by Zoey Oliver
“We can’t,” I say, because it’s what is required of me, but my words don’t match anything… not the thoughts in my head, not the reaction my body has to his touch, not the heat between my legs.
My ability to resist him is already so weak, and every time we’re together, it’s slipping away more and more. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out, but it’s not up to me. There’s too much riding on my virginity to give into a moment of temptation. But oh, it would feel so good to just give in…
“It’s okay,” Henry reassures me, deep sincerity in his voice. “That’s not what I have in mind.”
Dammit, Henry. Why do you have to be such a gentleman with me? Just take me, already! I’d love nothing more than to have him pull my hips down, push me onto his beautiful cock, and fuck me like there’s no tomorrow. The devil on my shoulder, that live-like-there’s-no-tomorrow part of me, really wants him to just go for it. I know all my resistance would melt away the second he slid into me.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers me onto his thighs, his erection pointing up between my legs, tickling against the lower part of my stomach.
“Damn, woman. Now that is a heavenly sight.”
“Oh?” I wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke him, gliding my hands up and down his long, firm shaft. I love his cock, so thick and hot in my hands.
He moans, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of my hips. He grasps my hips and pulls me forward, his cock sliding under me slowly, rubbing against my slippery wetness. Then he pushes my hips back and repeats it.
I get the hang of what we’re doing and begin thrusting my hips in rhythm with the movement of his hands on my hips. His shaft is hot and firm underneath me, and it feels so good gliding against my clit.
“If I can’t be inside of you, this is the next best thing,” he says, watching my face intensely.
“It’s good,” I whisper, feeling drunk on pleasure, savoring the feelings of his naked skin against mine, his firm cock beneath me, our bodies working in unison. “So good.” Moan after moan escapes me, and my breath quickens as we both pick up the pace.
He moves his hands to my ass, gripping me tightly as he lets out a long groan. “Fuck, yes,” he says, his voice deep and husky with passion, “rub your pretty pussy on my cock.”
I blush at his dirty talk, but the words send a pulse of heat right to the center of my pelvis. No toy I’ve ever tried feels as wonderful as his thickness between my thighs. Spreading my hands on his chest, I steady myself and tilt my hips forward, grinding my swollen clit against him even harder. I want to slide his stiff shaft inside me and ride him so bad, I’m practically vibrating.
His hands move to my chest, squeezing and cupping my breasts, his fingers playing with my nipples. My breathing is ragged, and a tremble runs through me as an orgasm draws near.
Henry doesn’t miss a thing. He pulls me to his chest and whispers in my ear. “Come for me, baby.”
His hands return to my ass, and he begins thrusting his pelvis, bringing his knees up for leverage, as if he were really fucking me, the rhythm steady and powerful.
“Yes, yes!” My cry fills the small space, and his pace quickens. I wrap my arms around his neck and surrender to his movements as he uses his strong body and hard, hot cock to bring me to climax.
The rain has finally stopped, and the clouds have moved out, revealing a dark sky full of glittery stars. Henry had unfolded a dry tarp on the deck of the boat, and we’re lying on it, wrapped in a blanket, looking up at the heavens.
The air is cool from the rain, and a light breeze is drifting over us, but Henry’s hot body is snuggled up next to mine under the blanket. It could be snowing buckets on us right now, and I wouldn’t care.
Neither of us has said anything in a long while. The silence is comfortable, but the quiet night air is filled with a million things I want to say, but don’t dare.
I know Henry’s not the kind of guy who does romantic feelings — not the silly, sentimental kind, not the deep, forever and ever kind, and not the complicated, messy, desperate kinds. So, he definitely doesn’t want to hear about all these sticky, messy, desperate feelings I’ve been having. And I’m not supposed to be having them in the first place, so it’s best just to keep my mouth shut and not ruin the fun we’re having together.
“We should head back soon,” I whisper.
“We should,” he agrees, but he doesn’t move.
I tilt my head up to look at him. “A while longer?”
He pulls me closer and kisses my forehead. “A while longer.”
Chapter Sixteen
HENRY
“Your Highness?”
I turn to my right and see an attractive, tall, blonde woman. I recognize her instantly, and my heart sinks. Dammit. Renetti Casmond, the Duchess of Havenwood. We have a history I’d rather not be reminded of, especially not now, with Abigail in the same room.
It’s early evening, and everyone has once again gathered in the ballroom for dancing and drinks after dinner. I’ve had several out of town engagements to attend and haven’t had more than a few minutes alone with Abi since our boating adventures a few days ago, but I’m looking forward to seeing her later tonight, once the festival goers have departed and the overnight guests have retired to their own rooms.
Spencer was here briefly, but has long since departed to the study and its supply of imported liquor. He’s spent most of his time there since arriving at the palace, when he’s not off with his new-found circle of questionable friends. I don’t know what brand of trouble he’s cooking up these days, but the changes I see in him make me uneasy.
“Hello, Lady Casmond.” I summon all the manners I can and give her a half smile, which is quite generous considering the role she’s played in feeding gossip to the press about me.
“I’ve been wondering where you’ve been hiding. I’ve rarely spotted you at the festival activities.”
I nod, a smile still plastered on my face, trying to be polite. “I’ve been quite busy.”
She steps closer — too close for my liking — and touches me on the shoulder. “You know, we should arrange a time to catch up. It’s been a while since we’ve… chatted, hasn’t it? Perhaps this evening, after the dance?”
“I don’t think so.”
I know she’s hunting for something, anything juicy. She’d hit paydirt if she found out about Abi, and I won’t let that happen. I don’t need an ounce of press coverage right now, and I definitely won’t have Abigail’s quiet life pulled into the harsh glare of the media’s spotlight because of my past behavior.
“Oh?” She runs her finger down my arm. “Then maybe tomorrow night?”
“My schedule is very full these days, Renetti.” I grit my teeth, struggling to resist the urge to knock her hand away, but that would cause a scene, and the last thing I want is to draw attention to this unwelcome conversation.
She makes an exaggerated pout, her blonde hair falling across her face as she dips her head and sticks out her lips a mile. “Well, then maybe I should just sit down here and join you right now.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say. I look away, hoping she’ll get the hint and leave. I scan the dance floor for Abigail. Last I saw her, she was near the back, talking to several women.
The Duchess is still hovering next to me stubbornly when I see a familiar figure at a table across the room. Gigi! Known as Mrs. Abigail Amesbury to everyone else, I’ve called her Gigi since I was a toddler, back when she was first hired as my nanny and I couldn’t wrap my little tongue around her first name properly, so Abigail came out as Gigi, and it stuck. I haven’t seen her since early summer, at the Rose Gala.
I turn back to Renetti. “Excuse me, Lady Casmond, I see someone I need to speak with.”
Instead of stepping aside to let me up, she leans down to me and bats her eyelashes. “But I’m sure I can convince you to make some time for me later… maybe I should jog your memory?”
When she reaches a hand toward
my lap, I stand up hastily, nearly knocking my chair over.
She recoils in surprise and blinks. “Your Highness?”
Without replying, I leave her standing by my table in shock at my abrupt departure. A year ago, I might have indulged her, as I was known to do from time to time. She’s not a bad looking woman, and I wasn’t one to turn down an offer back then. But now my interest is less than zero, and I don’t want her anywhere near me.
I circle around the edge of the ballroom and duck into an unoccupied alcove. I pull out my phone and call Pierre, my chief of security.
“Yes, your highness?”
“The Duchess of Havenwood — can you have someone keep an eye on her? She’s snooping for a story, making rounds in the ballroom. Make sure she doesn’t get anywhere near Lady Strathmore.”
“Yes, of course, sir. I’ll see to it right away.”
“Thank you, Pierre.”
I return my phone to my breast pocket and continue to the other side of the dance floor. When I approach Mrs. Amesbury’s table, I see her struggling with the silver tongs for a bowl of sugar cubes.
I take a few steps forward and scoop the sugar bowl off the table. “May I help?”
A smile spreads across her face when she looks up. “Henry!” she pushes her chair back and reaches her arms out. I dive in for a deep hug. I don’t care how improper it might be — I will always give my Gigi the biggest hug I can muster, I don’t care who’s watching.
She pats my cheek fondly when I release her from my bear hug. “How are you, dear? You look more handsome every time I see you!”
I take her hand gently and hold it warmly between mine. “You’re full of shit,” I whisper with a twinkle in my eye, “but you know I love you for it.”
She laughs and squeezes my hands. “I’ve missed you so.” Her laughter envelops me with warmth, a blanket of happiness from the simple and carefree days of childhood.
My parents are kind and gracious people, but Mrs. Amesbury was the one I ran to for comfort as a small child, and the one I turned to for sage advice as a teenager. She’s the one who read me bedtime stories and put me in my place when I misbehaved as I grew older and more mischievous with each passing day.
I stretch an arm to the dance floor. “Will you do me the honors of a dance?”
“Oh my, I haven’t danced in ages!”
“Come, you’ll dance circles around me, I know it.”
We make our way to the center of the ballroom and assume a formal stance. I gently lead her across the intricate geometric patterns of the nineteenth century floor in time with the music.
“How is Henry?” I ask.
Her eyes cloud over a bit, and she dips her chin to the floor. My heart freezes inside my chest. Surely, her husband is still in remission. If the staff kept any such news from me and I missed being there for Mrs. Amesbury, I will reign hellfire upon their heads.
“He’s hanging in there,” she says after a moment. Her tone is full of determination, but her eyes are watery.
I twirl her slowly to the right and bring her back toward me. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do? Get him into an experimental trial or arrange for treatment at a specialty center? You know that I will move heaven and earth to make it happen.”
She smiles tenderly, but I see the deep pain she’s trying to hide from me. “I know you would, my dear. But it’s not for you to worry about.”
“But I—”
“No, Henry,” she says firmly. She straightens her posture and looks me squarely in the eye, her I-mean-business look that I received many times growing up. “That’s the end of that conversation. Let’s enjoy our dance and chat about pleasant things, shall we?”
“Of course, anything you want, Gigi.” I give her a soft kiss on her wrinkled forehead and lean my cheek against her brow as we step lightly to the music, wishing I could trade all my power and riches for the ability to ensure her remaining days would be filled with nothing but joy.
“I noticed you have your eye on someone,” she says.
I pull back in surprise. “What?”
“Well, don’t act shocked about it. You weren’t being too sly about it, my dear. But I can’t say I blame you — she just lights up the room, doesn’t she?” Mrs. Amesbury looks over her left shoulder, and I follow her gaze, to Abigail dancing with her father a dozen or so yards away.
“She does,” I say quietly.
That deep gold and amber dress she’s wearing is beautiful, but it doesn’t compare to the firelight glow of her skin when she’s naked in my chambers. And that smile, that laugh, it makes me want to be over there with her right now, her arm on mine. But I have to steal my time with her. A late night tryst in my room, a quick escapade in the library — they’re all I have, and I even those moments aren’t rightfully mine.
“Now that’s something new,” Mrs. Amesbury interrupts my reverie. “I’ve never seen that look on you, Henry. I’m quite delighted by it.”
I turn back to face her, and we spin in a wide circle in time with the music. “What look? What are you talking about?”
“Love. The absolutely gobsmacked, head-over-heels variety.”
“Perhaps it’s time to have your vision checked, because that is most certainly not the look on my face.”
“Hmmph,” she chides. “You’ve never been able to lie to me, Henry. But perhaps you haven’t admitted this to yourself yet?”
“There’s positively nothing to admit,” I swear. “She’s very attractive, yes. I can certainly admire her beauty,” I say, then lower my voice before continuing, “and perhaps want a bit of fun, yes, but it doesn’t mean anything more.”
She raises her eyebrows. “If you say so, dear,” she says, not sounding at all convinced.
“Come now!” It comes out rather loud, and I glance around, but no one seems to have paid note. I lower my voice. “How on earth could one possibly be in love with someone after only a few weeks?”
She purses her lips and looks at me scoldingly. “Henry, really. You are a man-child some days.”
“Not true,” I insist, squaring my shoulders. “I’ve had more than my fair share of female companions.”
“I’m quite aware, dear,” she says dryly. “But your… frivolities had nothing to do with love.”
I sigh. She is so impossibly difficult to argue with. “Well, I haven’t been partaking in those kinds of frivolities for quite some time. I’ve been on my best behavior.”
She gives me a smile, the kind that says I’m a complete idiot. “So I’ve heard. But that doesn’t make you any less clueless about love, dear.”
I open my mouth to argue, but no words come out. She’s right.
“You better stop standing on the sidelines just staring at her and make your move soon,” Mrs. Amesbury says. “I’m to understand this is her courting period, and she’ll be snapped up faster than a buttered bobsled barreling down a cliff in the Alps.”
I laugh. “Gigi, you really must come visit more. I miss your analogies — they were the highlight of my day.”
“Don’t change the subject, Henry.”
I’d forgotten how persistent Mrs. Amesbury is when she feels like she’s onto something — but I’m equally as stubborn and not about to back down.
“Even if you’re right, which you aren’t, I’m not an approved suitor and for good reason. Like you said, you’ve seen the headlines. Prince Scandal. The Notorious Royal. She’s too smart to tie herself to the likes of me.”
She looks over at Abigail for a long moment, and we both watch her exit off the dance floor gracefully. “Well, you’ll never know unless you try. She’d be good for you, Henry.”
“And I’d be terrible for her. Trust me.”
She purses her lips again but refrains from further comment.
As we continue our dance, my eyes drift across the room, looking for Abi out of habit. I notice her at the arched doorway, leaving the ballroom with her attendant, Emily. Immediately, my curiosity takes over. I wonder if
she’ll be alone in her room? Perhaps I can slip away from the dance soon and join her.
When the song ends, Mrs. Amesbury insists that it’s time for her to go home, and I walk her out of the ballroom and down the wide, sweeping hallway running the length of the second story. After another hug and assurances that she will stay in touch, we part ways.
When she’s a few feet away, she turns back for a moment, tilting her head toward me, her expression kind but serious. “Don’t wait too long to decide I’m right, dear.” She gives me a compassionate smile and then turns to the grand staircase.
I watch as she makes her way down the steps, a bittersweet tug of longing lodged in my throat. Longing for the simpler days of my childhood, before my love life was front-page news, before I behaved like a royal screw-up, before the never-ending demands of the crown were laid at my feet.
So much is changing, so much is out of my control.
Eager to shake off the feeling and wrap myself in Abigail’s cheerful company and warm embrace, I turn right and head for the back stairs that lead up to her floor.
Gigi’s words echo through my mind, and the reality of how little time I have left with Abi makes my stomach clench. I rush up the steps, two at a time, desperate to claim every moment I can with her.
Chapter Seventeen
ABIGAIL
Emily taps me on the shoulder. “Abigail, we’ve got company.”
We’re standing in the corner of the ballroom, and I’m bent over at a small table, trying to stir some sugar into my cup of hot tea without splashing it all over my dress. I look up to see a palace staff member approaching.
“Good evening, Lady Strathmore,” he says when he reaches us.
I straighten up and nod my head. “Good evening.”
“Sir Eldridge and Mr. Kingston request a moment of your time.”
I sigh. “What for, did they say?”
He shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Where?”
“In the reading room. I’ll take you there.”
