by Iris Morland
“That’s the point.” I brushed a finger over the red mark. “So everyone knows you’re mine.”
“Boys are so weird.”
That earned her another brief spanking, which led to my hands trailing to the insides of her thighs. Parting her folds, I found her dripping, her clit swollen and begging for friction.
I flipped her over so she was on her knees on the bed. I pushed her upper body down, her ass in the air, and then plunged my cock inside her. She gasped, gripping the duvet cover hard.
I fucked her hard, the bed bouncing with each thrust. Niamh’s moans became louder and louder with each stroke of my cock inside of her. I slapped her ass cheeks; I pulled her hair. I used her roughly, and she reveled in it.
Looking over her shoulder at me, her eyelids heavy, she said, “Are you going to come? Because you look like you are.”
I grinned like a predator. “Not before you do. I want to feel that pussy tighten around my cock.”
Niamh moaned. I thrust harder, our bodies slapping together, the bed squeaking loudly. The sight of Niamh’s bright red ass bouncing in time with me, her hair strewn over her shoulder, the sound of her gasping and moaning, was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
“Rub your clit for me,” I said. “I know you want to.”
She obeyed instantly, her fingers rubbing her swollen clit in quick circles. I watched as her entire body tensed and then felt her release slam into her. She buried her face in the duvet to muffle her scream.
Niamh was still gasping for air as I kept fucking her. I could feel sweat bead on my upper lip, my torso.
“I want you to come again,” I commanded. “Keep rubbing your clit.”
“No, no, I can’t.” She was panting hard. “Not again.”
“Yes, you can. I want you to come again, Niamh.”
She moaned and began to rub her clit again. This time, her orgasm started as deep shudders that ran the length of her body. She came with a sob, and the sound of her sobbing my name made me come hard inside her.
I filled her to the brim, electric shocks tearing through my limbs, my vision nearly blacking out. It took all of my strength not to collapse on top of her in a boneless heap. Instead, I managed to pull her into my arms as we lay horizontally on the bed.
I kissed the nape of her neck. When she didn’t say anything for a long moment, I turned her to face me.
“Are you all right?” I looked her over, seeing the hickey on her neck. “Was I too rough?”
She shook her head. She buried her face in my shoulder, and to my horror, I saw tears in her eyes. “No, it was good. Too good.”
“Too good?”
She sniffled. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually cry after sex. I guess it was just super intense.”
I stroked her hair, my heart pounding with anxiety. “Sweetheart, you’re scaring me.”
“Just give me a second.”
I forced myself to let her cry a little instead of demanding her to explain. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she wiped her cheeks and gave me a wobbly smile.
“I’m okay,” she reassured me. “Really. I just felt a lot of feelings. That’s all.”
I brushed her tangled hair from her face. “I love you so much. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I do.” She snuggled close. “I love you, too.”
The words were reassuring, but doubt still nibbled at my gut, keeping me awake deep into the night.
Liam, Mari, and their daughters stayed for a week. Liam and I found ourselves in an uneasy truce, neither acting particularly friendly toward each other but avoiding any more brawls.
Although I’d at first been surprised they’d brought their young children along, I was glad for their presence. The little girls provided a needed distraction for the adults. When conversations could’ve devolved into arguments, one or both of the girls managed to steer the subject in the opposite direction. Or did something that caused Liam or Mari to have to keep them from getting stuck, falling to their deaths, or breaking some priceless antique.
My parents were friendly but cold with Niamh’s family. They were at a loss to watch how rowdy the girls were or how involved both parents were in their daughters’ day-to-day lives. They’d grown up being raised by nannies, as I had been. Children were brought out at designated times, to show their parents some new skill like some show pony, and then promptly shuffled back to the nursery.
“They act like hellions,” my mother remarked to me after the first meeting. “They need to get those girls under control.”
I shrugged. “I like seeing them. They’re entertaining.”
“Children aren’t entertainment.” My mother’s nose crinkled. “And they shouldn’t be so loud.”
Near the end of their visit, Niamh was spending more time with her brother, sister-in-law, and nieces than she was with me. I had to wrestle with resentment and, yes, jealousy. I had to admit that I didn’t like sharing my wife’s attention, not even with her own family.
But I kept that to myself, because I also knew how much her family meant to her. Preventing her from spending as much time as possible with them would only make me an enemy—again.
The morning of their flight, Liam had breakfast with just Niamh. Mari had told me that she and the girls hadn’t been invited, either.
“They need some brother-sister time,” she’d explained. “And without these hooligans running around and breaking things. Dahlia, please don’t touch that. I don’t even want to know how expensive it is.”
We all said our goodbyes, Liam looking grim-faced, while Niamh looked especially melancholy. She hugged everyone multiple times, telling the girls she’d see them soon, and then as quickly as they’d arrived, Niamh’s family were gone.
Niamh sat down heavily, pulling a blanket around her shoulders.
“Are you all right?” I touched her cheek. “I know it’s hard to say goodbye.”
“It’s not that.” She burrowed deeper into the blanket. “I mean, I’m sad to see them go. I hate that I’m so far away from the girls.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because sometimes I don’t think you get it.”
I frowned. “You’re going to have to explain that statement.”
Blowing out a breath, she said in a monotone voice, “Liam told me. About my dad, the photos. That he was behind it all.”
There was a feeling that I’d suddenly stepped not onto solid ground, but into a deep, dark hole. Cold air seemed to whoosh by me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Niamh’s eyes were hard now.
“Because I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Come on, Olivier, that’s bullshit. I’m a big girl. I can take the truth. You didn’t tell me my dad was involved because you didn’t want me to know.”
I could feel the anger coming from her in waves. I sat down, forcing calm into my voice.
“But you told my brother,” she continued, “the two of you making decisions behind my back, because apparently I’m too stupid to make them myself.”
“What decisions were made? None. You’re seeing monsters where there are none.”
“You made a decision to withhold information from me about my own dad. What else have you not told me?”
My fists were clenched, tension vibrating through me now. “I didn’t tell you about your dad because I knew how hurt you’d be,” I repeated.
“What else, Olivier? Tell me.”
“You want to know everything? Fine.” I took a deep breath. “He came here, to the palace. He wanted to see you, but I wouldn’t let him. Then he blackmailed me to my face.”
Niamh’s face was white. She pulled her blanket closer, like she could turn it into a cocoon. “Ever since I agreed to marry you,” she whispered, “I haven’t had any control. Everything I say, I do, every move I make, someone else has to approve it. And now you tell me that this has been going on for months, and you didn’t think I should know?”
“What good would it have done? T
ell me that.”
“I don’t know. Maybe if I could’ve talked to him first, I could’ve kept him from doing it.”
“Now you’re being naive.”
“Probably, but I still should have a say in my own life, in things that directly concern me.” She kept shaking her head. “Sometimes I think you don’t believe I can do this.”
I stared at her. I felt like everything we’d been building was falling apart in front of my eyes.
“The fact that you aren’t contradicting me says it all.” Her smile was sad now. “You think I’m just some stupid, naive screw-up that you only married to keep your position.”
“Niamh, I love you. You love me. Why are you saying this?”
“Love is one thing. But it doesn’t mean much when you don’t respect me, either. You think you can move me around like some chess piece, and I won’t push back.” She lifted her chin. “Spoiler: you can’t. I might be your wife, but I’m still my own person. I won’t let you, or this role or your family, force me to become someone I’m not.”
“You haven’t exactly been amenable to conforming to your role. You were openly antagonistic to the press in the beginning. You scoffed at taking lessons, learning French, all of it. You thought you were better than all of it.”
Niamh leapt to her feet. “Fuck you, Olivier. Fuck you and the arrogant horse you rode in on. I don’t need to listen to you berate me.”
I rose, too. “So you’re just going to run out, because things are hard? I didn’t take you for being a coward.”
Her shoulders stiffened. Her gaze full of daggers, she replied, “I’m leaving because I respect myself. Maybe you could try it: respecting your wife. I heard it’s all the rage.”
I didn’t chase after her. And when she slammed the door shut, I didn’t even flinch.
Chapter Twenty
Niamh refused to speak with me for the next two days. On the third day, I used the same trick I’d used on our wedding night to enter her bedroom.
Only to find my wife nowhere in sight.
Celia startled when she saw me. She immediately mumbled something and tried to hurry away, but I stopped her.
“Where is my wife?”
Celia’s gaze was everywhere except on my face. “I don’t know, Your Highness,” she nearly whispered.
“You don’t know or you won’t tell me?”
Celia looked like she going to burst into tears. “Sir, she forbade me from telling you. She made me swear on my mother’s grave.”
“Didn’t you just visit your mother two weeks ago?”
Celia’s chin wobbled. “It’s still very upsetting to think about!” She added quickly, “Sir.”
I approached her slowly, rather like you would a deer that was close to bolting. “You need to tell me where she is. What if something happens to her and I couldn’t get her help?”
“Oh, when you put it like that…”
“She can be angry with me, not you. I’ll take the blame.”
Celia wrung her hands. “I don’t know, sir. I just don’t think I can betray my mistress. She was so adamant. I’ve never seen her like that. It was frightening.”
Steel in my tone, I said, “Tell me where she went or I’ll have you fired immediately.”
I instantly hated myself for the threat, especially when Celia started sobbing. After a few moments, she finally confessed that Niamh had flown to Ireland. Namely, to her grandfather’s estate in Dublin.
“How did she leave without anyone seeing her?” I asked.
“I lent her a servant’s uniform of mine,” replied Celia, rather sheepishly. “She left late at night with no one the wiser.”
I had the sudden urge to fire Celia anyway, but I had just enough self-awareness to realize that I’d be taking my anger out on an innocent party. Celia had been loyal to her employer, and I couldn’t fault her for it. It was Niamh who’d put her subordinate in an untenable position.
“Don’t tell anyone about this. If anyone asks, Niamh is ill and not to be disturbed,” I said.
Celia curtsied. “Of course, sir.”
I stalked to my own rooms, beginning to pace the length of them, racking my brain to figure out what to do.
Niamh hadn’t so much as left a note. No explanation, nothing. Did she think I wouldn’t care that she’d up and left? Anger, and hurt, pierced my gut. I wanted to shake her until she told me why. I’d known she was angry with me. But to run away? It wasn’t like her. Niamh didn’t run from anything.
I called Niamh’s phone, but it went straight to voicemail. I texted her multiple messages. I told her that I just wanted to know she was all right.
I did receive a reply that simply said, I’m fine. Please stop messaging me.
I nearly threw my phone at the wall. I called her a second time. The phone rang this time, but it went to voicemail again. I left her a curt one that asked for her to call me when she could, all the while having a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t.
Sighing, I knew there was probably only one person who would know the answer. And he was the last person I wanted to talk to.
Liam had given me his number, grudgingly telling me that since we were technically family, we should be able to contact one other. I hadn’t had any intention of ever calling my brother-in-law for some fireside chat, yet not even a week since they’d returned to the States, I was calling him.
I calculated that it’d be early morning in Seattle right now. But as I listened to Liam’s phone ring and ring with no answer, I had no idea who else I could try to talk to. I didn’t have Mari’s number, which I sorely wished I’d asked for.
“Hello?” Liam answered. “Why the hell are you calling me, Prince?”
“I wanted to ask you what your favorite color was,” I snapped.
“It’s blue, like your face after I punched it.”
That remark made me snort, at least. Sighing, I said, “Niamh’s gone to Dublin without telling me.”
“And you’re calling me why? Sounds like you need to talk to my sister.”
“You’re the one who caused this. You told Niamh about your father’s involvement in the photos being released.”
Liam swore in what I assumed was Irish. “You stupid shite, you didn’t tell her? That’s on you. I assumed you would’ve told her. I shouldn’t have expected so much of you, then.”
I gritted my teeth. “Fine. I fucked up. We fought, and we said some things.”
“What things?” Liam’s voice was nearly a growl.
“That doesn’t matter. What I want to know is has she contacted you in the last three days?”
“No, she hasn’t.”
I wished I could see his expression right now to gauge if he was telling the truth.
“Look, Olivier, I don’t know what you two said to each other. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Despite what you both might think, I don’t want to involve myself in some marital spat. But Niamh wouldn’t leave without a legitimate reason. You must’ve really fucked up for her to do that.”
“That I figured out for myself.”
“Then you’re smarter than I took you for.” Liam exhaled a long breath. “Niamh didn’t tell me everything about your marriage or why she agreed to it. I always knew it wasn’t some great love story. But during our last conversation, she told me that a big reason why she’d said yes was to protect me, if the truth comes out.
“And I’m telling you what I told Niamh: I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself, and I can take care of my family. What matters is that Niamh is taken care of, and that’s what you, as her husband, need to do. She’s what matters. Whatever comes, we can deal with it.”
I was gripping my phone so tightly that my fingers hurt. I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “I guess I should say thank you,” I said.
“You should, but you won’t. Now, go get my sister, you arsehole. She loves you, although God only knows why.”
I stared down at my phone for a long time after I’d hung up with Liam.
I knew, before I could even think it, what I needed to do.
I’d clung to the excuse that I’d had to marry Niamh to save my throne. But did a throne matter, when love was at stake? A crown wouldn’t keep me warm at night. A crown wouldn’t make me happy.
I’d convinced myself that duty mattered more than anything else. But was it duty or pride? Had I clung to my birthright because accepting that it wasn’t truly mine had been too bitter of a pill?
I’d wanted Niamh since I first met her in Dublin. When the chance to make her mine had come, I’d taken it, telling myself it wasn’t about wanting her.
I’d lied to myself, I realized in that moment. Yes, I loved Niamh.
But I knew that I loved her more than I loved a crown sitting on my head.
I lurched upright. I felt simultaneously exhilarated and exhausted. I didn’t know where to start. I wanted to call Niamh again, but I had a feeling she wasn’t going to talk to me unless I showed up at her doorstep.
I didn’t realize I’d gone to my parents’ quarters until I was outside of them. I entered without knocking, both of them having afternoon tea.
My mother blinked. “Darling, what in the world?”
“I can’t keep living a lie,” I said in a rush. “I’m not the heir. Not the true one. Liam, or Niamh, or some other distant cousin is. The public deserves to know that.”
My mother’s eyes welled with tears, while my father reached out to take her hand. He said to me, “You would put your mother through a scandal like that? Have a heart, Olivier.”
“I don’t want to hurt either of you, but the truth will come out eventually. You both know it will. We can either create the story ourselves or let someone else do it.” I took in a shuddering breath. “Niamh is gone. She’s in Dublin.”
My mother was crying now, crying like I hadn’t seen her before.
Going to her, I said, “I’m sorry.”
She composed herself a few moments later. She suddenly looked years older. “Do what you must. I won’t stop you.”
“Alexandra—” said my father.
“Olivier doesn’t deserve to be punished for my sins.” She looked into my eyes, and I could see the steel in them. “Do whatever you must, especially when love is at stake.”
