Prince's Pregnant Princess

by Ana Adams

  His gaze darkened. “You know.”

  She bit back a grin, pleased for the sideways confirmation that she wielded exactly as much power over him as she’d suspected. “Well, it seems like we both get each other into trouble.”

  The waiter appeared, leaving a slick black folder with Niccolo. He assessed the bill and tucked a credit card inside, handing it back to the waiter.

  “But we should be good,” she added quickly, a laughable homage to her rapidly disintegrating resolve. Like being good was an option at this point—a bottle deep and topped with oysters. They’d set themselves up to be bad.

  “Should we?” His lips turned up at the corner. “Listen, let’s go back to my place.”

  His words thundered through her. “Really?”

  “I’d like to have another drink with you.” He paused, licking his lips. “Let’s go to my penthouse.”

  She nodded before she could convince herself not to. “Definitely.”

  The waiter returned with his card and they left quickly, Niccolo’s hand on the small of her back as they maneuvered toward the front doors. Outside, the black Hummer waited for them, engine rumbling as they clambered inside. Niccolo said something to the driver in Italian, which made Georgia’s eyebrow lift.

  “Did you hire him from Italy?”

  “No, but I like to find Italians when I can.” He grinned, resting his arm on the seat behind her. “I like the link to home. It helps keep me sane.”

  She giggled, scooting closer to him. “You’re so full of quirks.”

  “So are you.” His hand fell to her exposed knee, which he squeezed gently. She gnawed at the inside of her lip, trying to downplay how wet that made her. This man’s touch was otherworldly.

  “By the way,” he added, shifting so that their bodies touched. “You never told me if the oysters worked.”

  She tilted her head to look up at him. He made her feel so secure, and at the same time he set her heart racing and pulse pounding. “Worked how?”

  He cocked a grin. “Don’t play coy. You know what I mean.” He dropped his lips to her forehead, brushing them so gently across her skin that she thought she imagined it. Goose bumps pricked up and down her arms. “Did they turn you on?”

  She laughed, but it got caught in her throat. The oysters had nothing on him. “I think so.”

  His kisses trailed to the bridge of her nose. “Hmm. So maybe you need some relief.”

  She pressed her thighs together, wishing they could be at his house already. “I think I do.”

  “Good thing we’re going to my place.” He grabbed her chin between thumb and forefinger and then covered her mouth with his. A slow, thorough kiss arrived, entirely different from the urgency coursing through her veins. She wanted to tear his clothes off and take a bite of him—he inspired a wild abandon in her, one that she’d never encountered before. Never in her life had she thought she’d be tempted to jeopardize a job in the name of a hook-up.

  But with Niccolo, she’d done it twice. And hell, she’d do it as many times as humanly possible.

  She relaxed into the seat, letting him overcome her, relishing the velvety brush of his lips as they kissed over and over again, each kiss ratcheting the passion up even higher. His hand smoothed up along the side of her leg, pushing at the hem of her skirt. She stilled his hand, pressing her forehead against his.

  “I don’t want to do this in front of your driver,” she whispered, pinching her eyes shut. That had taken all of her willpower to say. She was moments away from taking her clothes off, driver be damned.

  He coaxed one more kiss from her, moaning softly before pulling away. “We’re almost there. I can keep myself off of you for ten minutes, I suppose.”

  She dabbed at the corners of her lips, adjusting her clothes from the disarray he’d caused in so little time. When the Hummer pulled up to a yawning blue steel skyscraper, Georgia followed him like she’d been transported to Oz. Every step beside this man felt like a dream—one she’d been too lucky to be transported to. He grabbed her hand and led her inside a sparkling white and gray foyer, dotted with palms and fountains, and headed for an elevator. Everyone who passed him bowed their head.

  “You sure rule the roost around here,” she whispered, slinging an arm around him.

  He cinched her against him, kissing the top of her head. “That’s what happens when you buy the penthouse.”

  Inside the elevator, he pressed her against the wall, smothering her with kisses. She giggled between kisses, clutching at his lapels, enjoying the way his sweet heat combined with the rush of upward motion in the elevator. When the elevator dinged, they stumbled out toward a lone oak door on the uppermost floor. Niccolo pressed his thumb to a pad beside the door and it swung open without him touching it.

  “Welcome to my home.” He led her inside an expansive sweep of wall-to-wall wood floors dotted with angular furniture all in slate gray tones. The art on the wall was sparse but well-picked, and the far wall of the penthouse was pure windows, overlooking the breathtaking cityscape of Manhattan that glittered like a treasured jewel.

  “Oh my God, Niccolo.” Her mouth fell open as she took it all in. “This place is incredible.”

  He snagged her at the waist. “Want to see my bedroom?”

  She nodded, following him like she was a groupie and Niccolo was the sexiest member of the Backstreet Boys. Though really, this elegant reality far exceeded any of her younger teeny-bopper dreams. This stuff was way better than anything she could have dreamt up back then. Working for a prince…visiting his penthouse…her lover a distinguished, mature man…

  “I’d like to think this is part of my early birthday celebration.” He pushed open the French doors leading to his bedroom, guiding her in at the hips. “No one better to spend it with than you.”

  She giggled. “How old will you be?”

  His grin widened. “I’m not telling.”

  “Oh, come on.” She strutted around the four-poster king bed, dragging a finger over the silky black comforter. “I get to know. After the night we’ve had.”

  His jaw flexed as he slipped out of his shoes. “Forty.”

  She stilled, turning to look at him. Surprise shuddered through her and left confusing tracks through her limbs. “Seriously?”

  He nodded, slipping his watch off. “The masquerade ball is actually the eve of my birthday. Is that a turn off for you?”

  Her gaze fell to the comforter. She’d never been with a man so old before. Fifteen years her senior—that felt serious somehow. But she didn’t know why. “No, not a turn off.”

  “But not what you were expecting.” He eased onto the bed, reaching for her. “Come here.”

  She sauntered toward him, falling into his open arms. She nuzzled his neck, relishing the wave of security that flooded her, the tang of his cologne that she’d probably never forget.

  “How old are you?”

  She pulled back to grin at him. “Guess.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Twenty-five.”

  “Close. Twenty-six.” She smoothed her hands over his chest. “Is this wrong?”

  He snagged her lips in a kiss, prompting a whimper from her. “Does it feel wrong?”

  She shook her head, pushing her hands under the collar of his shirt. “It feels right.”

  Niccolo’s warm hands slipped over the curve of her hips, grabbing the round flesh of her ass. She inhaled sharply, arching against him, breathing into his ear as he unzipped her skirt from behind. He pushed it down to the ground, followed by her panties. The skin of her ass cheeks pimpled in the cool air; Niccolo gave one cheek a curt slap, grinning up at her like a school boy.

  “Bend over, bambina.”

  Her chest tightened at the unexpected pet name in Italian and she bent over the edge of the bed as he unzipped his pants and stepped out of them. He tore his shirt off in record time, tracing the curves of her body with his rough, warm hands. She moaned as he pushed her shirt up, cupping her breasts, rubbing his s
wollen cock over the crease of her ass.

  “You are too sexy,” he growled, gyrating his hips against her. “You drive me wild.”

  She whimpered, looking back at him, pussy clenching with desperation. “I need it, Niccolo. Please.”

  He licked his lips, slapping her ass check with a tight crack. “What do you want?”

  Satisfaction shuddered through her. She could do this all day with him, all week…shit, as many times as he’d let her. “I said I need you to fuck me, Niccolo.”

  He moaned low, dragging his thumb over the folds of her pussy, prodding and pinching at the needy nub between her legs. She yelped, a shiver lighting through her.

  “You like that.” He ran his hands up and down her back, knocking his groin against the crease of her ass. “I have something else you’ll like.”

  “Mmm.” She bit her lip, arching her back so her ass stood higher in the air. “I bet you do.”

  “You want this?” He ran his cockhead up and down the crease of her pussy, sending jolts of pleasure that nearly buckled her knees. “Bambina mia.”

  She swallowed a yelp. “Give it to me.”

  His breath came out in shuddery pants as he aligned his cock, the fat head easing in slowly. He pressed himself inside, a delicious, languorous heat trickling through her, all the way to her fingers and toes, and she moaned low the entire time he sunk inside her. Niccolo said something in Italian that sounded like a swear, clutching her hips so tightly she wondered if there might be bruises the next day.

  Georgia grabbed handfuls of the comforter, already seeing stars behind her eyes. “Fuck, Niccolo.”

  He groaned and started a delicious rhythm, one that prompted her to slide her palms forward on the bed and arch her ass even higher into the air. He grunted as she changed angles, and the way his cock slammed into the most tender, sensitive part of her pussy made her voice come out in a guttural growl that she’d never heard before.

  White-fisting the black bedspread, she grunted, “Don’t stop.”

  He slid his hands down to cup her breasts, the slapping of their skin a pleasing rhythm. She bit into the comforter, tensing as the tidal wave of pleasure churned in her core. The way he filled her, the heat of him pressing into her core, this was the stuff she’d only ever dreamt about. No man had ever filled her this way.

  Niccolo had something that nobody else could even touch.

  She squealed, pushing up onto her hands, pinching her eyes shut. “Niccolo baby, I’m coming!”

  He worked her a little faster, gripping her hips like she might float away if he let go. “Come for me, Georgia. Come for me.”

  Panting, she fell over the edge, pleasure coiling dense and hot in her core until it sprang free and coated her limbs in wave after wave of bliss, shuddering through her and making everything white bright hot behind her eyes.

  She slumped to the bed a moment later, totally spent. Niccolo eased down on top of her, breathing heavily.

  “Did you come?” she asked lazily, barely able to keep her eyes open.

  He laughed. “I did. So hard.” He rolled off of her a little, dragging his fingers up and down her back. “You came so hard you didn’t even notice.”

  She nodded, curling up into a ball, snuggling into the warm expanse of his chest. Keeping her eyes open was a useless endeavor. Sleepiness clawed at her. “It was the oysters.”

  He kissed the top of her head, fingertips tickling the back of her neck. “Absolutely, the oysters.” ***

  The next morning, Niccolo awoke with a start. Georgia was buried in his arms, a reassuring warmth next to him. He swallowed the dry taste in his mouth, smiling down at her.

  He settled back into bed, thankful for the dark curtains. Bright sunlight threatened at the edges, and it had to be early, if his body rhythms told him anything. Even on the weekends, he rose naturally at six a.m.

  Georgia stirred in his arms, mouth parted slightly as she slept. The unexpected sleepover had been nice—very nice. Even in the clarity of the next day, he could feel on a cellular level that he wanted this to happen again.

  But it can’t. She’s your employee.

  His phone dinged softly from the bedside. He reached for it, finding a work email waiting for him. Exactly how he woke up almost every day—tending to emails. He scanned the contents, then began typing out a response. Georgia stirred and stretched beside him, yawning.

  “Morning.” She rolled onto her back.

  “Morning.” He grinned down at her. “Sleep well?”

  “Like a bambina.” Her devilish grin seared through him.

  He set his phone down so he could caress her cheek. “You’re cute.”

  “You’re working.” She narrowed her eyes at his phone. “It’s the weekend. You’re supposed to be off.”

  He sighed. “I’m never off, don’t you know this by now?”

  She yawned again, turning away from him. “Well, I am.”

  He finished the email quickly, and as soon as he sent it, another one came in. Slight media storm in Italy involving his father’s taxes; his immediate attention required. He sighed, letting the phone slip from his hand.

  “Don’t tell me,” she warned.

  “I have some serious work matter to tend to,” he said, rolling over to shape his body to hers. Murmuring into her ear, he added, “But I don’t want to.”

  She tightened the sheets around her. “Are you kicking me out?”

  He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Not yet.”

  “Well, that’s romantic.” She pushed the sheets aside, rolling out of bed. Her creamy curves called to him, made him reach for her as she headed for the bathroom. “I suppose I have shit to do anyway.”

  He gnawed on his lip while she was inside the bathroom, struggling to reorient. This could never work. She wasn’t a friend, or a quick lay, or even a one-night stand. She was his personal assistant—the woman he’d hired, and actively paid money. Sleeping with her was an enormous breach of ethics.

  And if he wanted to avoid any whiff of scandal, he had to play it straight. Even when his body begged otherwise.

  When Georgia came out of the bedroom, her sleepy face was like a punch in the gut. God, he wanted her to stay. To just curl up in his arms while he lazed the day away.

  “Listen, I do have to take a call soon.” He averted his gaze, straightening his posture. “I’m not trying to be rude. There’s an issue back in Italy.”

  She nodded, stepping into her underwear. “I get it.”

  He massaged his forehead, trying to measure his words. “And we…we, uh…”

  Snapping her bra on, she arched a brow. “Go on.”

  “We should cool it.” The words tumbled out like knives, painful and awkward. “I don’t want a scandal for the company. My father is facing some heat in Italy, and I can’t put the organization at risk.”

  Georgia paused to slip her mauve shirt over her head. “That’s fine. Trust me, I get it. What we’re doing is…not okay.”

  Not okay…but somehow totally right. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Exactly.”

  “Besides, I much prefer being single.” She stepped into her skirt, an unreadable expression on her face. Jealousy spiked inside of him, though he had no right to it.

  “Being single and free…” She sighed happily. “That’s what being twenty-six is about.”

  He slid out of bed, his back facing her. “Right.” A dark cloud descended over him, one that both confused and enraged him. He couldn’t have her—he just needed to get over it. Too many factors worked against them: their age; his organization, her position.

  “I had a great night,” she added, zipping her skirt up. She pulled her hair back into a messy bun, and then turned to him with a bright smile. “See you on Monday?”

  Niccolo clenched his jaw, reaching for his briefs, which were draped over the back of a chair in the corner of the room. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “I can let myself out,” she said, heading for the door. “If that’s ok
ay with you?”

  He sighed, resting his hands on his hips. “Sure.”

  She waved to him, blowing a kiss. “Bye, Niccolo.”

  He watched her go, fighting the urge to follow her until he heard the front door click shut. Back to the cat and mouse game—where she was the cat, and he was the sad, lost mouse.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday at work should have snagged Georgia the International Executive Assistant Award based simply on her dedication to playing it cool, and acting like her boss’s dick had not been inside her a mere forty-eight hours prior.

  It took all her courage and every last ounce of acting prowess, but somehow, she pushed from her mind the mind-blowing sex and the sweet early hours in his bed. Neither of those things would win her the award, and she definitely couldn’t be conjuring those memories if she hoped to treat Niccolo like her higher-up and not, for instance, the erotic lover she’d known for a total of two nights.

  By noon, after a few stilted but regular interactions, Georgia felt like they’d weathered the worst of the awkward storm. Those sexual slips were behind them; they could continue with life as simply colleagues.

  But what about the rest of him?

  Thoughts like these she had to continually push away, like sand filling in an actively dug hole. Perhaps with time she’d forget about the way bambina mia had rolled off his tongue, the sultriest pet name she’d ever heard.

  She didn’t feel scorned, exactly, but an unsettled confusion lingered in the background, shadows flitting just out of sight. Something about the way she’d left his apartment reeked of a dismissal. We should cool it meant let’s not do this ever again.

  Twice was too much; she knew it better than anyone.

  So why did it sting so much?

  By the close of the Monday work day, Niccolo turned off the lights and pulled shut his office door a few minutes before five. He smiled tightly at her as he walked by, waving like he might have to Martha each night.