Royal Baby: His Unplanned Heir - A Prince's Secret Baby Romance

by Layla Valentine

  “Everyone around me sees it: the smile that comes from the inside, the light skip in my step. Everyone keeps asking me what’s changed. And always, always, the answer is the same: I haven’t made any change but you. And yet, that change has sparked a thousand others. Your support, your unconditional rock of love, has given me the strength to make a thousand other changes, to stumble closer to the life I’ve always wanted.

  “Before, I didn’t have the courage to pursue my passion, to start my charity. But you—you, Jake—you gave me that. Your love and your strength, your fearlessness and tenacity these past few months as you pursued your own dreams, as you held my hand every step of the way, it was nothing short of inspiring.

  “Every morning I wake up excited because of you, and every night I go to bed with a smile on my face, eager to see what the next day in paradise with you will bring. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. And, Jake, I will love you until the day I die.”

  The silence brought applause, the applause more silence. And then Dmitri said, “Jake, you may now kiss the bride.”

  Suddenly, the garden was thundering with more applause, but I was lost in those lips, those hands on my waist, the miracle of the man before me. My husband, Jake Harker.

  Jake

  The greenhouse was a light in the dark. We escaped a minute before the cake cutting and took off into the night, trailing unlikely excuses behind us.

  The real reason was, seeing her in that dress, I couldn’t hold off kissing her any longer. And something told me that squeezing Alice’s ass in front of fifty or so of her closest family and friends was less than ideal.

  “Jake!” Alice squealed as I shoved her against a tree, running my hand up her thigh. I snapped the garter, and she moaned.

  Our lips entwined and our tongues danced. Her hand ran along my belt, undoing it. Far-off twangs of guitar reached us. The night breath was cool and sweet with flowers. It was perfect. All of it. Her white lace panties that fell to the ground, her eager soft thighs that welcomed my touch, her. My wife. My Alice.

  When I slipped my dick between her legs, it was like coming home; we pressed into each other, sighed, and smiled. This was the best day of my life. We didn’t rush; we didn’t hurry. Our guests were waiting, but let them wait.

  This was our night. This was the best day of my life, and I was going to cherish it. Me in my wife, my wife on me, panting slightly, that soft smile. Our hips swayed together to the far-off rhythm, our hands clasped, and there was not a thing that could have made it more perfect.

  Slowly, our sway picked up; I slid myself in and out in slow circles. Around and around we went, our breathing picking up, our hips thrusting, our hands unclasping and reclasping. Then a tremor began in both of us, and we moved faster. I slid in deeper, and we were both panting more.

  The tremoring was growing and taking over us, and then the pleasure exploded from man to wife and back to man again as our orgasms flowed through both of us. We collapsed back on the grass, my wife and I, my Alice and me.

  “I love you,” she whispered as she shook.

  “I love you,” I whispered as I shook.

  And a passing bird somewhere in the dark chirped the same.

  We just lay there, not moving, not saying anything, not even thinking. For this was a moment of pure perfection, an instant that couldn’t be improved on. This was something only to be present for and to marvel in and to thank God for. So we did, for minutes, hours—who knew?

  All we knew was that, by the time we got back, the cake was half gone and the music was just starting.

  “Where were you?” some asked, but we brushed their questions away with the movement of our hips.

  It was the first dance. It was time.

  I took her hand and we made our way to the dance floor.

  Together we were joined arms, swaying hips, and laughing smiles. Everyone’s gazes were riveted on us, and ours were on each other. The music thumped on, and we danced, and everyone else came and danced too. The whole dance floor was a sea of bobbing bodies, rising smiles, and shining eyes, all of us one beat, one song, one love, one joy.

  There was Tom and Dalia and Lux and Gabriel and Heston and even Randolph and Pip barking and twirling, going ‘round and ‘round. And when the next song came on, the beat jerked out legs and arms, and there was no way to stop this moment, this perfection. And so I took her hand, my wife’s, my Alice’s, and I kissed it.

  And I didn’t say “I love you,” because the whole night was saying it, because it was there in her eyes already.

  During our break we had two pieces of cake each. We had started with one, but how could you say no to a second chunk of chocolate mousse with icing?

  Licking my chin, Alice giggled.

  “It really turned out.”

  I kissed her chocolatey lips.

  “Told you. How could we pass up an opportunity to eat this?”

  We toasted cake pieces and finished our seconds in three ambitious bites. Then it was a glass of Jake Daniel’s each and back to the dance floor.

  My favorite angsty rock band was yelling over the speakers at my request, and yet the plentiful alcohol and delicious food had worked their magic: no one scowled, scandalized, and no one froze awkwardly. No, everyone rocked out and yelled along, their heads bobbing, feet moving, hips grooving. The whole dance floor was alive with frenetic energy, and it was so touching that I wanted to laugh, or cry; I just couldn’t tell which.

  As everything I had thought I’d known about the “rich and powerful” crumbled to my feet, as my heart swelled and opened, I took Alice’s hand, the one responsible for all of this. I kissed her, and she grinned and kissed me. And it was perfect. Every last bit.

  Alice

  “Are you ready?”

  As I stepped off the plane, Jake looked at me expectantly.

  “For our Sierra Leone honeymoon? You bet I am.”

  He took my hand, and I squeezed his.

  “You’re going to love the village; you’ll see.”

  Jake nodded.

  “I’m just glad I’ll finally get to see your work.”

  His hand sliding into my back jean pocket, he gave my butt a quick squeeze.

  “But, first things first.”

  I smirked at him.

  “Oh yeah?”

  Pushing me into a wall, Jake ran his hand over my body.

  “Yeah. We have to re-consummate our marriage.”

  Trembling under his touch, I asked, “Didn’t we do that at the Denver Botanic Gardens?”

  Jake shook his head.

  “It has to be after, not during. And besides, it’s been a whole two days since then.”

  Kissing Jake and then taking his hand and leading him back to the line of passengers, I said, “Maybe.”

  His hand slipped back in my jean pocket and squeezed again.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Getting our baggage and going through customs took longer than expected. And yet Jake was indefatigable, copping surreptitious feels when no one was looking, slipping his fingers over my bra strap, whispering in my ear.

  The whole post-plane experience was one long bout of foreplay.

  By the time we got to the taxi, I was the one kissing him in the back.

  “What did I say?” Jake said in my ear.

  I pawed at his crotch.

  “Take me now,” I gasped in his ear, and he laughed.

  “We’re almost there.”

  And we were, though it wasn’t enough. It seemed to take the staff of the Kingdom Resort forever to show us to our room, and Jake wasn’t helping with his periodic brushes against my breasts and ass.

  By the time we walked into our airy oasis of a room, I had unzipped and taken off my jacket.

  The concierge couldn’t leave fast enough for us to dive into the white sheets.

  Jake was all over me, ripping off my jeans, his tongue snaking up and down my legs, along my thighs, devouring them while I trembled with pleasure.
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  God, it felt so good. He made quick work of my lace thong too, yanking it down and tossing it aside in one rapid motion.

  He slipped his finger in between my legs and then slapped my ass with a hand.

  “So wet already, princess.”

  Biting and sucking at his neck desperately, I moaned. “You’ve been tormenting me all day; just fuck me, won’t you?”

  Patting my head, his eyes glimmering with want, Jake shook his head.

  “Not yet.”

  He moved closer so his dick was at my mouth. Then he rammed himself in and let out a low groan. I grasped his ass. He slid out, sending a little saliva dribbling down my lips. I licked it up, flicking my tongue against his dick. I opened my mouth wider, so he could slide it in deeper. Then he slid back in, my hands pulling his cock in deeper, my chin nestling his pelvis. He slid out and then slammed himself back in. Each time, both of us let out grunts of pleasure. It wasn’t long until I could hardly breathe from the pleasure and excitement.

  His hands picked up where they’d left off, caressing me slowly and softly, feeling every part of me, covering every inch. I was trembling with every movement, moans gurgling out of my lips. Then he cradled my head in his arms, slipped his dick inside me, and fucked me good.

  There was no need to start off slow—by now, I was so wet I was nearly dripping. Instead, he lifted both my legs up to my head and fucked me deeply and roughly. Already I was almost there, and his cock was rock-hard. By the time he flipped me over for doggy style, I was almost shaking. One slip of his dick in me from behind and I was gone, an orgasm overtaking me while his hot cum shot inside me. Afterward, we lay there, his dick still inside me, his hand stroking my head over and over again.

  Perfect wouldn’t have been a good enough word for the rest of the trip. Every day, I thought that it had been the best day, that the next couldn’t top it, and every day I was proven wrong. We tanned on the beach, reveled in the quiet nature of so many wildlife sanctuaries that I lost count, rolled around in bed, laughing at how we acted, and ate the delicious food they delivered right to our door—grilled meat and succulent vegetables.

  We also went into the villages, danced with the locals, learned how to weave and make bags. We went to my non-profit’s headquarters; we built a well. And, when it was time to go, we were ready to. There was no way to top it, this perfection. All there was left to do was be grateful for the experience and take the plane back to Denver.

  Inside Lungi Airport, which looked like two gray lumps, we stared dismally out the window as our flight was declared full.

  “A horrible mix-up. Bad, very bad. Very sorry,” the porter said, not looking sorry at all.

  He kept sneaking looks at Jake, although I was the one who had asked what the situation was.

  After another three hours of waiting, they directed us to a “special direct flight” that was apparently “complimentary.”

  So, onto the passenger-less flight we went. It was only when we stepped inside that I realized something was very, very wrong.

  Jake

  “What’s going on?” Alice asked in a low voice, and I wanted to kiss her then.

  Kiss her and tell her everything—only that would ruin the surprise.

  I did kiss her, but I only whispered in her ear, “You’ll see.”

  The fearful look on her face changed into a mischievous smile.

  “Jake, you’re the worst!”

  Laughing, I took her hand and led her to the padded seat by the window.

  “Well, babe, you always said you liked the window seat after all.”

  The plane roared to life, our hands clasped, and we were off.

  Soon my sweet Alice was slumbering, and I studied her face. She looked tired, and for good reason. We’d been going nonstop for a whole week—activity after activity after activity. Was what I had planned a good idea?

  I looked out the window at the expanse of blue below us. We were hours out of the airport, hours away from anything. Whether it was a good idea didn’t matter anymore; it was too late now.

  Alice slept the entire flight. Every once in a while, I’d glance over and marvel at her ability to block out the rumbling of the engine, the shaking of the plane, the uncertainty coiling in my chest (me, who knew where we were headed!). But on and on she slept, even after the plane touched down. I had to shake her several times before her eyelids finally opened.

  “We’re here?” she asked, and I nodded.

  “We are here.”

  She smiled, and I kissed her and then took her hand. Once we were a few feet off the plane, she giggled.

  “I know where we are.”

  I squeezed her hand.

  “Oh yeah?”

  She kissed my cheek.

  “New York City.”

  I shrugged.

  “Yeah, well you don’t why we’re here, princess.”

  She lightly smacked me.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  As I led her to the building, I only smiled in response.

  “Where are we going?” she asked when we reached the building and started angling our way past slow travelers with their hulking luggage.

  “You’ll see,” I said.

  “Don’t we have to get our luggage?” she asked.

  “No.”

  In the airport, I bought her a hot dog—New York was famous for them after all—and then we continued on. Outside, the limo pulled up just in time. Inside, we sat on lush, blue velvet sheets.

  “When will I get to know where we’re going?” Alice asked.

  I patted her head.

  “You’ll know it when you see it.”

  And she did. When we pulled up to the hulking, columned building, she let out an astounded little “oh!”

  Taking her hand, I led her up the steps, past the throngs of camera-bearing tourists, and through the tall black doors. And then, there in front of us they were. The dinosaur bones. The first time we’d met and not even known it.

  When I glanced over, Alice’s eyes were filled with tears. Maybe she was seeing what I was—the little boy and the little pigtailed girl, the first sign of hope in a dark world.

  Holding her hand, I whispered, “Thank you, Alice, for everything. You have saved me more than you can know.”

  Staring up into my eyes, her own an impossible shade of blue, she murmured, “Thank you, Jake. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  And then I kissed her, my wife, my love, the woman of my dreams, the girl who saved me. Alice.

  As I held her, all I could think was that I had never been happier.

  The End

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  Fake It For Me

  Layla Valentine & Ana Sparks

  Ready for a story that’s naughty and nice?

  Next up is our previous book, Fake It For Me, in full!

  Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine and Ana Sparks

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author. All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  This book was previously published under another pen name, Evelyn Troy.

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  Chapter One

  Eva tilted her head back against the ergonomic support at the top of her chair, stretching against the tightness she could feel in her neck and shoulders. A glance at the clock on her desk phone told her that she only had two more hours left in her shift; the rush had soon tapered off into the mid-afternoon slump. By the time she clocked out, there would be another rush—people calling in right after work to tak
e care of their business with the bank—and Eva wanted to make sure that she clocked out exactly on time to avoid being roped into staying “on the floor” as they called it.

  She closed her eyes, imagining fleeting memories of better days: the Louis Vuitton handbag she’d had to give up, along with the Louboutin shoes, and the vacation she’d taken to Cancun. How the mighty have fallen, she thought bitterly, opening her eyes once more.

  Eva blinked a few times, scrubbing at her face with her hands. Just two more hours and I’ll be out of here, she reminded herself, glancing at the time once more. She could hear Jana, one cubicle down, patiently explaining something to a customer. Eva gritted her teeth and took a slow breath.

  She had known it would be a bad day as soon as she’d arrived on the floor, stepping off of the elevator and into the cacophony of a rush. Eva had quickly learned the apparent cause of the influx of calls: there had been a system issue the night before, which had made twenty-five thousand accounts reflect “past due” status. The tech team didn’t have an ETA on when the issue would be resolved, but had simply told everyone to flag the accounts in question.

  Same as always, Eva had thought bitterly. She had been through two similar incidents with the company within about six months after training; and generally speaking, unless there was an issue that the higher-ups thought really merited a “mea culpa” from the company, any and all customer satisfaction surveys that came in during those incidents still counted against the metrics that all the call center employees had to meet. “We trust that you have the resources and intelligence to turn a negative moment into a positive branding opportunity,” they always said.

  Eva was certain that her surveys—if any went out for that day—would all come back with solid negatives. No matter how she explained the issue, using the script provided in the update in her own words, none of the callers had sounded satisfied at the end of the conversation. They had—almost to a one—wanted a statement credit to compensate them for the inconvenience of having to see a big, red, Account Overdue on their homepage online. Of course, Eva—as a first-tier representative—didn’t have the clearance to do that, and even if she had, she knew she probably wouldn’t have done it for more than maybe three of the thirty calls she had taken that day.