Her Calling (Emma Book 3)

by James Grey

  The two others are smiling at me again. Just like with Yelena, I don’t detect any bitchy fakeness about them at all. They seem genuinely pleased to see me. I kind of have this image of plentiful cattiness in a harem, but maybe it’s not actually like that in real life.

  They part like the red sea as I get into the water, opening up a space between them. “Hi, I’m Emma!” I say, eager to fit in with them as soon as I can.

  “And I’m Annika,” says the blonde, blue-eyed one. She must surely come from Sweden, with that look and that name. “This is Samantha. She’s a newcomer too!”

  “Oh, that’s a relief,” I say, looking at the other girl with a smile. “I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

  “Likewise,” says Samantha. She sounds English, actually. She’s also blonde, although less strikingly so, and her hair is cropped shorter than Annika’s flowing locks. She has a tiny little doll’s face, with a few sharp freckles on her nose. She’s also got a tattoo across her shoulders, just at the base of her neck. The words, in some fancy font, appear to be Latin.

  “Are you also English?” I ask as I make myself comfortable in the tub. The temperature is spot-on for the moment, and I can feel jets fizzing gently beneath us.

  She nods. “Yeah, I am. I’m from Yorkshire originally, but I work for one of the London agencies and had the prince as a client just after he arrived here. And then on Friday, I suddenly got offered the chance for this!”

  I tell her my notice came pretty late as well, but both girls are staggered when I tell them I’ve only been in the game since the autumn.

  “Wow, good going!” says Annika. “I worked three years in Stockholm, then two more on the Cote d’Azur and Sardinia before I got a chance to join the harem. I’m in my second stint there.”

  “So…you can go more than once?” asks Samantha.

  “Of course you can. If the prince likes you, he’s going to ask for you again. There are some girls in the harem who just do a month’s work there every year, and then just chill out for eleven months.”

  Wow. That’s not a bad arrangement at all, I think to myself. I want to ask so much more, but this doesn’t really seem like the time to be gossiping. And we have to stop, anyway, because Mr Hakim comes back into the cabin.

  “Everybody stand for the His Majesty’s arrival.”

  I guess that includes us three in the tub: nothing surprises me any more. We scramble to our feet and stand knee-deep in the water. I try to adopt the pose I saw Yelena doing so well, mainly because it just appeals to me. I’m not sure I’m getting it quite right, but it certainly feels as sexy as I think it should.

  I hear footsteps crossing the cabin, somewhere behind my right ear, and hold my breath. There’s not a sound in the plane now, apart from this man moving.

  And then he’s in my eyeline, walking over to stand in front of the vast, luxurious seat in front of me. Every inch of his tight body is covered with a crisp, Western-style uniform that’s regal without being over the top. With the badge-emblazoned blazer done up to the top button, it makes me feel even more naked.

  His eyes are striking. They’re a piercing grey-brown, just a shade or two darker than his skin. And right now all they’re doing is looking vacantly off into space, somewhere behind the three of us. His tightened jaw reveals nothing but control, authority and leadership as he stands up stiff and straight. I subtly shift my pose to mirror his, dropping my hands to my sides.

  There’s a fucking prince in front of me!

  And now music begins to play over the address. No lyrics, just a brass band. The sound quality is a lot more impressive than I’m used to hearing on muffled plane announcements. I wonder what’s going on, and then it hits me. Holy grief, it must be the national anthem! Or at least some kind of royal salute. This is getting more and more surreal.

  When the music dies away, the prince relaxes his stance and begins to look us up and down. If we weren’t already naked, I’d have said he was undressing us with his eyes as we stand there.

  “Excellent, excellent,” he declares. “Emma, you are as beautiful as I’ve been told. Your body is like a poem.”

  Oh God, what do you say when a prince complements you?

  Then I remember what it said in my notes about not addressing him. So I bow my head in acknowledgement, hoping I’ve got it right.

  “Samantha. Your body pleases me greatly. You are like a fairy from the forest.”

  She copies my response. Neither of us gets told off, so it must be okay.

  “Please, sit down, all of you. We will prepare for take-off.”

  We scramble back beneath the water, and I notice Mr Hakim taking one of the two seats away to the side. Another man materializes from behind us. I recognise him as the guy I saw reading the newspaper in the VIP lounge.

  “This is our security and safety officer,” announces Mr Hakim as the paper-reader crosses the cabin and claims the other seat. I presume we’re not supposed to say anything to him either, and merely take this information on board.

  The whole thing’s a bit reminiscent of the showers at Cranleigh, I think to myself as the men buckle up. I remember how awkward I felt on that first morning. And I’m proud to think that I’m completely okay with it now. Although I do wonder if we’re going to be buckling up ourselves.

  “What about us?” I whisper cautiously to Annika, taking a chance that we’re allowed to speak. “Do we not do the seatbelt thing?”

  She shakes her head and replies softly enough that only I can hear her. “Nope. I think it’s probably against aviation regulations. But this is a prince. He does what he wants!”

  I shrug and smile. I’ve always thought, when travelling a plane, that those silly seatbelts aren’t exactly going to be a lifesaver if we crash headlong into a mountain. They’re probably just for show; something to save the airlines from lawsuits.

  And if we do crash into a mountain, then this is some way to go. Naked, in a hot tub, and in front of a prince. I wonder if he’s actually going to want sex on the flight? My thoughts wander to what lies behind that decorated door at the back of the cabin.

  There’s no safety demo and no announcements as we begin to taxi. We remain the tub, saying little to each other under Prince Yousuf’s benevolent gaze. I wonder where Yelena is, and turn around to look. She’s strapped into a seat next to the bar, facing the prince. Her legs are conspicuously and deliberately open.

  Then I hear the engines scream into life, and the plane lurches into heavy acceleration. My God, I can’t believe I’m about to take off in a hot tub. I smile nervously at Samantha, knowing she must be thinking the same thing.

  Fifteen seconds later, the small jet and its curious, regulation-busting cargo take to the skies of England. I’m Dunei-bound.

  Chapter XIV

  It’s extremely weird making ascending out of London in the sloshy confines of a hot tub. Nonetheless, the designers have clearly considered that the tub would be at quite an angle for the initial climb, and have installed a drainage hole so that the water doesn’t spill over onto the floor.

  For a moment we’re exposed from the waist up as the water tips towards the other end of the tub, but once the plane levels off the surface settles just beneath our breasts once again. The water depth is no accident, I’m sure. Clearly Prince Yousuf wants to see the tits he’s paying so much for, rather hide them under the water.

  He has his eyes closed for take-off, opening them only briefly to accept a fizzing, sparkling glass of champagne from Yelena. She bends over to speak to us, carefully positioning herself so the prince has an excellent view of her curvaceous ass.

  “And what would you ladies like to drink?” she asks sweetly.

  I take it Yelena is on bar duty for the time being.

  Samantha takes a white wine, Annika a small beer and I go for a modest glass of orange juice. It’s a bit early in the day for me to start drinking, even though my fellow newbie apparently isn’t shy of having a tipple.

  Yelena brings our dri
nks over on a small, round tray with polished silver handles. By the time she’s deposited them in the handy glass holders attached to the edge of our tub, the prince has flicked a movie onto a giant screen above the bar and donned a pair of headphones. And while he proceeds to ignore us, the other two men appear to be nodding off.

  I thought this might turn into a party flight, but it doesn’t appear that way. I’m not quite sure what we’re supposed to do at this point. Turn around and try following his movie without any sound?

  “What happens now?” Samantha asks Annika, echoing my thoughts.

  “Good question,” I add. “Do we just sit in the tub and drink for the whole flight? It’s eight hours, isn’t it?”

  “Well,” says Annika, turning towards the two of us and putting an elbow on the side of the tub. “Pretty much, yes! But, just so you know, this isn’t at all like in the harem. There, the prince would be visiting us on his own. There’s procedures to follow, but he still likes you to be keen and forthcoming.”

  “Does that mean we’re supposed to get out of the tub and go over to him…?” I ask, thinking back to what most of my clients like, and what Miss Jackson always stressed so much. Not to mention what I might fancy doing right now.

  “I wouldn’t,” replies Annika. “Things are a little different when we’re on the road. He calls the shots a lot more. But when he wants you, he’ll let you know.”

  I’m assuming he can’t hear us over his headphones. But it feels odd talking about him in this way, right in front of him. Annika doesn’t seem worried, though, and presumably she knows him pretty well. Yelena looks relaxed too, as she goes about her cabin duties in the nude, making frequent checks on happenings behind the curtain. I’m riveted by her body: she’s got the most stunning figure.

  As we get to know each other better, it emerges that Samantha is a fellow Cranleigh graduate! It turns out that several of the girls in the harem were at the school. That’s good to hear, because I’m nervous about meeting all these new women in one go. It’ll be nice to have some common ground.

  “You guys are lucky,” says Annika. “I don’t think there’s a school like that in Sweden. I wish I had known about your place – sounds like it definitely helps you get a foot in the door! I had a tough time at first.”

  I almost choke on my juice. A tough time? With her looks? She’s absolutely perfect – like a fuller, friendlier version of Petra.

  We chatter on about the school and about our exciting careers, until lunch is served. We’re given bowls of rice topped with soft chicken curry the colour of saffron. It’s sensational, and a million miles away from the crap you normally get fed in a plane. It’s an easy meal to eat in a hot tub, too, and I make it disappear quickly. I wasn’t aware of just how hungry I was!

  I actually ask Yelena if I can have seconds, and she obliges with another giant smile. Annika joins me in having another helping. After all, there doesn’t seem to be much else to do for the moment. I have a sense that sooner or later, though, we’re going to get summoned.

  We chill out and close our eyes a little after lunch, and I begin to wonder if I’m going to be spending eight hours in this tub after all. Surely the prince knows that so much time in a bath isn’t going to be brilliant for a woman’s skin?

  There’s not a lot I can do about the current state of affairs, though, so I fantasize about the harem. From what Annika’s says, it’s an otherworldly place. I can’t wait until we get there. And not just because of the naughty side – I’ll be escaping the London winter too!

  You get used to things quickly. It’s not long before it feels perfectly normal to be naked in a hot tub on a plane, sipping a drink while a prince watches on. I nestle down into a comfortable position, vowing never to sit in an economy class seat again. Nor to take my life for granted.

  I’m almost nodding off when I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. I look up – it’s Yelena who’s trying to get my attention. Her radiant face looks more serious now than it’s done all afternoon, even though it appears upside down from my perspective.

  “Emma,” she says, pointing towards the back of the cabin. “His Majesty wants you in that room. Go, quickly. Here, stand up. I’ll dry you down.”

  I let her rub me up and down with a yellow towel so soft and fluffy you could use it as a pillow. Then I swing my legs over the side of the tub, my heart beating wildly as Yelena dries them and I anticipate what might be about to happen to me.

  “Here, follow me,” she says, beckoning. She knocks at the mysterious door and, without waiting for an answer, shows me in. Before she leaves, and before I’ve taken in anything but the warm yellow glow of the new chamber, she kisses me on the lips. Long and light, with those cherry lips of hers.

  I’m not sure how much to kiss her back, but she moves away just before I have to make a decision. Then she smiles naughtily at me and closes the door behind her. I’m alone with Prince Yousuf.

  I daren’t breathe. This is just so far out of my comfort zone. Taking initiative with a regular client is all well and good, but I’ve never dealt with a prince before. Should I curtsey? How do you do that naked?

  I adopt the Yelena pose instead, taking on the stance of a shy, awkward schoolgirl whilst subtly thrusting both my pelvis and my breasts towards him. The floor in here is covered with a thick Persian rug, the luxurious quality of which I can feel beneath my feet. Although big by plane standards, it’s still a small room, maybe four yards wide and five long. All of which makes it highly disorienting that the walls are basically mirrors.

  And Yousuf? He’s sitting on the massage table in the middle of the room, nothing but a towel around his waist. His torso is firm, toned and masculine. I can see he’s erect beneath that towel of his. I’m very alert to such things these days.

  “Come to me, Emma,” he says, extending his arms just a little and beckoning me with all the fingers of both hands.

  I look up and smile, then take three uncertain paces towards him. He opens his knees wider and motions me to walk right in between them. Fuck, he smells good! I don’t know what the hell that scent is, but it has seriously woken me up. Do all princes smell this sensational?

  Then he touches me. Energy and lust race up and down my body as his hands squeeze my buttocks and his lips brush gently against my shoulders. He’s taking me in, sizing me up. Charles, apparently, is not the only one who likes take his time with these things.

  “Ah,” he murmurs as he releases his tight grip and lets his hands trail more gently across my butt. “I knew I made a good choice with you. This ass…it comes straight from heaven. You are a work of art. No wonder they speak so highly of you in London. Turn around.”

  I do as he says, and shiver with the pleasure of his hands running up and down my sides. The way he speaks also makes me shake with anticipation. Maybe it’s the royalty thing talking, but it could also be that this might be the accent to end all accents. I love the rounded, slightly American R’s and the way he voices the ‘th’ in ‘with’. That voice is mellow and soft, yet with a smoker’s edge. It oozes an appreciation of everything that’s good in life. And his natural authority is seeping into my being.

  He takes hold of my wet ponytail, lifting it from where it was sticking between my shoulder blades. He chuckles as he savours the feeling between his fingers and thumb.

  “Massage me,” he says suddenly, squeezing me gently away from him with his knees. He twists himself athletically onto the massage table, and I watch his well-defined stomach muscles tighten as he performs the manoeuvre. This is no lazy, fat prince, I think to myself with satisfaction.

  In no time at all, he’s face down on the table. I’m really nervous now. I hope he’s hoping for a sensual massage rather than a professional muscle relief one. Because the latter is one thing I still need to learn. Sensual, though, I can do.

  He snaps his fingers, and relaxing ambient music appears as if by magic. To this day, I don’t know how that trick worked. All the lights fade, while a spotlight falls on
a bottle of oil on the side unit, which also contains a sink. Flabbergasted by his apparently effortless command of technology, I reach for the oil, pour some onto my hands, and prepare to rub down the royal body.

  I decide to start with his broad shoulders, which look brilliantly muscular as he lies in this position, his bent elbows pulling his flesh tight and strong. I stand right in front of his head, which is buried into the face hole in the massage table. I guess I’ll just have to do this my way, especially if I’m not supposed to talk.

  I hear him sigh with satisfaction as my hands make contact with those shoulders. They’re warm and beautiful, and I can almost feel them respond to my touch. It’s as though my hands are at home here, like those of a master pianist on a keyboard. Not that I’m any kind of master – but I do like this thing I’m playing. I think I might be able to do this all flight long.

  What happens when I want to touch him elsewhere? Can I take it upon myself to remove the towel that goes down to his knees? I’m hoping for some guidance. And I’m really hoping his hands might reach above his head to grope me again. But it doesn’t happen.

  I move all the way around his body, giving plenty of attention to everywhere except the part covered by the towel. Right now, I’m taking it as a sign that it’s off-limits. But what if it’s a test? I’m puzzled about what to do next.

  Every now and then I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Actually, I’m so absorbed in his body that I tend to forget I’m naked. But then I see this girl, rubbing down an athletic prince, and I remember that she’s me. I’m that girl doing this. And thanks to the mirrors, I’m the girl behind her, and the girl behind her.

  There’s just something about seeing yourself doing something erotic and naughty, isn’t there? With one hand, I quickly test to see if I’m wet, although I’m pretty sure I know the answer. The results are positive.