by Wood, Vivian
I look out the back window as my flat disappears around a corner. Splaying my hand out against the glass, I say a silent goodbye to my shitty apartment.
Then I turn and face forward, wondering what Copenhagen will be like.
Part II
The Wicked Prince
Chapter Seven
Margot
At twenty three years old, this is definitely not where I saw my life headed.
Exiled from New York.
Running away to Denmark.
Haunted by memories of a man that wasn’t at all who I thought him to be.
A man whose fiercely good looks and skills in bed still wake me up at night, panting his name.
Stellan.
I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the smooth off-white plastic surrounding the window of the plane. I let myself drowse and drift. As the plane carries me across the Atlantic, I’m in the elusive space between wakefulness and sleep. My mind wanders, half-formed shapes rising out of the ether to remind me of what I’m running from.
“Margot! Margot!”
Dimly, I am aware of a round black microphone materializing out of the dull gray void, and being pushed toward my face.
“What was it like to sleep with Denmark’s future king? Do you have royal aspirations? Are you and Prince Stellan declaring your intentions to marry?”
I flinch away, stirring a little. The microphone is shoved toward my mouth. Everyone is waiting for a response. I have no choice but to answer.
No, I think. I don’t want anything to do with him.
Stellan’s face takes shape in my mind. He is tall and broad, dark-haired with ice blue eyes and cheekbones for days. He is exceptionally gorgeous. It’s clear as day that he descended directly from the Vikings and looking at his face makes me feel weak in the knees.
In fact, I would describe his features as being distinctly aristocratic. But along with that comes the aloofness that I have always associated with royalty.
He holds himself apart from everyone else, makes a distinction based solely on how much money his family has. And that makes me wish I had never slept with him, no matter how fuckable I find him.
“Margot!” the reporter says again, jostling me. “Margot?”
Why is the reporter suddenly speaking in a smooth English accent?
I open my eyes to find Pippa peering at me. Pippa is my best friend from college; she is taking me with her back to Copenhagen, to outrun the screaming mob of paparazzi that dogged my every step back in New York.
Well, that explains the accent. Pippa is British.
It takes me a moment to realize that we are still on the plane. Pippa brushes her fiery red hair out of her face and folds up her tray table.
“We’re about to land,” she says. She nods to something past me. “Look out the window.”
I turn and look at the view. It’s pitch black out as it is quite late here in Copenhagen. A million tiny points of light shine through the darkness, filtering up to me in the shape of a city. It isn’t nearly as huge as New York City, the place that I’m running from.
But it shimmers and twinkles all the same. I place my hand against the glass as we start to descend. Copenhagen will be my home for the next few months.
As the plane lands and I rush to follow Pippa to customs, I am beyond nervous. We line up behind half a dozen other people, all waiting to have their passports examined and stamped. I flip open my brand new passport, creasing the book a bit, and peer at the picture inside.
A tiny, shell-shocked woman with pink hair glares back at me. I’m wearing a leather jacket in the photo and look like more of a badass than I actually feel like. I grew up with less than nothing; not only did I not have any money; I wasn’t even sure from night to night where I would sleep or how I would eat.
I’ve definitely never been out of the country before now. Swallowing, I try to slow my heart rate, which soars higher with every step I take toward the plexiglass security booth.
Pippa leans in close, seeming to tower over me. Pippa is a good six inches taller than me and always dresses impeccably in long, flowy dresses. “Relax.” She elbows me. “We’ll be through this line in just a minute.”
She winks at me. I wrinkle my nose but stay quiet. It’s often best to stay silent if you only have negative things to say, I find.
We go through customs and security, arriving outside. New York City is hotter than this in the early summer. It’s probably only about seventy five degrees outside right now, just warm enough to not be chilly.
As we get into a cab that Pippa flagged down, she yawns. “This time change thing is going to give me killer jet lag. Tomorrow we should sleep in if we can before we have to be at Politiken.”
I look out at the blurry cityscape, feeling bleary. “Politiken is essentially the New York Times of Copenhagen. It’s about as liberal as they come…”
I look at Pippa, who cocks a brow. “I know. You’re telling me about a place that I work. And as of tomorrow, we will both work there.”
Giving my head a shake, I roll my eyes at myself. “Sorry. I think the jet lag has somehow caught up with me already. I meant to ask whether you think that they’ll want me to just write or to take pictures, too. My camera hasn’t been used professionally for way too long.”
Photography is very much my first love.
She shrugs. “I have no idea. My editor Anna just told me to get your butt to Copenhagen… she didn’t say what kind of stuff she’ll have you working on.”
I lean my head back, closing my eyes. “Maybe this is the launch of my career and I don’t even know it. Maybe it’s a new opportunity that comes disguised as a torrent of paparazzi screaming questions.”
It’s true. When I left New York, it was under a black cloud. It seemed like every paparazzo had the same endless strings of questions for me every time I dared to open my door just to check the mail.
Margot, did your affair with Prince Stellan leave you star struck?
Are you going to Copenhagen to be with him?
What is it like being a real life Cinderella?
The last one really stung. The tabloids really concentrated on the rags to riches aspect of the whole salacious affair. Basically I didn’t tell them anything, so they just jumped ahead without any kind of factual basis for the entire story.
Stellan has been radio silent ever since I walked out of his hotel to a mob of reporters. I met someone that I thought was my dream guy… tall, handsome, and witty… and then he vanished into a swirl of dust at the first camera flash. A low sinking feeling still lurks in the pit of my stomach a week later.
Pippa chuckles. “I know you must be tired, because that is way more optimistic than you usually are.”
I grin. “Yeah, probably. Ask me how I feel tomorrow and I can guarantee it will be different.”
The taxi stops downtown in front of a high rise and we get out. I carry my two duffel bags — the sum of all my worldly possessions — up to the fourth floor. Following Pippa into her apartment, I look around.
It’s a cozy little apartment; the perfectly white kitchen is to my left, a living room set up to my right. There are stacks of magazines, newspapers, and junk mail piled haphazardly every place I look.
Pippa bares her teeth as she sweeps a pile into her arms and drops her suitcase on the couch. “Sorry it’s such a mess. I didn’t realize I would be returning from New York with a new roommate.” She pauses. “I’ll actually have to move some stuff out of your room. And make some room on the counter in the bathroom…” She pulls a face. “And you shouldn’t open the refrigerator…”
My lips curl upward. “It’s okay, Pips. We lived together during college. I remember it fondly.”
She blushes. “I’ll get a maid if my mess starts to affect you.”
I shrug. “I’ve literally been homeless before. I’m sure I’ll manage.”
Pippa shows me down the hallway and into the second bedroom. There’s a little futon set up in there that is li
terally covered with books. Other than a tall IKEA lamp and a mostly empty closet, the room is bare.
“We’ll set it up way better,” she promises. Then she yawns and stretches. “Come on. Help me get these books off the bed. I think I have some extra sheets in my room…”
Half an hour later I lay down on sheets that only smell like mildew a little bit, sighing as I close my eyes. It’s almost two in the morning here now.
I toss and turn for a few minutes before I realize that I am used to a streetlight glowing just outside my window when I’m trying to sleep. My brain is just full of anxieties: my work, my address, and my social status have all changed in the last twenty four hours.
Rolling onto my side, I stare up at the ceiling. In the back of my mind, one paparazzo’s question stands out in my mind still.
Margot! Aren’t you glad that you won’t have to work anymore now that Prince Stellan is your lover?
I grit my teeth. When it comes down do it, that is the problem. These tabloid hacks are allowed to make up whatever they want about my life. Not only that, but they reap rewards from lying.
I would never give up my dreams for a guy, no matter who he is. I don’t know how I feel about love in general. Can it be trusted?
It doesn’t matter in this case. No amount of insanely chiseled abs or dimples that make me swoon are worth that. Besides, giving up photojournalism for a man would make me extremely vulnerable.
Vulnerability isn’t something I can afford, not when Stellan is around. One night together shattered my entire world… I hope I never have to be in that position ever again.
Blech! I make a face in the dark, though no one sees it except for my musty-smelling pillow.
No. No fucking way. I would rather die than be that dependent on any man.
I’m Margot fucking Keane, and I make my own way in the world. For better or for worse, I will always be independent. I’ve been at the ass end of society: on welfare, my parents MIA, uncertain where my next meal could come from. I’ve been homeless and I’ve was even in the foster care system for a while.
What I’ve learned in all that time is a fiercely held independence and a kind of stubbornness that can shame the devil. And no matter how hard they try, they can’t take that away from me.
Rolling over, I bury my face into my pillow with a sigh.
Chapter Eight
Stellan
She’s so small, her features like that of a doll. Her head doesn’t quite come up to my shoulder. Yet she is so… perfect.
Soft pink hair like so much cotton candy, with dark blue eyes that follow me whenever I move. And her body… as she tugs her black negligee over her head, the sight of her full breasts makes my breath leave my lungs. Her nipples are the most alluring color of blush; they make my mouth water.
God damn, she’s so beautiful.
I reach down and adjust my cock in my boxer briefs. Then I grate out a command. “Take off your panties.”
Margot’s gorgeous lips twitch. She tilts her head. “Why don’t you come over here and do it yourself?”
I smirk and then move onto the bed very, very slowly. “You are defiant.”
The breath leaves her lungs as my arms cage her in. “Until my last breath.”
I consider her for a second. Then I reach up and push her hair away from one side of her neck, the backs of my fingers touching the slim white column of her throat. “Someone should teach you a lesson, ja?”
She lifts her head, her eyes full of need and want. “I’ve been waiting for a teacher.”
I can feel her racing pulse. I run a single fingertip down her neck, over her collarbone, tracing a line between her bare breasts. She sucks in a breath.
My touch trails down her ribs, across her navel, and ends at the top of her panties. She squeezes her thighs together, biting her lower lip.
I smirk at her. “I’m going to fuck you senseless. If you’re going to tell me to stop, this is your last chance.”
Margot bites her lip, smothering a grin. She shakes her head. “Less talk. More action.”
I smile as I literally rip her panties off of her body. I kiss her on the hip, then on the top of her thigh. She can’t hold back the sultry moan that rises in her throat. My fingers wander up to find her nipple and tweak it hard.
Gasping loudly, she arches into my touch.
“Good girl,” I purr. I splay a big hand underneath her belly button, covering her public mound. Pressing down firmly as I shower little bites and swift nibbles to her thighs, I work my way closer and closer to her shaved pussy.
She watches as I run the tip of one thick finger up the seam of her pussy, just barely touching. A twisted, angry grunt leaves her lips.
“Stellan!” she reprimands.
I look up at her, grinning devilishly. I place the lightest of butterfly kisses over her pussy, making her writhe.
“Stellan, please!” Margot begs.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, skatter. I’m not going to let you come just yet.”
Instead, I push myself up onto my knees and grasp my cock through my boxer briefs. Her lungs constrict as she watches me. I’m looking down on her, naked and spread out.
Fuck. She’s the most gorgeous little thing I’ve ever seen.
Eyeing her, I bite my lip. “I think I need to taste you, skatter. But I also want to feel the tip of my cock in your fucking throat.”
Her entire body tightens with need. My lips twist into a naughty smile.
“Can you control your gag reflex?”
Her cheeks color. “A little.” She gets to her knees, reaching for me, but I sneer at her.
“No. You lie on the edge of the bed, like this.” I grab her, positioning her so that her head is by the foot of the bed, dangling off just a little. “If it’s too much, just tap my leg. Ja?”
Nodding, she watches as I strip my black boxer briefs off. My cock bounces up, jutting straight out.
“Holy shit,” she breathes, her eyes widening. My cock is long, thick, and veiny in a way that male porn stars would be jealous of. I’m also uncut, which honestly can be unnerving to the unprepared.
I grin, grasping my cock and wiggling my eyebrows. Then I step forward. “Open your mouth. Cover your teeth for me, skatter.”
Licking her lips, she opens her mouth. I step closer and nudge the tip of my cock between her lips. It’s hard to be still in that moment. I want to take her mouth, fucking it with abandon, and making myself come in a matter of seconds.
But I don’t.
I groan, closing my eyes for a brief moment. “Ah, fuck.”
She relaxes a little, resting her hand on my inner thigh.
Then I start to move, very slowly working my length in and out of her lips. A rumble of pleasure leaves my lips. Not groans or moans, but almost.
God, it’s hard to be good right now.
I stop and peer down at her after a few seconds. “Good?”
She nods, her mouth still full of my cock. I can feel the slow slide of her tongue against the sensitive underside of the head.
Fuck. I had better start moving before I lose control.
I grip my cock and start pumping in and out of her mouth, my eyes squeezing shut. She grabs me and pulls me closer, attempting to work her tongue against my cock.
My reaction is immediate. My whole body seizes up. It feels so fucking good. “Fuck, Margot.”
She slides her hand down to delicately cup my balls. My eyes actually roll back in my head as I start to move again, jerking in and out of her lips roughly.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “Skatter…”
I know I’m going to come. There’s no stopping it.
I halt suddenly, pulling out of her mouth. Before she can even react, I'm covering the tip of my cock with my hand, cursing and clenching my eyes shut. I come, shooting jets of milky white semen into my hand. The look of pleasure that was on Margot’s face when I closed my eyes makes lust slither through my gut.
She likes watching her handi
work.
When I'm done, I open my eyes again. “That wasn’t quite how I was supposed to finish… but your mouth felt too good. Too hot.”
She lick the corner of her mouth. “My pleasure.”
I chuckle, reaching across to the bedside table for the tissue box. I wipe my hand off and then pad over to the trashcan, disposing of the tissue. When I come back, I kneel at the foot of the bed.
Margot looks at me uncertainly, biting her lower lip.
“Now it’s your turn,” I husk. “Come down here.”
She turn around, her movements a little awkward. I’m not interested in waiting, so I grab her knees and spread them wide. Her lower lips spread, giving me unbridled access to her most intimate parts. She squeaks softly, probably feeling a little awkward being exposed like this, but I’m not too worried about her emotions just now.
“Cup your breasts,” I command, ducking my head low. She sucks in a breath and does as I ask, mmming at the sensation.
I start kissing my way up her pale, creamy skin, just inside her knee. My hands touch her inner thighs, sliding up as I trail my kisses toward her pussy. She moans softly and shivers, bucking just a little. I look up at her, catching her eye.
My dark brow descends. “You are so beautiful, Margot.”
One second I’m about to go down on Margot, the next second I am awake and sweating.
Where am I, exactly?
I manage to focus my eyes and see that I’m in my bedroom at the palace, naked against the thousand dollar silk sheets of my bed.
“Fuck.”
I close my eyes, trying to recapture the dream. But it’s like trying to catch fog in my cupped hands; the dream slips away and I’m left feeling a twisting kind of loneliness.
Margot is gone.
I left her behind in New York.
And I’m here by myself, almost four thousand miles away, the scent of her perfume still teasing my senses. Groaning, I cover my face with a satiny pillow and try to go back to sleep.
