My Royal Sin

by Riley Pine

  “I know.” He kisses me again and again, each one hungrier than the last. “But I feel like I can’t get close enough—like I cannot satisfy this need to keep you safe. I don’t want to let you out of my sight again.”

  My hands cradle his face as our lips meet once more. Our tongues tangle and dance, and I know what he means. Because I pull him closer, kiss him deeper, but it’s not enough.

  He lifts his head, his chest heaving, and his gaze bores into mine.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  I skim my hand along his temple. “I don’t feel any pain when you’re kissing me,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean.” He takes in a long, measured breath, then lets it out. “I want to tell you something, but I’m afraid that in the long run, all it will do is hurt you. Hurt both of us.”

  And because I know what he wants to say, I decide to relieve him of his burden and say it first. To let him know that it’s okay. To follow his destiny, he must break my heart. And for me to protect the ones I love, I must also break his.

  So I beat him to the punch.

  “I love you, Benedict.” His eyes widen. “I love you, and whatever happens after this, it’s okay. I’ll survive it.”

  I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Then he grasps for the hem of my shirt, lifting it over my head.

  “I love you, Evangeline. With every beat of my traitorous heart. With every shred of my sinning soul.”

  He flicks open the front clasp of my bra, fingertips skimming my breasts as he removes it from me completely. Then he slides my panties down my legs until I’m completely exposed—bare, trembling and so much in love with this tortured man whom I will betray to protect. But not now. Not here. Until we leave this place, he is mine to care for.

  “God can decide what to do with my body and soul once it is his to govern. But today I give myself to you. My angel. My love. My Evangeline.”

  My breath catches as he removes his own shirt, his pants and what he wears beneath. All that is left is a gold chain with a cross dangling like a pendulum above me.

  “Benedict,” I start, but I don’t have the right words to say to this beautiful man who has given up everything, who is giving himself over to me. As much as my heart cries out for him, my body responds by welcoming him, my clit swelling between my legs, causing me to writhe against the sheets.

  “You were my first client,” I blurt, needing him to know that I did what I did out of necessity. That I was never practiced in this art.

  “And there will be no more,” he says, his voice laced with a type of possession I wish would last a lifetime. “But I’m afraid I don’t have—I was not anticipating—”

  I let out a bittersweet laugh. “I am protected,” I say, understanding his worry. “I have to be. In case anyone...” But I don’t want to think about being with anyone in this way but him. I don’t want to dwell on what might have been if I was not sent to Benedict first.

  I reach for his cock, my thumb swirling the precum over his tip, and then I pull it toward my opening, letting out a soft moan as he rubs against me. I’m already slick between my folds, ready to take him in.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “This is what you want?”

  Without another word, he sinks inside me to the very hilt, a primal growl tearing from his lips, and I arch against him as I cry out his name.

  “Christ,” he says through gritted teeth, but his word is not meant for prayer.

  And he does not ask for forgiveness.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Benedict

  MY WORLD IS EVANGELINE, and Evangeline is my world. I hold still and absorb the magnitude of this moment, savor the fact that I am inside a woman—and not just any woman, but one whom I love. It is not just the eight inches of my body inserted into her wet, tight heat like a well-fitting glove, but it is our very souls connecting. There is no she or me, just a communion of sweat, salt, love and desire.

  “Please,” she begs, making near-inarticulate purrs. “Please.”

  What we share is as old as the stone surrounding us, an ancient dance that my body understands, despite the fact this is my first time. I roll my hips, unable to bear exiting completely, and then rock back in.

  As much as I want to look at her face until her image is seared into my mind like a permanent tattoo, I close my eyes, needing to feel her more. Every sweet square inch of her silken folds and satiny tunnel. No fabrics at the finest dress shops in Paris, New York or London can compare with the exquisite softness of my Evangeline’s gorgeous pussy.

  She lifts her hips to meet my next thrust, and my thick shaft traces over her hardening pearl-like center. At the same time, her inner muscles clench my cock, milking me hard. Fuck. She blows my mind.

  “Do that again,” she murmurs.

  “Oh yeah. Again and again,” I rumble. This time I clench my ass and put more force into my glide, ensuring her swollen clit gets every inch of my royal treatment. The slapping sound fills the cave, our lovemaking hot and raw. This isn’t mindless fucking, but savage joining, bittersweet because it cannot be forever.

  But it is now.

  And it must be enough.

  She wraps her thighs around my hips, her heels finding grip against my ass, and I know that I am lying.

  This will never be enough.

  This is what I was born to do.

  Desperation explodes within me. It’s like I’m in a candy store and have been told I can have anything I want, but only for the next ten minutes. My mouth fastens on the peak of her nipple, and I suck, then let my lower teeth graze the pale skin, and she arches against me. As I turn to give my attention to the other, I lower my hand, grasping her ass while I roll over, letting her be on top.

  I remain in a half-sit, laving her nipples while she rides me buck wild. It’s all I can do to hang on to her undulating body. The scruff from my five-o’clock shadow skims her wet, flushed flesh. She leans into me with a cry, and my fingers slide into the cleft of her backside. I skim her tight rosebud, not entering, but keeping up a light pressure as I enjoy the show.

  She raises her arms up over her head, twining her long hair through her fingers, luxuriating in the feel of me filling her with everything I have to give. I use my other hand to thrum her clit in relentless circles that echo the rhythm of her hips.

  She’s so wet and I shove her backward, mouthwatering, needing a taste of that sweet pussy. I’m rough, but no less rough than she, as I part her folds with my thumbs and drag my tongue over her tangy slit, her nails biting into my shoulders.

  “God. Benedict. Oh my God, yes, right there.”

  I drink her like she is a sacrament, like she is salvation, and every lick is heaven.

  “Inside me,” she begs. “I want you to feel me come for you.”

  She doesn’t have to ask twice. I throw her on her stomach, burying myself back inside. Her ass nestles again my abs. I brace myself with one hand and use the other to skim over her beautiful bouncing breasts, the concave dip of her belly, the flare to her hip, and I nestle at the apex of her need.

  I can go deeper in the position, but what I don’t count on is how much deeper I can go into myself. I am discovering a wellspring of powerful love and tenderness that I never knew I was capable of feeling. My entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel to worship this woman until the end of time.

  But we don’t have that long, and I need to make every second count. I bend and run the underside of my lower lip between her shoulder blades. I breathe in her scent. There is so much that I need to tell her, but I am not sure if I have the words. So I turn to the vocabulary of gentle kisses and teasing clitoral swirls.

  “Come with me,” she urges, her voice cracking with urgency. “Now.”

  Evangeline

  Benedict
stills inside me and pulls out, and for a second I wonder if he’s already regretting this, stopping before we can finish.

  “I need to see you, angel,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “I need to look into your eyes when we take this leap together.”

  I roll over, any physical pain I might have felt now nothing more than a distant ache, and there he is, towering over me with such love in his eyes I wonder how I’ll ever survive the fallout of what I must do tonight.

  I stroke a finger over the cut on his thigh, telling myself that the wound is only superficial. But how deep will the hurt go when I break his trust?

  “Benedict,” I say, my voice cracking, and I think I might tell him everything.

  But he reaches toward my face, his thumb brushing away a tear when I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

  “Let me take the pain away, Evangeline.”

  Then he bends over to kiss me, his lips sweet and featherlight against mine before he fills me anew. I cannot stop the tears as he thrusts inside me, again and again, his eyes locked on mine.

  “I love you,” he says. “Always.”

  Then he plunges deeper than I knew any man could go, filling not only my body, but my entire heart and soul.

  “Always, Benedict.” He presses a hand between us, his thumb on my clit, and I buck against him, insatiable. Our short time together can never be enough.

  Together we fly off the edge in undeniable ecstasy, a savage growl tearing from Benedict’s lips as I cry out his name.

  He collapses next to me, chest heaving as he cradles me in his arms. He kisses me, and I taste the salt of tears, not sure if they are his or mine—or maybe both.

  “I didn’t know it could be like this,” he whispers, and all I can do is nod, to speak to him only through lips touching lips, or else I will crumble to a million pieces, my heart trampled to dust.

  * * *

  Hours later, we sit in a helicopter, piloted by X, as he tells us what should be good news. Camille and Lola have been reunited and are hidden in a village until it is safe for them to return. But my chest is heavy with the weight of what’s to come—of what I still stand to lose.

  “Also,” he says into his headset microphone, “I did not want to mention it this morning.” He raises a brow. “I felt the whole breaking your brother’s wife out of prison situation was enough to focus on.”

  “What is it?” Benedict asks, squeezing my hand.

  My mind wanders, wishing we were far away from here. “I’ve deciphered the map.”

  X’s voice comes through loud and clear in my own headset, but his words do not register.

  “What?” I ask, my eyes widening.

  Benedict leans forward toward the cockpit. “Where does it lead?”

  X holds up a hand, signaling for the prince to wait, and my stomach feels as if it has leaped to my throat. Maybe this will be good news—something that will mean I won’t have to betray my family or the man I love.

  We’re landing.

  Minutes later we touch down on the royal helipad, and we wait several minutes for X to power down the beast and for the propellers to stop.

  X exits the aircraft, and then Benedict follows so the two of them can help me to the ground. I limp to a waiting vehicle, a BMW SUV.

  “Ah,” Benedict says. “Damien’s car that he left behind. Father gave this to him before he was even old enough to drive it—legally. Now, from what I know, he only drives the sleekest of racing automobiles. And he’s quite good, I hear.”

  Benedict says his banished brother’s name in a wistful tone, and I realize there is so much of this man’s history I do not know.

  “We should at least get you to the palace doctor,” he says as I wince lowering myself into the car.

  I shake my head. “I want to know what the map says. I want to see what my father and brother were hiding.”

  X pulls his door closed in front and turns to face us.

  “What we were hiding,” he says. “I know Jasper Vernazza well. And I think it’s time I tell you everything, Miss Evangeline.”

  * * *

  Benedict gets his wish—as do I. We sit in his private library, X laying out the map on a table before us as the palace doctor does his best to examine me.

  “It seems to be a nasty sprain,” the man says as he props my foot on a pillow and places a cooling pack on my knee. “You should stay off it for a few days.”

  Benedict stands above me, arms crossed. “I’ll see to it, Doctor.”

  “But this gash on your cheek...” he adds. “Are you sure you merely scratched it? The bruising says otherwise.”

  Benedict’s eyes darken. “What do you mean?”

  The doctor strokes a short, dark beard. “The severity of the bruise and the swiftness with which it has appeared speaks to blunt trauma.”

  “I think I might have bumped it on my fall, as well,” I blurt, remembering the force of that woman’s hand against my face. It takes all of my will to keep myself from shaking, to convince everyone that what I speak is the truth.

  The doctor lets out a sigh. “I do recommend X-rays for both injuries. The fact that you can limp suggests a sprain, but the swelling can be hiding something we can’t see. And that bruise?” He shakes his head. “I’d hate for there to be a chipped bone in that beautiful face. Promise me that you will get to the hospital in the next day or so after you’ve rested.”

  I nod, seemingly appeasing all three men, and the doctor bows to the prince before taking his leave.

  Benedict sits on the couch beside me, softly stroking my battered cheek with the tips of his fingers.

  “Is there anything you’re not telling me?” he asks.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and shake my head.

  “I jumped off a moving train,” I say. “I think that’s enough to do a girl in.”

  And watching my brother almost get beaten to death.

  He kisses me softly. “Of course, angel.”

  I let out a breath. “X,” I say. “Tell me everything.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Benedict

  “EVERYTHING?” X ARCHES a brow after showing the doctor out and locking the door behind him. He then heads to the windows and pulls the blinds, even though we are on an upper floor in the tower library. His shoulders heave in an inward sigh. “Very well. Why don’t we start here?” He blows across the map. Dust motes fly off the parchment, filtering through the lamp-lit air.

  I rub my hand over my thigh, trying to subtly knead out the muscle tension. Of course there is a bad feeling welling inside me. Only hours ago I buried my shaft in the silken cleft of the woman beside me, this amazing and devoted sister and aunt who is going to stop at nothing to reunite her brother with his wife and child.

  “Where is here?” Evangeline asks, oh-so-naturally lacing her fingers with mine. She has no idea that she destroys me with the gentle caress.

  “At the start of all good stories.” X jabs a finger in the top left corner of the map. “The beginning of everything.”

  Beginning.

  The word seeps into my skin like vitriolic acid. We sit and discuss beginnings when too soon my time with Evangeline will come to an end. Perhaps this is my great spiritual test, to be confronted by my heart’s desire, be offered it freely and without equivocation. But I must lead myself not into temptation and instead deliver myself from evil.

  Except there isn’t an evil bone in Evangeline. She is an angel in female form. Good to her core. Why can’t I have her? Why can’t I walk a different path than the one paved for me by expectation and family tradition?

  I know the answer, and it lies deeper than a boy so desperate for his father’s attention. The sins of the mother. That is what I must contend with. So much has gone wrong in our family and it’s up to me to do my part to put things to right.

 
I grip her hand tighter than intended, and she is alarmed.

  “Benedict...are you all right?”

  “Sorry, angel,” I mutter. “Please proceed, X.”

  “I have to make a confession. When we discovered the map behind the angel, I was not entirely truthful on a few matters.” He meets my gaze and holds it steadily. “Allow me to rectify. This forest stretches from beyond the palace walls to the peaks that separate Edenvale from Nightgardin.” X waves a hand over a dark shadowed area on the map. “Here is where our story begins. The Tale of The Order.”

  “Let me guess,” Evangeline says in a teasing tone. “You’re one of them, a covert secret soldier charged with guarding and protecting Edenvale.”

  “Do not laugh,” X orders. “This isn’t a game. Our neighbors to the north want something very badly. The Spring of Youth.”

  I blink. “How do you know if the old story is real? Have you ever seen the Spring?”

  “Highness.” X regards me a long time. “Recall the story of Doubting Thomas? He doubted the risen Christ until he was able to touch the wounds with his hands, look upon the Lord’s face with his own two eyes.”

  “Of course I do,” I say testily. “But what you ask me to believe is...is...”

  “A matter of faith,” Evangeline breathes.

  X nods. “Exactly. There are things at work around us that most never see, nor need to understand. The Order prefers it that way. No member since the original cohort who made the map have ever set eyes on it. Better to keep away.”

  “Lead us not into temptation,” I murmur.

  “So let me get this straight. The Order protects...access to the actual Spring of Youth?” Evangeline says slowly.

  “Yes,” X replies. “Among other things.”

  She knits her brows. “And my brother and father were members?”

  X nods. “Who performed their assigned duties with distinction and valor. They embody the very spirit that makes The Order the last line of defense against evil temptation in the world. Nine hundred years ago King Randall the Fair discovered the Spring. He was consumed by beauty and youth even as the waters began to corrode his mind. Eventually his brother, King Humbert the Just, overthrew him in a coup. And it is from Humbert that the Lorentz line descends. Disgraced, Randall moved to Nightgardin, where in his addled state he revealed the secrets of the Spring. Nightgardin began making incursions into our realm to find it and The Order was subsequently formed by King Humbert to seal the Spring forever and defend it against those who wish to exploit its power. After all, aging is as much a part of life as is youth, and beauty is more than skin-deep.”