by Teagan Kade
I keep my laptop out. There’s a window seat up here, something I’ve always dreamed of. I watch people come and go below, traffic passing on the Thames.
I punch in ‘Prince Spencer’ and look at the search results, all two-hundred million of them. For someone fresh into their twenties he’s certainly been around. It’s all the same—bimbos and jets and grand displays of wealth, the epitome of a privileged bad boy, but something about it all seems off—staged.
I hover my pointer over the search bar wondering whether I should. Fuck it. I punch in, ‘Prince Spencer penis’, subsequently assaulted with page after page of his cock in various poses.
“Well, well.”
Shit.
I slam the lid of my laptop down, and turn.
There he is, dressed to perfection, that shit-eating grin plastered all over his faultless face. “I’d know that appendage anywhere.”
I’m burning up, blubbering, “It’s not what you—”
“No?”
He comes forward and attempts to open the laptop. He could easily overpower me, but he lets me swat his hands away. “It was just research.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s going to be relevant to your readership.”
He’s got me good. “I thought you were meeting your father?”
“It was a short meeting. I see you’ve resolved your work issue.”
“How did you even get in here?”
“Your door was ajar. I simply walked in.”
Shit. He’s got me so flustered and strung up I can’t even remember to close doors now. “Where are Marcus and Richard?”
“The bar. I informed them we needed a moment.”
“Do we?”
He takes a seat beside me near the window, one foot up, crotch exposed. “You know, the real thing’s right here. It’s much more impressive in the flesh.”
“I prefer the pixel version, actually. At least it’s not trying to jump me every opportunity it gets.”
“Your loss.”
I place the laptop on the floor. “You really think you’re God’s gift, don’t you?”
“I’ve never had an unhappy customer.”
“But by your own admission they never stay. They bang you and get the hell away. You’re a one-hit wonder, and you want to make me your next hit.”
Even though he continues to smile, I see I’ve put a chink in his armor. I’m right. Even though he’s been connected to countless women, they never last. The question is, why?
He stands. I’m simultaneously relieved and disappointed.
“Dinner, tonight, at eight. I’ll send a car.” He pauses before walking away. “Don’t expect McDonalds.”
*
“Come on, you slinky bitch.”
It’s quarter to and I’m struggling to pull this skirt on. It’s my size, but I’ll be damned if my ass hasn’t ballooned overnight.
It’s halfway around my thighs when I overbalance and collapse onto the floor, flapping like a fish out of water as I try to tug it into position.
“You fucking fuck!”
“Talking to your dress now, huh? Not a good sign of mental stability.”
I look to the door, skirt cutting the circulation off in my legs. “Zoe? Jesus, is there anyone in London who knocks first?”
“Your door was—”
“I know, I know. I’ve been distracted.”
She raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. “I can see.”
“Well, are you just going to stand there or help me get into this motherfucker?”
Zoe hauls me up, and together we finally manage to get the devil-skirt into place.
Zoe looks me up and down in the full-length mirror. “Watch out, London. Grace Everett calling. You’re one hot mama.”
I give her ‘the look’. “Mama? Let’s not fast forward to a nuclear family now.”
I check myself out. Low-cut ivory top, matching mini—Damn, I do look kind of good.
“Come on,” she persists, “you’d make really cute kids.”
“You haven’t seen my date yet.”
“His Highness is hardly Rumpelstiltskin.”
I pull down my top a little, make sure mucho cleavage is on show. “I don’t know. There is something of a fairytale air about him.”
“So he is Prince Charming, hey?”
“Not exactly, but we’ll see.”
Zoe beats a finger against her chin. “How, very, very intriguing. He’s growing on you, isn’t he? By the way, your ass looks amazing in that thing.”
I raise an eyebrow at her in the mirror. “You’re not going girl-on-girl on me, are you?”
Zoe laughs. “That would be a nice twist, wouldn’t it?”
“Jesus, you are.”
“Nope, one-hundred-percent penis diet for me, my dear. Perhaps you could put in a good word with the Prince if things fall through.”
“Spencer?”
“No, Alexander,” she taunts. “Yes, Spencer.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to head down that path.”
“I don’t need a brain to get the job done, girlfriend. Give me a jar of coconut oil, a cup of chamomile and boy, the things I do.”
“Chamomile?”
She winks into the mirror. “You don’t want to know. These Brits might be walking yawns on the outside, but in bed? Freaky doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
*
Dinner is, as promised, far from fast food. There are so many courses I think the night is never going to end, and that’s the thing. I don’t want it to.
In a navy suit tailored tight, chest pressing out the shirt below in all the right places, Spencer opens up. Eyes are on us the whole night, our table position thankfully far from the windows and the keen eyes of the paparazzi.
We talk about his childhood, mine, the loss of my father, though I’m not ready to tell him everything, not yet. I’m breaking rules, yes, but I’m not ready to split myself completely open—raw and exposed. That takes time, time that seems to be moving faster than I ever expected, this whole trip an eye-opener in so many ways.
A girl approaches the table meekly. I see Marcus and Richard stand to the right, but Spencer waves them down.
Poor thing’s going into tachycardia. “Prince Spencer? Oh my god.”
Spencer smiles. “Your name, love?”
She can hardly get it out. “M-Maddy.”
“What can I do for you, Maddy?”
She’s already holding her phone. “Can I get a quick selfie? My friends will never believe me when I tell them you were here.”
Spencer looks to me. He’s asking for my approval.
I nod.
I see to the left the girl’s parents are watching on carefully. They probably think Spencer’s going to snatch their daughter away to back alley.
He can take me to the back alley.
Holy hell, Grace! Calm down.
I press my legs together tighter, surprised at how sensitive I am down there.
I manage to leap out of the way just as the flash on the girl’s phone goes off, Spencer with a perfect, postcard smile and the girl beaming but sunburn red.
She disappears in a fit of giggles not unlike the girl at McDonalds. That night seems like a lifetime ago.
“You get this a lot?” I query, as yet another dessert is placed before me. It’s a chocolate sphere, so shiny I can see myself in it. The waiter pours a tiny jug of hot liquid over it and the sphere opens up in petals, a ball of ice cream inside dotted with colorful little micro flowers. I can’t decide what’s more beautiful—the dessert or the man who watches on with such delight at my amusement.
Control yourself, sister.
Spencer takes his spoon. “The attention comes with the job, I’m afraid.
“A job, is that how you see it?”
He cuts into the ice-cream, pauses. “When you break it down, yes, it is a job, but don’t think the position is lost on me, Grace. I can be good when I want to.”
I can’t believe I’m
about to say this, stoop to his level. “What if I want you to be bad?”
He drops his spoon on the plate, the ringing drawing every eye in the room to our table. “Did you just say what I think you did?”
I shrug my shoulders, seductively sliding a spoonful of ice-cream into my mouth, surprised to find it tastes like licorice even though it’s bright blue. “Perhaps I need a little naughtiness in my life.”
“You don’t say.”
I spread my legs a little, giving my poor pussy some breathing room before it up and chokes me out. I hold the ice-cream up on my spoon, examining it. “I hear you don’t always like things… vanilla.”
If his eyes burn any harder I’m going to combust.
He picks up his spoon, runs it into his mouth upside-down. “I like many flavors.”
I swallow. “Perhaps you could show me sometime? A taste test.”
The way the smile that follows spreads tells me exactly what I want to know: Strap the fuck in, Grace. Things are going to get freaky.
*
We sit on the backseat of the limo wide apart, the air anxious. My hands are sweaty. I’m a nervous fucking wreck and really wondering why. I mean, how hard is it to reach over and grab him?
London’s wet again out the windows—blue, red and every shade in-between, a slick kaleidoscope.
Spencer leans forward to the letterbox window up front, speaking to the driver. “Martin, would you mind letting me get behind the wheel for a while?”
Martin?
The driver looks into the rear view. “I can get off at Piccadilly, catch the train home. Are you sure you’ll be alright, sir?”
“I do know how to drive, Martin.”
“Very well.”
Spencer slides the window shut.
I point to the front. “I thought his name was Jeeves?”
Spencer laughs. “Did he tell you that? Oh Martin, always the prankster.”
“Seems like you all are.”
“You didn’t actually believe him, did you?”
I try to remain tight-lipped, but I can’t help smirking.
Spencer seizes on it, swinging into the seat beside me and poking me playfully in the ribs. “You did. Admit it.”
He tickles harder and I topple over in fits of laughter. “Yes, I believed him. Ha ha, Americans are so gullible, God save the Queen and all that.”
He’s hovering over me, vibrations from the road sent through my back. I remember the way he held me on the bike, his cock hard against the small of my back.
The mood changes, the only sound the world whipping by outside and our heavy breathing.
“Spencer, I—”
He cuts me off before I can get it out, drawing me to his mouth quick and hard. In that moment my entire world is him. He’s everything.
He kisses me deeper, his tongue working between my lips and my own pressing back against it in earnest. I’ve never been kissed like this before, so completely. I shift and melt below him, conscious of his cock stiffening against the side of my leg.
The door opens and Spencer leaps back.
“The keys, sir.”
I can’t believe we’ve stopped so soon.
Spencer takes the keys off Martin’s hand. “Thank you, Martin. I’ll make sure I bring it back in one piece.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door closes and we’re left alone again, but the moment has passed, been broken.
Spencer looks at the keys and climbs out. He slides into the front, opening the letterbox window and looking into the rear-view, even puts on the silly chauffer cap. “Where to, Miss Everett?”
All I want are his lips back on my own, the kiss that demands everything of me, steals the breath from my body. “Anywhere.”
“Anywhere it is.”
The window closes and I’m left again in a vacuum of my own thoughts. I reach a finger to my lips, find them swollen and needy, my pussy pulsing below much the same.
What are you doing, Grace?
I’ve broken one of my golden rules, absolutely smashed it to pieces. No more assholes and here I am with the world’s biggest.
Are you?
The voice of reason grows smaller. I can’t deny it. I want more, crave it like a junkie crouched on the corner for their next hit.
I know only a window separates us. I know I could slide forward and ask him to stop, to join me back here, but I’m glued to the seat, the sides of my thighs slick and wet.
We drive through town, night falling and rain turning to sleet. I watch as snowflakes stick to the windows and sink to the bottom, clinging on before being blown away.
We pull down a side alley and right again, nothing but brick either side of the car.
I hear the front door open, the back. Spencer climbs in, shaking snow out of his hair.
“Where are we?” I question.
He runs his hand up the side of my leg. “Who fucking cares?”
I shiver at his touch, his finger lightly tracing my jugular, his tongue hot in my mouth, his free hand wedged up between my legs, my entire sex in his palm.
I snap upwards, breath halted, desperate for more no matter how wrong it is. If this keeps up he’s going to unravel me completely, unwind me from the inside out.
He’s a shadow above me, form and function.
His hands brush my upper thighs, and I’m surprised they’re rough, far from the manicured hands I expected of a royal.
My dress bunches up around my hips, pussy molten with need.
A rush runs from my head to my toes. I convulse below him.
Lights swing through the back window.
Spencer lifts off me. “Those fucking pricks.”
I go to sit up. “What is it?”
Spencer presses me back down. “Paps. Stay down. I’ll handle this.”
He opens the door and steps out. I can hear his muffled voice. “Gentleman, bit cold to be out, isn’t it?”
“Prince Spencer! Prince Spencer!” come the cries, flashes of light exploding up the walls of the alley.
“Who’s the woman in white? Prince Spencer!”
The front door opens and Spencer swings in, starting the car and beginning to back down the alley.
The letterbox window slides open. “Stay as low as you can. I’m going to get us out of here.”
They keep coming, cameras pressed against the glass as Spencer flies back in reverse—tap, tap, bang against the panels, a mob yelling, but all I can hear “Who is she? Spencer! Spencer!”
I keep as low as I can on the floor of the limo, hands over my head. I haven’t done anything wrong, but still I feel dirty somehow, guilty.
We fly out of the alley and into the flow of traffic, multiple horns sounding and Spencer flooring it to get the limo back under control.
Before long the weaving stops, the erratic driving gone.
“Sorry about that,” he says from the front. “You can get up now.”
I sit up in a daze, my head spinning.
“Your place?” he says.
I’m breathing shallow and fast. All I can do is nod.
Spencer returns to driving as I take out my phone and punch in his name. I do a news search for the last twenty-four hours. Immediately, an image of him pops up with the girl from the restaurant, but she’s been cut out so it’s just a photo of Spencer and me. I’m turned away from the camera, but a sliver of the side of my face is visible, my hand covering the rest, but it’s me—the mystery woman in white. There is no doubt about it. How long will it take before they clue on?
Deny it. You aren’t together. You’re working, doing what you were assigned to.
I calm down a little, my heart still galloping from our close escape. Another minute in that alley and things might have been much more complicated. I’m surprised the paps didn’t creep up with their lights off. Clearly they aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.
This time I make sure the door to my room is completely closed before we both collapse on the bed.
; Spencer sheds his clothes before me, no hesitation—shirt, pants, underwear, all of it gone.
He kneels before me, takes a heel in his hand and carefully removes it Cinderella-style. The other follows, my skirt tugged from my body, top drawn away as his cock brushes my belly.
He looks me over and shakes his head.
I suddenly feel extremely self-conscious. “What is it?”
He runs his hands up my sides. “You’re just so fucking beautiful.”
I look away. “You say that to all of them, don’t you?”
“Funnily enough, I don’t.”
Our mouths cleave together.
I reach behind myself and undo my demi-cut, toss it onto the pile of clothes beside us.
His hard-on bobs between us, the third wheel. My breathing’s uneven. I’m not myself and I don’t want to be.
He lowers his head and growls against my hairline. “I’ve wanted you from day one, you know.”
I find his eyes in the semi-dark tanzanite bright, my whole body a bonfire of sensation.
He rubs against my cheek with his stubble before biting my bottom lip and drawing it into his mouth. I’m surprised how much the pain turns me on, the way I crane for more. My back arches, kicks up, as I lash out for more.
“Spread your legs.”
I separate them and he reaches into the void, taking hold of the soaking crotch of my panties and pulling until they tear away at the side, tossed onto the floor.
It’s time. Fuck the rules. I’m bare, vulnerable, but I want him inside of me with every fiber of my being. I close my eyes and think of what it will be like with his cock filling me. In truth, the size of him scares me, but I’m so wet I’m confident I can take him, lose myself to him.
I open my eyes and there’s that devilish grin. He knows he has me precisely where he wants me. I should call this off, make him beg for it, gain the upper hand, but no, he knows how much I need it, need him.
He takes my hair in his hand and yanks back, sucking on the side of my throat and working his way down my chest with kisses that smolder against my skin. He moves left, up the side of a breast, lips opening and sucking a nipple inside, sucking until it’s thick and tender in the hot cavern of his mouth.
