His Princess (A Royal Romance)

by Abigail Graham

  Oh, joy.

  By lunchtime I’ve cleared half of Laura’s backlog from the previous day. By midafternoon I’m partway into my own, fresh backlog.

  That’s when Burt strolls up to me.

  “How’s that going, getting it sorted?”

  “Yes,” I say curtly. “I’m getting it done.”

  “Good, good. I’m going to need you to stay late until they’re all cleared. You can lock up when you leave. Hope that isn’t too much trouble.”

  It would be, if I was taking the bus. I’ll have Quentin hang out with me until it’s time to leave.

  “No trouble,” I say wearily.

  “Good. Hop to it, then.”

  He retreats into the back and I hear the hygienist giggling. God, how can they stand to let him touch them?

  Sighing, I turn back to my work. Thankfully most of my claims clear faster and it looks like I won’t be more than half an hour or so behind. Laura must have been slacking off for days. I can’t believe Burt didn’t do something about this before.

  Wait, yes I can. Laura probably blew her way out of it and into my desk. I watch her in the mirror as she plays with her hair and types one-handed, oblivious to the scowl of the patient at the desk watching her.

  Working here is like pulling out my own teeth.

  About two in the afternoon, a new patient comes in. I can’t help but notice her. The countertop doesn’t even reach her chest. She must be six feet tall, but in a statuesque, model-ish way, with a full, voluptuous figure, perfect skin, and thick auburn hair so lush it looks like she’s been auditioning for one of those commercials about the orgasm shampoo.

  Burt noticed her, too. He greets her in the hallway.

  “Hello,” he says brightly. “I’m Dr. Simonson. What brings you in today?”

  Miss Model smiles warmly. “I’m here for a cleaning. I just moved to town.”

  “Huh,” he says. “Great to see you. We’ll be in soon.”

  He walks past her as she heads down the hallway and cranes his head to look at her ass before he ducks into his private office.

  I feel dirty, but it’s no worse than what he does half the time. He’s not sick or stupid enough to actually do something to a patient under his care, is he?

  I sit back in my chair and start working on processing the next claim. My skin crawls. It feels like someone poured bugs down my back. I hate this place, and I hate Burt.

  An hour later, the same patient comes out, scowling.

  As she pays her bill up front, she tells Laura curtly, “I’m not coming back here.”

  She slaps her credit card down on the counter and Laura runs it, glancing at me. I look up at the woman and she looks away, biting her lip in annoyance.

  What did he do?

  I turn back to the computer and the words on the screen fuzz. I scrub my hands over my eyes.

  I’m not just working here. I’m helping this guy do things to people.

  Except I need to feed my kids.

  At last it’s quitting time. I’ve slowed down. It’s more like an extra hour of work now. Burt gathers up his harem and leaves, laughing.

  “Lock up on your way out,” he says cheerily.

  About five minutes later I hear tapping on the front door. Quentin stands outside with his hands in his pockets, smirking at me. I push the door open and he slips inside.

  “Thank God, it’s hot as balls out there. So, this is the dentist’s office?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “I have to stay after work if you don’t mind.”

  “What happened, boss gave you detention? Were you a bad girl?”

  “No, he moved me onto a shittier job and gave me more work.”

  Quentin’s jaw clenches. “Is that the way of it, then.”

  “Yeah, that’s the way of it. You want to hang out in the waiting room? It’s going to be like forty-five minutes. I mean, I can catch the bus…”

  He steps closer and takes hold of my ponytail.

  “You’re not taking the bus. I forbid it.”

  I shake loose of him and then his hand cracks on my ass. I jump and squeak.

  “Quentin!”

  “Get to work. There a remote for this TV?”

  “On the coffee table.”

  Quentin sits there and watches Spongebob while leafing through a copy of Yachting Today and yawning. I work as fast as I can. At six, the insurance offices will close and I’ll have to put off going through the damned claims anyway.

  The last one goes through without a hitch at 5:43. I push back from the computer and roll across the floor on my chair, spin around, and throw my hands up as I stand, and stretch until my back pops, my fingers laced over my head.

  Quentin watches.

  “Do that again,” he says, smirking.

  I scowl at him and grab my tote bag.

  He snaps to his feet, dropping the magazine on the table.

  I start toward the door but he grabs my wrist.

  “This his office?” he says, grabbing Burt’s door.

  “Yes, but—”

  He shoves the door open, pulls me inside, and kisses me.

  Burt’s office is full of shit. There’s a big pile of books he’s never read all around the desk, stacked and stacked on each other, all kinds of knickknacks and desk toys. I don’t know what he actually does in here, but it’s mostly for show.

  “Quentin, what are you doing?”

  He grabs me by the waist and pulls me to him.

  “I think you look sexy in that little nurse outfit.”

  “I’m not a nurse,” I correct.

  “I know, but we can still play doctor,” he growls, shoving his hands up my shirt, behind my back.

  I press against him and grab his belt as he unhooks my bra and lifts my shirt up. My heart pounds as I realize I’m exposed and cover my breasts with my arms. He pulls my bra away and tosses it on the floor and my top on the couch, and my heart speeds up.

  Christ, Burt could come back, maybe he forgot his wallet or something stupid like that, he could catch us.

  Quentin yanks my hands away from my chest and licks his lips as he stares at my breasts. My legs start to shake, and my breath comes in uneven gasps. It’s cold in here.

  He kisses me, lightly on the lips, pulling back when I try to kiss him harder, teasing me. He’s taller than I am. He just pulls away out of my reach. He takes a step back and whips off his shirt, throwing it over his head onto the couch, and I throw myself on him, pressing my chest to his.

  He does what he did last night—he tickles my ribs and runs his fingertips along the outside curve of my breasts as they press against his chest. Only now he pushes his hands between us and cups them in his palms, stroking the nipples to hardness with his thumbs, sending shivers down my spine.

  Quentin sinks into the couch and I slide down his body, tugging at his belt, biting my lip in anticipation. I spread his jeans open and find his cock hard in his boxers, and tug them down. With my breasts pressed against his stomach I rub the head of his cock against my body and lightly lift his balls out of his underwear, sliding my fingertips over them as they harden.

  As I slide down I press him between my breasts, glancing up to see him staring down at me. He runs his hand over my head and tugs my ponytail loose, and fists his hand in my hair. I gasp, feeling it pull a little. I start to slide down but he stops me with a light tug on my hair, so his cock stays pillowed between my breasts. He likes that, I realize.

  I slide up and down a little bit, and duck my head to flick my tongue against the tip of his cock. He goes rigid, bucking under me. I can feel the power in his body, the agonized need. He’s so hard, and hot. He doesn’t let go of my hair but he doesn’t stop me from going lower now.

  I settle on my knees between his legs and take him in my mouth, closing my eyes as the heat of his cock head passes between my lips. I flick my eyes up to watch him, but he’s already watching me, his face red, his bottom lip tucked under his teeth.

  I go slow, and he tighten
s his fist in my hair, starts to take over, pumping his cock into my mouth. It pushes into my throat and I flinch in reflex and cough. He lets me pull back and breathe before plunging in again. As he pushes down I push harder, feeling his cock invade my throat, reach deeper and deeper.

  My tongue tickles his balls and he groans. I pull back and he lets go, his hands flopping to his sides, and I use both hands and my mouth to wring pleasure from his throbbing manhood. He groans and I slow as I taste a little salt, and he grows even harder, forcing my mouth open wide.

  He grunts and bucks, and I hold his cock head in my mouth and pump with my hands, feeling his whole body tighten as he grows closer.

  Quentin starts to pull back. I don’t let him. Explosive pleasure wracks his body and he moans softly, and I hold him in my mouth, my eyes locked on his as his dick throbs between my lips. I take him a little deeper and work him with my tongue, and swallow.

  A moment later I pull back and lick my lips.

  Quentin doesn’t say a word. He snaps forward, reaches down, and hauls me bodily onto the couch, then drags my bottoms down.

  He flips me onto my stomach and pulls me back by my legs, and buries his face in my pussy. I squeak and jerk on the couch, and hug myself as he tongues my slit hungrily.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” he growls.

  God, he’s good. Pleasure rises through my body, uncoiling in a hot wave spread through my chest as shocks flare down my legs and I arch my back and push against him, rolling my hips and pressing myself into his face. He runs his hands over my ass and squeezes as he eats me out, and then smack lands his open palm on my ass, sending a jolt through my body that quivers between my legs.

  Then his tongue circles my clit and I feel like I’m going to explode, just fly apart. I rake my nails over the couch and ball my hands into fists. He doesn’t stop, then he does, his tongue teasing my entrance before returning hot and wet to my clit.

  Then he stands up, grabs my hips, and I can feel him pressing at my entrance. He runs his hand down my back and stops, hesitating. I look back over my shoulder and silently mouth please. He thrusts inside me to the hilt all at once. I jerk back, and he grabs my arms just above the elbows and pulls me against him.

  He doesn’t thrust. He just keeps me pinned against him, wriggling with his big rod inside me. Fuck, fuck. I buck and try to thrust and he pulls me harder against him, so I can’t even move, just feel his hard rod filling me to the brim. He’s so hot.

  Then he shoves me onto the couch and yanks his pants up.

  “What?”

  “That’s all you get for now. I want to save the rest for later. Try not to get too distracted thinking about riding my cock in class.”

  He tosses me my top but holds on to my bra.

  “You can change at home. I’m keeping this.”

  “What? Give me that back.” I snatch at it and he pulls it out of my reach.

  “Okay, but I want a trade.”

  “What?”

  “Your panties. I keep them, you get this back.”

  Oh, really. Two can play at this game. I stand up and slip out of my scrubs, crouch, and lower my panties, stand, and hand them to him. He snatches them and crushes them to his face, breathing deep while he flicks my bra at me. I pull on my clothes quickly.

  “Do up my belt.”

  “What? I’m not your servant.”

  He seizes my arm and pulls me to him, and crack, spanks my ass hard, once. The jolt it sends through me only makes me crave his cock even more.

  “Fine,” I grumble. I tug his jeans into place and do up the buckle.

  “Let’s go, come on.”

  I grab my tote and he takes me home.

  7

  Quentin

  Rose sits on the bench seat of my Impala, legs folded, arms crossed over her chest, trying to hide inside herself and failing. There’s still a flush and a fine sheen of sweat on her cheeks, and she keeps looking at me, sometimes almost licking her lips before she catches it and stops herself. I love that look on a woman’s face, but this is different, she’s different. I don’t know why.

  There’s something unreal about her, sitting there in my car, her body cocked so she’s facing me and leaning back against my seat.

  “I need a shower,” she says absently.

  “Want me to join you?”

  “Quentin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Not around my kids, okay?”

  I sigh. “Fine.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know.”

  I pull into her driveway without thinking twice. She steps out and saunters into the house, almost strutting, but her whole demeanor changes when she crosses the threshold.

  Karen is on the couch reading a book and scrawling in a notebook. Must be homework. The younger one is fooling around with an iPad. She gives me a sly glance.

  “Hey, Mom,” Karen says.

  “Girls, Mr. Mulqueen is going to stay with you while I’m in class tonight. I want you to go bed at the regular time.”

  “Mom.” Karen looks up, an edge in her voice.

  “I’ll tuck you in when I get home.”

  She turns beet red, her gaze flashing from me to her mother.

  “Um,” she says.

  I can’t help it, I start laughing, and Karen turns redder and sinks into the couch, mortified.

  “That was mean, Rose.”

  Rose gives me a hard look, her lips twitching as she tries not to laugh. She hides a smile as she scampers up the stairs. I walk over and lean back on the other side of the couch.

  “I don’t need to be tucked in,” Karen says idly. “I just want to—”

  “See your mom before you go to sleep,” I cut her off. “I understand that.”

  “Have you eaten dinner? We could make you something.”

  My stomach twists in alarm.

  “No! I mean… No, I haven’t eaten dinner. I’ll make something after I drop your mom off at school.”

  “You will?” she says, a little edge to her voice.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” She shrugs.

  I hear the shower running upstairs.

  “What’s that you’re working on?”

  “Algebra Two. They put me in the advanced class,” she says, frowning.

  “Isn’t that good?”

  “I guess, but I’m not very good at math. I just got lucky on the test or something.”

  “How do you get lucky on the test? Did you guess all the answers?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “You must be pretty smart then. Mind if I turn on the TV?”

  She gives me an odd look and tosses me the remote. I flick the TV on and turn it down low, and start flipping channels. Rose has the basic TV package, of course. She can probably barely afford to have cable at all.

  I settle on a cooking show and watch an Italian chef very quietly make breakfast (keeping the sound low so as not to disturb Karen, who appears deep in concentration) until Rose descends the stairs.

  I can’t help but lean over the back of the couch to watch her glide down the staircase. With her hair up she makes business casual look good. We have a new winner in the world’s most fuckable librarian contest. She gives me a soft smile and shoulders her schoolbag.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’ll be back in a minute, kids,” she says, smiling.

  Rose is quiet on the way to the college and I don’t break the silence. She looks a little sad somehow, and I can’t tell if she’s looking out the window or looking at her own reflection in the window.

  We’re almost there. I can’t help it.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she says wistfully.

  “I don’t think you are.”

  She gives me a glance. God, she’s pretty. She’s not even trying to look sexy. It just comes naturally. A sidelong glance makes me want to pin her up against the wall and fuck her brains out.

  “He’s going to fire me
,” she says, very softly. “I can feel it.”

  A tear rolls down her cheek and she wipes it away, sniffs, and scrubs at her nose with a tissue.

  Okay, Burt.

  You and I need to have a conversation.

  I touch her arm as we pull up to the door. “Hey,” I say lamely. I’m not good at comforting people. They don’t really cover that at murder school.

  She smiles at me and touches my hand.

  “Thanks for the ride. Don’t let my kids burn the house down.”

  That brings a little smile to her face.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

  “Thank you for watching them. Half the time I’m so worried I can barely concentrate on my classes.”

  “What do you have tonight?”

  “Business ethics. I’ll text Karen when I’m done. No, wait, give me your number.”

  “I don’t have a cell phone.”

  “What?”

  She gives me an odd look.

  “I don’t.” I shrug. “I don’t really need one.”

  I can’t give her my number. It would connect her to me, and I can’t let that happen. I’m too involved with these people already. God, what the fuck are you doing, Quentin? I should move out tonight after…

  …After I watch the kids, and pick her up.

  Fuck.

  She shrugs. “Okay, if you say so.” But she doesn’t sound very convinced.

  Rose couldn’t be safer in this town, in this place, but I find myself watching her walk inside and waiting until I spot her in the big windows over the stairwell before I drive off, back to the house. It takes about fifteen minutes to get back, and I have to knock on the door. Karen lets me in.

  “What are we going to eat?”

  I sigh. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

  Over the next ten minutes I end up going through all the cupboards, frowning. It’s all canned shit and boxed shit and just general shit. She doesn’t even have real cheese, just that yellow goop.

  I frown, walk into the living room, and announce, “We’re going shopping.”

  Karen looks up. “Uh, what?”

  “Don’t argue with me. Get in the car. You too, squirt.” I point at Kelly.