I can't help but laugh. "You're not very subtle," I note. "Trying to get me to quit is not going to work, sweetheart."
She narrows her eyes. "I'm a princess. You can't call me 'sweetheart'." She pauses. "James."
"Call me James again and I'll call you worse than sweetheart."
Her expression hardens. "James."
"Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you. You want me to call you Sugar Tits now? You got it."
Her jaw drops and she gasps. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I let go of her with one hand, keeping tight hold of her arm with my other hand because this girl is obviously a runner and I'm not letting her out of my damn grasp.
"I literally don't even know what that expression means," she says haughtily. "I assume it's a crude American phrase."
"Nah, it's one of those classy-as-fuck American phrases," I reply. "Now get your royal ass back into the car because we're heading to the palace."
"I had plans," she insists.
"Your plans changed when you got out of the car. Now you're a flight risk."
"You're a dick," she says. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
I laugh. "You're not the first, Sugar Tits. And you're sure not going to be the last."
"Stop calling me that, damn it," she insists, her voice angry. "It's disrespectful."
I shrug. "Then I'll make it Princess Sugar Tits. Better?"
Her eyes narrow. "Not at all."
"Well, when you learn my name, maybe I'll bother to learn yours." My voice is gruff, partly because I'm annoyed with her but mostly because I'm standing here with my hand on her arm and she's looking at me the way she's looking at me – wild-eyed, like she hates me.
I want her.
I must be losing my fucking mind to want a spoiled bratty girl like her.
"I'm not bothering to learn the name of someone who's going to be gone in a matter of days," she insists. When I pull her arm to go, she pulls back. "And I'm not going anywhere with you like I'm some kind of prisoner in my own kingdom."
I look her directly in the eyes, my hand not moving. "You have no idea how stubborn I can be, princess. But you're about to learn. Your father wants you safe and following n your schedule and he's not firing me. And if you think I'm going to quit because you pull a few stunts, then you've lost your damned mind. I'm not going anywhere."
The princess inhales sharply, and I try very hard to ignore the way her full breasts rise in the t-shirt she's wearing, the one that she's taken a pair of scissors to, cutting the top so it's jagged on the edges and puts her cleavage on display. I try to ignore the way she pulls her lower lip in between her teeth, and I try to ignore the stirring inside me as hatred and anger flash in her eyes.
Something is really the hell wrong with me that seeing her angry at me turns me on.
Before I know it – and way the hell against my better judgment – I'm pushing her up against the nearest wall. She lets out a sound that's remarkably like a moan, and I'm pressing her hands above her head as she looks up at me, her breath coming in short gasps.
I don't kiss her.
I want to bring my lips down on hers – rough, hard – and take her mouth. I have the overwhelming urge to possess every inch of this girl I can't stand.
She arches her back, her breasts close to my chest, her face angled toward mine. Her lips are so close I can taste her on my tongue already. Then she whispers, her words soft and slow. "I'm just as stubborn as you are. So if you want a war, you've got one, James."
8
Alexandra
Max pauses in the doorway after clearing my room, which is in itself an exercise in total stupidity. Really, who's going to be hiding in my room in the palace, for goodness' sake? My other bodyguards clear my room intermittently, yet this one is obsessed with following every piece of protocol, regardless of how stupid it is.
"Are you satisfied?" I ask.
He pauses. "You're not going to undress for me this time?" His expression is serious, and the only hint that he might be joking is the tiniest of crinkles on the edge of one of his eyes.
I wonder if he ever smiles.
Probably not. He's probably too fucking busy following the rules. Arranging his shirts by color in his closet.
Rigid. Uptight. Wants everything his way. Totally demanding.
I wonder if he's like that in bed.
The thought sends a rush through me just like the one that went through me when he grabbed me in the alley. Standing there with my heart racing, my stomach doing flips over and over until I was dizzy, I thought about arching up to reach him and press my lips against his, just to see what they felt like. But I didn't, because princesses don't kiss their asshole bodyguards.
I raise my eyebrows. "I don't know what you're talking about," I lie, recalling the way I turned and slipped my shirt over my head that day, dropping it to the floor with the full knowledge that he was standing behind me.
I don't know why I did it, exactly.
I've never done something like that with one of the bodyguards before. I've never done anything with the bodyguards, actually. I've never crossed that line in any way. It's not that I follow the rules – in fact, rule-breaking is one of my favorite pastimes. It's that there's something really intimate about the relationship between a royal and their personal security.
A bodyguard spends time with a royal and knows all their secrets – everything there is to know about that person.
I'm not so big on being known.
"No?" Max asks, raising his eyebrows. He looks too handsome, standing there in his suit. Handsome isn't the right word for it because he's not groomed like all of the men who surround me, with their perfectly manicured hands and their perfect backgrounds and their perfect families.
I swallow hard, trying not to let my eyes linger on him too long. Too long and I might lose my cool. "Nope," I say, my voice clipped as I shrug nonchalantly. "I must not have noticed you standing there."
"Sure you didn't," he says, chuckling to himself as he turns to leave. He closes the door – quietly, almost politely, as if he didn't just drag me back from town like some kind of overbearing, domineering brute.
I let out a frustrated groan. He thinks he's slick, with his friendship with Albie and whatever understanding he now has with my father. But I'm not going to let some overzealous bodyguard come barging into my life like a bull in a china shop, dictating to me where I can and can't go or what I can and can't do – even if that bodyguard is the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on.
The very idea that a bodyguard could command a princess is ridiculous.
You know you'd like him to order you around.
The thought pops into my head, and as nonsensical as it is, I find myself entertaining the idea. But only briefly. I'd never act on it with this man.
I bet he's just as controlling in bed.
Arousal rushes through me at the thought of Max throwing my bedroom door open and bursting inside.
"What's my name, princess?" he growls as he heads straight for me, with no deference to my title or my time or my privacy or whatever the hell I might be doing in my bedroom.
I gasp as he grips my hair in his thick hand, yanking my head back until my face is upturned to look at him, only him. "James," I whisper.
Never bend. Never give in. Not even for him.
"Say it." He cups my breast over my shirt, and even though his skin doesn't touch mine, my nipple hardens like a rock immediately inside the fabric of my bra. I want his lips there. I want his tongue flicking over and over my nipple until I'm crying out his name. I want his mouth between my legs, his tongue inside me.
I want him inside me.
"I forgot," I whisper. I'm a liar.
He growls, the sound low and long like a wild animal. "I'm going to fuck you until the only thing you can say is my name. I'm going to make you moan it, over and over, until there's no other word on your lips. Until there's nothing else you can think about."
Inside my room, my heart poun
ds wildly, arousal flooding my body until the throbbing between my legs is so insistent that I can't think about anything else except getting off.
I don't even bother to lock the door to my room. My hands trembling, my movements shaky because I'm so desperately needy right now, I quickly disrobe, leaving my clothes in a trail on the floor behind me. I pull my vibrator from the bedside table and turn it on.
I don't even make it into the bed. The throbbing between my legs is far too insistent now and my entire body is on edge. With one hand on the bed to support myself, I bend over, my bare ass in the air, and slip the vibrator between my legs. It slides easily into my slick pussy.
All I can think about right now is how badly I want it to be Max inside me. Max standing behind me, his hands on my hips, thrusting his cock deeply into me as he pulls my hair back.
"Say it," he growls, yanking my hair harder and sending a shock of pain straight through my body. But the pain only makes the pleasure more intense as he fucks me harder.
He's bare inside me, his cock so full that I think he's close to exploding. The thought of him bursting and filling me up with his warmth sends me hurtling quickly toward the edge of oblivion. I moan loudly, then again and again with each one of his thrusts.
"Fuck me," I order – as if I'm the one in charge here, except we're both clear on who's in charge right now and it's definitely not me.
He yanks my hair in response, and I whimper. "Tell me you want to come, princess."
I whine now. Do I want to come? It's the sole thing I can think about. My whole body wants to come. It's the only thing in the world I want. "I need to come."
"I can feel you," he says, his voice thick. "Your pussy is swollen so tight, squeezing my cock so hard. I know you want to come. I know you want to feel me fill up that tight pussy."
"Yes," I breathe. I think I might be delirious, heat running through me from my head to my toes, preventing me from thinking about anything except Max and his cock. "Yes, yes, yes."
Then he stops.
He comes to a dead stop, his hands on my hips. I'm pulsing around him, so close to the edge that I think it doesn't even matter that he's stopped short to torment me.
I think I'm going to come anyway.
Max seems able to read my thoughts. He wraps my hair around his hand and pulls harder like it's a leash, or reins on a horse. "You don't come," he says harshly. "Not until you say my name."
He pushes the tip of his thumb against my asshole for emphasis. "Just say it, princess. Say it and I'll let you come."
For a split second, I hesitate. Then he presses his finger against my ass, sending a new wave of pleasure running through me. So I say it.
I say it because I want him so badly. I say it because I want him inside me. I want him to possess me. I want him to own me.
"Max," I whisper.
He moans. Pushing his finger into my asshole, he thrusts his cock deeply inside me at the same time. "Louder," he demands.
I call his name, louder this time. I call his name over and over and over and over and over as I come.
In my room, I'm panting. My breath becomes short, my muscles pulsing a steady rhythm around the vibrator as my head spins. I pause there, half-bent over the bed, catching my breath and trying to come to terms with the fact that I just came while fantasizing about that bossy brute fucking me.
Something must be seriously wrong with me.
* * *
"Well, I guess this should be fun," I whisper to Albie as our new stepsister enters the room. I pop my gum loudly, intentionally acting like an immature teenager. At least I'm dressed for that part. I thought my father's head was going to explode when I showed up to meet the Ice Queen's daughter wearing jeans and a ripped t-shirt and boots. Albie rolled his eyes and said my outfit wasn't going to be the centerpiece in this little meet-and-greet. He wouldn't tell me what he meant by that, but five minutes later, I found out.
We knew we were meeting our soon-to-be stepsister, but she didn't know she was getting two new stepsiblings sprung on her. Or that our parents were even dating. Or that her mother was seeing a freaking king.
I want to hate the girl. I don't want a new stepsister, and certainly not if she's anything remotely like her stuck-up mother. Isabella Kensington definitely appears just as prim and proper and perfect as her mother at first glance. Even worse, my father said she just got finished volunteering in Africa. So now she's thin, gorgeous, and incredibly good, too. It's impossible not to hate her.
I'm already certain my father will adore her. She'll be everything he's always wanted in a daughter. I can tell within the first sixty seconds of meeting her that she'll be the very princess-like, appropriate daughter he never had.
A pang of jealousy runs through me, but I try to squash it. She might quickly become my father's favorite, but it's hard not to sympathize with the girl right now. She looks completely lost, staring at us blankly and blinking as if she expects someone to reveal that this whole thing is some kind of practical joke.
Unfortunately for all of us, it's not.
Sofia Kensington looks enraged that her daughter's reaction is anything except thrilled, when her daughter is obviously totally blindsided. Anger rushes through me at the Ice Queen and my father. How could either of them think it was cool to spring this kind of news on the girl in front of her new "family"?
Then Isabella's gaze rests on Albie, recognition washing over her. Her eyes narrow. "You."
They know each other?
I see the expression on my brother's face. Oh, my God. He likes her. They definitely know each other.
Well, things just got interesting.
The Ice Queen quickly jumps in. "I apologize for the secrecy. Whisking you off to Protrovia on a private plane was designed to make things … efficient. Less messy."
No, she did not actually just use that as an excuse.
I gape at my new stepsister, waiting for a reaction, but she looks like her only response might be to pass out at any moment. Say something smartass, I think, staring at her wide-eyed as if I can telepathically communicate that message to her. Tell your mother that flying you to a palace and springing her engagement on you – to a king, no less – in front of people you don't even know is a total dick move.
But she doesn't. She doesn't blow up. She just stands there quietly, her hands folded in front of her, repeating what her mother just said.
She's in shock. That's the only conclusion that can be drawn here. Or maybe she's not that bright.
I hope I didn't get a stupid stepsister.
Then her mother says something about Isabella's wedding plans. Finally Isabella speaks, her voice loud and firm. "I am not getting married."
Okay, this girl knows my brother (who's conveniently neglected to mention that fact to me), as he stares at her now like a love-struck puppy, and she's just announced she's single?
Maybe this summer won't be so boring after all – and not just because of my feud with my bodyguard. Or whatever you might call it.
My thoughts flicker to the memory of me bending over the bed while thinking about my bodyguard. That was definitely not feuding.
He's made it several more days without quitting, despite my efforts to the contrary. He's stronger than I initially gave him credit for, unlike me. I've had a hard time preventing my thoughts from wandering back to what it might feel like to have his lips pressed against mine.
My growing obsession with Max's lips – not to mention his hands, or his body, or his dick – is ridiculous.
I want out of this family meeting, suddenly overcome by irritation with myself for even thinking about my bodyguard right now.
The Ice Queen's sharp voice snaps me right out of my thoughts, the equivalent of nails running down a chalkboard. "Isabella Kensington," she says, her icy gaze fixed on her daughter. "This is not the time nor the place to discuss your marriage."
I don't bother to choke back my bitter laugh. That's the height of irony, isn't it? Telling your daughter it's
improper to announce her breakup here at a meeting where you sprung an entire engagement on her?
I glare at Isabella. Stand up for yourself, I think, becoming even more annoyed when she doesn't. This girl needs to get a backbone.
This whole situation is enough to push me over the edge. "Well, this is juicy," I note. "At least I'm not the one causing drama for once."
Did I say that out loud?
I almost think I didn't, until my father scowls at me. "Yes, Alexandra, that's certainly a silver lining."
I resist the juvenile urge to stick my tongue out at him. All I want to do is get out of here. I don't want to get to know my new stepmother or her daughter, who seems to have trouble understanding what's happening here. "So the two of you are getting married," I say, crossing my arms. "I think we're all pretty clear as far as that goes. You've been seeing each other all summer. It's not exactly a big secret, okay? We're one big happy family. Smile for the press and all that. Are we done now?"
"Alexandra!" my father bellows. I've gotten used to the yelling lately, but Isabella jumps. "Yes. Sofia and I are getting married."
Then Isabella takes off. She just turns around and runs out of the room, pushing the large door open with a bang.
Albie glares at my father. "Nice job, Dad," he scoffs. He gives me a withering look. "You too, Alex. Way to make her feel welcome."
"I didn't ask for a new stepsister," I call toward his retreating back as he leaves. I turn toward my father and the Ice Queen before I walk away. "Or a new stepmother."
9
Max
"Would you fetch my coat, James?" the princess asks, her voice sugary-sweet. We're at an afternoon tea – literally, an actual tea, complete with teacups and lacy tablecloths.
I never thought I'd be at a tea party.
It's a charity event of some kind, one that the future queen insisted be added to the princess' schedule. Of course, when the future queen asked if security could clear this event for the princess to attend at the last-minute, I was more than thrilled to comply with the request. After all, the princess has been doing her best to make my life a living hell these past couple of weeks.
Her Bodyguard (Raunchy Royals Book 2) Page 4
