Forbidden Prince

by Zoey Oliver

  “Just let it build,” I coach her, aware that my fingers are gripping her hips tighter, my own hips barely holding back from grinding ferociously into hers.

  “I need… I want… I want you inside me!”

  “You’re doing fine, Joanna,” I tell her sternly, though my body fights against me. “Just keep going—”

  “No, I need it!” she insists.

  She suddenly hops off my lap, her skirt wrinkled and twisted around her thighs. With cheeks flushed, she claws at my shirt, gasping for breath.

  “Sorry, Sturgill… Can I call you Sturgill? I think… I really am gonna need you inside me.”

  Her fingers clamp over the outline of my hard-on, sending a clenching ache through my core that takes my breath away.

  “See? Looks like you need me too.”

  With every bit of self-restraint I have, I take her wrists in my hands and disengage her fingers from my shirt.

  “Joanna, this isn’t what we agreed to—”

  “New plan!” she announces, sitting astride my lap again, this time facing me. I can feel the heat of her pussy through my trousers as she grinds against me, her thighs clenching against mine.

  “I’m only going to be here another week,” she explains in a rush, her lips just millimeters from mine, the sweetness of her breath fills my mouth, irresistibly drawing me closer.

  “This isn’t what we… what I—”

  “You told me you were full-service,” she smirks, her upper lip brushing against mine tantalizingly. I see the glint in her sea glass-green eyes, that fairy-like temptation.

  Slowly my hands drift over her outlines of their own accord, gathering handfuls of her ass cheeks against my palms. It’s a delight I have denied to myself for so long, it feels like it must be wrong, but…

  “Oh, yes,” she sighs as her mouth sweeps across mine, those petal-soft lips nudging my lips apart.

  “You want to learn how to come with a cock inside of you?”

  She gasps, drawing her lip in between her teeth. “Oh! Yes!”

  I nod slowly, controlling myself as much as I am able. With the illusion of professionalism quickly vanishing in front of me, I at least want to make one last attempt at keeping this on the level.

  “Well, if you insist…”

  Quickly her fingers find the zipper of my trousers and release my hard-on. I take her wrists back and pull them away, leaving her to balance her weight on her toes as she straddles me.

  “Just slow down,” I coach her. “Don’t rush.”

  She takes a deep breath, tensing as she strains to follow my instructions. I can feel how she’s holding back, how she’s resisting her old habits. But if her old habits didn’t bring her to climax, she needs new ones. She needs to learn how to ride a cock good and proper.

  “Lick your fingers.”

  Without blinking, she inserts two fingers between her pillowy lips, dragging them across her tongue.

  “I want you to stroke your clit while I enter you, all right?”

  She nods her head, sliding her fingers between her plush pussy lips as I angle her hips. The head of my cock brushes against her entrance, sliding through the wetness, so warm, so inviting.

  I feel myself on the tip of climax, ready to come at any moment, but force myself to wait. I would never come before her. But it is going to be a challenge.

  A moan swells in her throat as I breach her entrance, pushing past a tight ring. Her fingers slide around her clit, drifting in lazy circles.

  “Perfect, just like that,” I tell her.

  She drapes her other arm over my shoulder for balance as she knits her eyebrows together in concentration. Her forehead leans against mine and I force myself to go as slow as possible. Inch by inch, I drive into her, feeling the bands of muscles grasping against me. Suddenly she begins to clench, sucking her breath between her teeth.

  Oh! Oh!” she gasps, flexing her thighs and her toes.

  “Stay with it, Joanna,” I bark, pulling her in circles to hit her G-spot as she’s taking every inch of me.

  A gush of juice flows over my cock and she arches her back, her fingers buried in her pussy, her hips thrusting against me. I feel her walls dragging me deeper, sucking me like a mouth, vacuuming me inside her.

  Suddenly she falls forward, pinning me back on the chair while her pussy works my length with vibrating spasms of tectonic motion. Blindly she finds my mouth and kisses me hard, sucking my lower lip between her teeth as she groans.

  “Do it, let go!” I hear myself say as I try to maintain control, but suddenly it is too much. She shudders and wails, unleashing a torrent of passion as she climaxes, too much for me to hold back. I come with her, explosions reverberating through my muscles as we join together, riding the same crest of bliss.

  Her kisses are sweet and breathless, gradually slowing. I could taste her forever. This sweetness in my mouth is something that satisfies me deeply, something I did not know how hungry I was to taste until this very moment.

  Kissing her shoulder, I inhale the musk between her neck and jaw, drinking in a flood of pheromones, drunk on her bliss.

  “You’re amazing,” I sigh.

  Slowly she pulls away, sitting up straighter and brushing her hair back from her forehead with the heels of her hands. She smiles at me sheepishly and rolls her eyes, suddenly shy again.

  “I have an amazing teacher,” she says quietly.

  “I’m glad you think so,” I smile, though I wonder why the word teacher doesn’t quite sit well with me.

  Of course I am her teacher. I am her doctor. This lesson was well received, but that’s all it is.

  “Would you care to… have dinner? Something like that?” I ask, aware of how strange that all sounds.

  She smiles vaguely and glances around the room, and I can see that slowly she is coming back to reality, withdrawing from the experience we just enjoyed together.

  “Maybe another time,” she sighs. “I need to… I don’t know. Clean up? Work probably. My mind is a little fuzzy right now.”

  “Oh, certainly,” I answer, finding my professionalism again.

  She weighs practically nothing, so I simply lift her off of me and dress myself again, glad that our encounter had been so sudden that we didn’t have time to completely undress. It makes for a less awkward exit.

  “Well, you know where to find me,” I say. “I’ll just show myself out.”

  “Oh, okay,” she smiles.

  Leaving the room, I feel sort of strange, as though I am walking out of one movie and into a totally different movie. It’s somewhat jarring.

  “Oh, Dr. Warner?” she calls after me, following me to the front door.

  Her eyes are bright, her smile sweet and sincere. For a moment, I think she’s going to kiss me goodbye or something. Probably not a good idea.

  “Joanna?”

  “Oh, well I was just… I was wondering? Would you come with me to the gallery opening?”

  “The gallery opening?” I repeat. “I thought you were concerned about gossip? What do you think people will say about us?”

  She shrugs playfully. “Well, I’ll be leaving the next morning, so maybe I won’t care?”

  I just smile back, repeating the words to myself. Leaving the next morning.

  “So, would you? It’s a chance to get dressed up.”

  “Well, how can I say no to that?” I smile, opening the door behind me. “And please wear the turquoise dress. It matches your eyes.”

  She blinks, startled, before caging her expression in caution again.

  “All right, Doctor,” she purrs. “Whatever you say.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Joe

  There are barely enough hours in the day.

  Between hovering over my dad and his crew and collecting the shipments of artwork as they come in, the week goes by in a blink. It’s like a dream that I keep waking up from, realizing that I haven’t quite finished the marathon I’m running. I stumble through, forgetting to eat, for
getting to drink, barely remembering to check in with Didi.

  But then, suddenly, here we are.

  The sun is going down, and Dusty walks in through the door of our new gallery, breathtakingly beautiful in a lavender silk gown with flowing sleeves and an open back that shows off her sinuous, strong spine.

  “Is this all right?” she asks me meekly as she tiptoes in.

  “You are just the icing on the cake,” I tell her honestly. “Seriously, Dusty. You look amazing. Are you comfortable with everything that I taught you?”

  She glances around at all of the artwork on the wall, the sculpture pedestals set up under the spotlights, the glittering display cabinets.

  “I memorized it all, I think,” she assures me. “Best I can, anyway. What if I screw it up, though?”

  Reaching out, I gather her chestnut curls and arrange them over her shoulders, smiling maternally.

  “Dusty, I have a really good feeling about you. It’s going to be fine. People will ask you questions, and you just answer. Every painting is a story.”

  “And we just have to find the right story for their home,” she finishes, reciting some of the art gallery mythology I coached her on.

  “Exactly right! And if it’s not going well, give them a glass of wine. The good stuff.”

  She winks at me, pursing her lips enough to accentuate those high cheekbones. She’s gorgeous. They’re going to love her.

  “Okay, I’m just going to check on the caterers… You stand here and look intriguing, okay? As people come in, say hello and invite them to mingle and ask you questions, got it?”

  “Got it!”

  From the back room, I hear the melodious clang of a case hitting the floor and turn to see the musicians shuffling in to the alcove we set up for them. My dad had enough time left over after we scrapped the drywall idea that he was able to create a recessed space just for this kind of thing. Very smart. Gallery openings are the engine for sales. We need to be able to entertain as well as display the works.

  I am sure that Willowdale has never seen anything quite like this. Naples, Florida is one of the wealthiest cities in the entire United States. Willowdale went completely under the radar even though it’s practically right next door. There have never been this many Porsches on Main Street before, I am certain of it. Every once in a while I see a local resident walk by, eyebrows raised, peering through the front window at the strangers gathered in semiformal attire.

  Holly flew down just for tonight, ready to facilitate the larger sales. Though I am confident in Dusty’s ability to catch up, it is nice to know that there is someone else here to actually witness my success. I know she’s going to give a good report to Martha. Knowing that Didi is going to be insanely jealous is just a small bonus.

  With a glass of champagne in my hand, I sway from small group to small group, saying hello and welcoming what I hope is our new clientele to the gallery. If everything goes well, the entire town will be transformed in a few years. Martha has made a smart investment here, I think.

  As the musicians fill the room with light jazz, I smile and nod at everyone, finally feeling as though the event is under control. All of the things that could have gone wrong have expired, and now, barring a sudden lightning strike, I think it’s going to be okay. I can finally exhale. And I do, letting my breath seep out of me, feeling my center of gravity plunge through the floor, anchored to the middle of the earth. As it leaks away I realize that I’ve been holding back a feeling of absolute terror. And it all worked out all right.

  Score one for the control freak! I think to myself. I think I deserve a little pat on the back.

  I suddenly see him out of the corner of my eye, and my breath catches my throat. Automatically I stand up straighter, rolling my shoulders back, shifting my weight.

  He walks in with an appraising squint, scanning the room from side to side, a slow smile spreading over his cheeks. I know he can see what the space was just a week ago, and he can see how far we’ve come. He nods, clearly pleased. Something tickles in my belly, a feeling like a balloon being popped.

  As though he senses me, his gaze snaps toward mine. He finds me in the crowd, picks me out like a magnetic connection.

  Quirking an eyebrow, he strides toward me, his perfectly-fitting suit stretching over his broad shoulders with each step. When he reaches me, he slides his hands under my elbows, drawing me forward in a polite but thrilling embrace. His lips brush the top of my cheekbone as he leans close.

  “You look beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear, his breath tickling my neck into goosebumps. “This color is stunning on you.”

  I lean back, swaying in my turquoise dress, happy to feel its well-tailored lines caressing my hips with each movement.

  “I’m so glad you like it,” I smile, holding back the girlish giggle that wants to escape my lips. “And what do you think of my little project?”

  He pivots to stand beside me, brushing against outside of my arm, his mass shadowing mine. I suppress the urge to lean into him.

  “If I weren’t a man of science, I would say it was a miracle,” he grins.

  There it is, that praise. There goes my imaginary tail, wagging like crazy.

  “Dr. Warner!” comes a voice.

  One of my mother’s friends shuffles across the newly polished floor, her floral skirt tight around her knees. I can tell she got dressed up for this, just to scope the place out. Notably, she’s got a small plate stacked high with imported cheese and slices of fig.

  “Mrs. Cassidy,” he smiles as she rakes him with her eyes, her gaze darting back toward me every half a second or so.

  Something dark inside me starts to simmer. This is a moment I knew would happen, one where a Willowdale resident was going to trap me. She’s got me in her sights, probably already calculating the sorts of things she’s going to be able to say about me tomorrow. What I’m wearing. What the gallery looks like. Her opinion of the art.

  And most of all, what she thinks of my physical proximity to Dr. Sturgill Warner.

  “Well isn’t this nice!” Mrs. Cassidy exclaims. “I mean… It’s nice! Isn’t it?”

  Her substantial bosom heaves inside the dress, something I don’t think she’s worn in quite a while. She doesn’t seem comfortable. I suppose it’s just the camouflage she decided to wear when she went out on her mission to spy on me tonight.

  “I’m glad you think so,” I say politely.

  She presses her lips together, bouncing the overladen plate in her fingertips. Over her shoulder I can see Dusty shooting me a terrified look. I surreptitiously raise my fingers, letting Dusty know she doesn’t have to intervene.

  “Didn’t Joanna do an absolutely spectacular job?” Dr. Warner suddenly says, edging closer to me. To my surprise I feel his hand slip around my waist, pulling me toward him affectionately.

  Mrs. Cassidy’s eyes widen, a ring of white circling her gray irises.

  “Goodness, of course she did!” she breathes heavily, taking in every detail.

  I imagine this will all be precisely recounted: how close he was standing to me, how long it took him to draw me closer to him. How affectionate the position of his hand looked.

  But instead of backing away, I decide to lean in instead.

  “Thank you so much, Sturgill,” I sigh, looking up at him. It’s the first time I have said his name on purpose, and I have to admit it feels delicious on my tongue.

  He heard it too. His smile is slow and sly, something shared just with me. I feel a barrier of privacy develop among us. There’s something discrete and unique. Something Mrs. Cassidy can’t hope to penetrate. Something waterproof.

  “Well, all right then,” she murmurs from far away and I sort of hear her shuffle off.

  But it’s hard to concentrate. Most of what I see is him.

  “Is that all right?” he asks me in a confidential murmur when she is out of earshot.

  I’m still rooted to the spot, trapped in the tractor beam of his gaze.

 
“Perfectly all right,” I confirm.

  Again, there’s that feeling like bubbles inside me. Like I am filled with champagne. It would be stupid to tell him, though. I’m leaving in the morning, and this is all just for show anyway. It’s been good practice, though. It’s been nice to pretend. And it’s nice to have this handsome date on my arm as we open the gallery.

  It may just be theater, but it is a very enjoyable sort of theater.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sturgill

  All week long there has been a countdown over my head. At first I thought it was Mrs. Cooper’s pending baby delivery, but I’ve brought dozens of babies into the world. When she finally goes into labor, the delivery is uncomplicated and simple, with the usual drama and excitement. A vibrant baby girl, who will be named after her grandmother.

  Just the way it’s supposed to be. Just the sort of life we’ve had here for generations.

  But I can’t seem to center my focus. I can’t seem to get at ease with myself.

  Running is no help. I’ve been out surfing twice and that didn’t do anything for me either. I’d like to go into the gallery and see what the progress is, maybe touch base with Joanna…

  Joanna.

  But no. What am I going to do, hover? I’m sure if she needs me, she will call.

  Which she hasn’t done.

  Several days pass and I can’t seem to get her off my mind. She just interferes in small ways with everything. I wonder what she’s doing. I wonder if she will like this suit I have picked out for the gallery opening. It’s silliness. And definitely not within the professional parameters that I have designed for myself.

  Luckily, there’s a failsafe. She is leaving at the end of the week.

  Which doesn’t sound like a half bad idea.

  On Thursday, Arthur writes to follow up on the Costa Rica invitation. And I finally decide what to do. With Mrs. Cooper’s baby safely out of the womb, I write him back immediately to confirm. I’d love to go to Costa Rica. Three weeks repairing birth defects will do a lot of good for everybody.

  There is a sudden and undeniable breeze. The surf is high, and I spend several hours in the afternoon riding wave after punishing wave back toward the shore. The day goes by in a dream, until the evening.