensation of his skin on mine down there is primal, like something beyond thought, a basic bodily need. I can feel myself getting wetter at his touch, in preparation for what’s to come.
Finally.
After several glorious moments of this, Dante lifts me and lays me back down with my head on one of the dozen pillows on his huge bed.
On our huge bed.
I shiver as he starts kissing my neck, then down to my shoulders, then my belly, and finally to my mound. Ripples of ecstasy ride up from my groin into my core as his tongue makes contact with my clit.
My legs open wider to receive him. His motions are slow, deliberate, building my enjoyment with each pass. It’s not the urgent, driving passion of the plane. This is slower, more loving. He’s taking his time. And I’m glad, because I would feel this way every moment for the rest of my life, if it were possible.
“Dante,” I sigh, stroking his hair. “This is heaven.”
After an eon of easy pleasure, he starts to gain momentum, pressing harder. My hips respond of their own accord, listing in time with his movements, until suddenly all I can think of is feeling him inside me. My walls are already slick – I don’t want to wait any more.
“I’m ready,” I whisper.
I bite back a whimper as he gives my pussy one last, loving kiss before lifting himself back up towards me. My heart is doing triple duty – passion and fear mingled together – as I think about what comes next.
Dante positions himself between my legs, kneeling back on his haunches. I think of the time in the gardens, where just the tip of his cock against me was enough to send my in spasms. The thought of what the whole shaft can do makes me tremble.
Out of nowhere, he says: “I’ve never done this before. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t worry,” I soothe. “Just let it happen. I’m ready for it.”
He starts with the tip, and it feels like heaven, just like in the garden: the softness, the feel of his skin on mine, back and forth, front to back. I can feel myself getting wetter with each stroke.
Finally, a stroke becomes a gentle thrust inside my opening, and I gasp. The pain is more than I imagined. He’s so big… the sensation of tearing makes my gut hitch. I reach up a
nd pull myself to his cannonball of a shoulder, biting down gently on the flesh there to keep from crying out.
Then he’s through. The pain is still there, but now it’s mixed with the pleasure, as his cock slides deeper and deeper inside me.
“It’s good,” I whisper in his ear. “Keep going.”
A whole new world of sensations opens up to me as he inches farther in. The feeling of having him inside me is so natural, so right. Like we’re becoming one.
Dante’s breathing is steady as he begins his first, slow withdrawal. With his next thrust, he adds a little more power, and pulls out a little faster. Each stroke is an explosion of sensations, a journey through heaven and hell.
“I’ve wanted to be inside you since the moment we met,” he breathes.
I grab his head in my hands and cover his mouth with mine, tasting myself on his lips and not caring. Dante times his thrusts with each kiss until I can’t breathe anymore and have to break contact.
“Oh God,” I gasp in his ear.
He keeps his strokes gentle as my walls stretch to accommodate his girth. But I want him to lose control. I want him to be the animal I know he really is.
“Fuck me,” I whisper. “Fuck me hard.”
He reacts like a tiger being let off of a chain. Suddenly his strokes become faster, more powerful. I wrap my legs around his waist, bucking upwards with each thrust, holding on for dear life.
His lips find mine again and we twine our tongues together as he gets closer to climax. I can hear his breathing rasp, feel the tension in his muscles as his moment of release nears.
“That’s it, baby,” I say. “That’s it. Let go.”
His passion doubles, then doubles again until he finally wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck. My legs cling to his hips as I feel the power of his explosion deep inside me, the feeling of his force in a place where, until tonight, I’d never felt anything before.
It seems to last forever, our bodies working as one, his muscles tensing like steel cables under his skin.
Finally, his grip softens and he exhales heavily in my ear. I breathe in the air from his lungs as if it could sustain me on its own.
“That was unbelievable,” I pant. “I never dreamed it would be like that.”
His eyes meet mine, and we simply stare into each other for several long moments. I’d give anything to know what was going on in his mind.
“I want it to be good for you,” he says.
“It was,” I say. “It really was incredible.”
“I want to make it even more incredible.”
He slides out of me, dropping to his side next to me. I take his head in my hands and place it on my shoulder, stroking it gently as his fingertip traces figure eights along my belly.
“There’s alcohol out in the parlor,” he says after a while. “Would you like some?”
“I would,” I say. “But that would mean you’d have to get up, and that would mean you wouldn’t be next to me. You can see the problem there.”
He grins. “What if you wrapped yourself around me and I carried you out there?”
My eyes widen at the idea. That could be interesting.
Dante planks himself over top of me and I wrap my arms and legs around him. With a powerful grunt, he straightens up and slides off the bed.
He’s actually carrying me like an oversized baby. I can’t help but giggle.
“What’s so funny about a man carrying his wife around?” he says. “There’s booze to be drunk. As your John Wayne once said, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
He lifts the silver bucket from its perch on the coffee table and brings it back into the bedroom with us. As he reaches the edge of the bed, I let go, dropping spread-eagle onto my back.
Dante pours us each a flute of champagne and hands me one.
“I’m really starting to get a taste for this,” I say after a long sip.
“You’ll never believe this,” he says. “But I’m beginning to develop a taste for Budweiser.”
We both giggle. The conversation is so easy now that we both know we’ll be spending the whole night together with nothing else to do but drink and make love.
“Is there a shower in this tomb?” I ask.
“You’re speaking of your bedroom, my lady. Show some respect.”
“I’ll show you some swatches, is what I’ll do. This cave needs a woman’s touch. It looks like Dracula’s castle.”
He shakes his head. “You make a woman a princess and this is what happens.”
“Answer the question,” I say. “Shower?”
“Yes. See that door there?”
I stand up and put my flute on the night table, then take his hand.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
“Are we going somewhere?” he asks, looking a bit uneasy.
“No,” I say with a leer. “But we’ve got a looonng night ahead of us, and I want to try everything before the sun comes up.”
Chapter Two Hundred Seventeen
40. INTERLUDE
The portable lanterns are still burning strong at midnight. Hundreds of people continue to mill around the gardens, unwilling to let go of the festivities, even though Sir Elton has long since landed back in London.
Emilio sits at the table with his head propped in his hand next to an empty bottle of tequila.
A hand reaches out and grabs the bottle, pitching it into a nearby garbage can.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Isabella snaps.
“I’m drunk, Mother,” he mutters, not opening his eyes. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“You need to stop this right now. Did anyone important see you like this?”
“Anyone important left hours ago. The only people left here are commoners who can’t get enough free booze.”
She slaps his hand out from under his chin. He manages to catch himself before his head hits the table.
“Listen to me, Emilio,” she says, taking the seat across from him. “From this moment on, you need to straighten up. Remember, you’re the sensible alternative to Dante. When he goes down, you have to be the obvious choice to replace him. So start acting like it!”
Emilio sighs. “Fine. Whatever you want.”
“I mean it! Things are going to start happening quickly now that we have those photos. I told Huber’s underling tonight that I have what the chancellor has been looking for. He said he’d arrange a meeting as soon as possible.”
“The woman in that photo knows who I am,” he says. “You’d better hope she was as drunk as she seemed, because if she wasn’t, your whole plan will be sunk.”
“Her face has been blanked out,” says Isabella. “Even if she does remember what happened, she won’t actually be named in the scandal. And if she says anything, I’ll pay her to keep her mouth shut.”
He leans back in his chair and runs his hands down his face.
“I’ve got another idea,” he says. “What if we just let Dante and Amanda live their lives, and we can do the same, and everyone is happy? Would that be so terrible?”
Isabella levels a cool glare at her son.
“I haven’t worked this long, this hard, to have things fall apart just because you don’t have the stomach to do what needs to be done,” she says. “And never forget what happens if you decide to back out of this.”
“I can’t forget it, Mother!” he snarls. “You’ve made sure of that! Why the hell do you think I’ve been drinking the way I have?”
“Then just do as you’re told and you won’t have to worry about it any longer,” she says, standing up. “Now get some sleep. You need to be ready for the days ahead.”
Emilio scowls as she walks away from the table towards the path to the palace. When she’s out of sight, he pulls a flask from his jacket pocket and takes a long pull, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
He sees his reflection staring back at him in the polished silver of the flask.
“Long live the new prince,” he says miserably.
Chapter Two Hundred Eighteen
41. DANTE
“Does this happen every day?”
“Does what happen every day?” I ask through a mouthful of croissant.
“You get up in the morning and there’s breakfast waiting for you in the parlor?”
I smile. “Amanda, what have I been telling you for the past week and a half?”
“I know, I know – better get used to it,” she chuckles. “Sorry, it might take me awhile.”
The staff has laid out a selection of pastries, fresh fruit from the palace orchard, and, of course, coffee. It never occurred to me until then that Amanda might want to start her days with something else.
“If there’s anything else you’d like, you need only to let the kitchen staff know.”
“Even steak and eggs?”
I frown. “Steak? And eggs? For breakfast?”
“I know, you Morovan types think breakfast is a sugar bomb and a tiny cup of espresso,” she says with mock consternation. “But I’m from cattle country. Breakfast is supposed to tide us over until lunch. There aren’t any cafes to stop in for a bite at ten o’clock out in the fields.”
I pop the last bite of my croissant in my mouth. “How do you keep such an amazing figure eating like that?”
“Good genes and hard work. How do you keep your Jason Statham body when you load up on carbs in the morning?”
“There’s a magical potion that only princes know about that melts away fat with a single sip,” I say.
“Best not spill any on your head, then,” she says with a giggle.
I shoot back my espresso. “Alas, no such potion exists, meaning I must spend two hours a day in the gym.”
“Which you just happen to have time for.”
“What can I say? It’s good to be the prince.”
I stand behind her chair and slide my hands along her trapezius muscles, gently kneading the soft flesh.
“It’s good to be the princess, if I can expect this every day,” she moans.
“This and more,” I say, leaning down to kiss her neck. Underneath her thin robe, her nipples begin to stiffen.
