by Mia Madison
He pulls the door quickly closed to evade the roar of irritation Lucien belts out at it.
I go to the table and pour us coffee from the silver pot. Lucien looks down at me as he takes the cup, surprised that I brought it. His eyes soften over me.
“Drink up,” I tell him. “You’re a bear in the morning.”
“Not every morning.”
“You aren’t used to company I take it?”
“I’m not used to being denied.”
“Me either,” I say. Which of course isn’t strictly true.
He puts a hand in the small of my back to lead me across to the small table in the window. Can’t he feel how that makes me tremble all the way thorough my core? Doesn't he know I don’t care what my father thinks about us being together? I want him. I want to feel that older man slide inside me.
The feel of his skin when I woke in the night and slithered across the sheets to be closer was amazing. So thick but smooth, like fine leather worn-in instead of pleather I’m used to with guys my age.
“I’ve never slept with a woman.” he says as he seats me at the table in front of the window where breakfast is laid.
His hands cup around my shoulders and I’m sure that now he’s going to lean in and kiss my neck. But he thinks better of it.
“You’re a virgin?” I laugh up at him as he heads around to his side.
He tips down to plant a quick kiss on my lips and I almost slide off my seat in a swoon. I want more of that for breakfast. I want more of that always.
“I mean I’ve never had a woman in my bed. Or in my palace.”
He swallows down his coffee and goes to push the newspapers away, so he has eenough space to lean forward and focus his gaze entirely on me, sitting across from him.
“Jesus fucking -” he yells.
“What is it?”
But I don’t have to ask.
I can see from here that I’m front page news.
PRINCE and his SWEETHEART one headline howls in huge black letters.
I can’t deny that I do look exceptionally young in not enough camera make-up and the purposely innocent girlish white dress. I’m way too virginal beside the playboy prince in his demonic all-black outfit and dark stubbled beard.
“I look like I’m about to be sacrificed,” I joke.
Lucien scans across the article, swears and tosses it aside.
PRINCE and the SHOWGIRL is the headline on the next paper.
“Oh my god,” I squeak.
Now I’m the antithesis of purity. Somehow, the flashing bulbs maybe, my dress is rendered almost transparent and the circle of my nipples is clearly visible.
“You got me topless after all,” I joke again, gulping down my fresh OJ trying to swallow the humiliation.
“The whole world got you topless,” he grits out through a clenched jaw.
I search his face for clues as to why he gives a shit. He got what he wanted, the girl on his arm, without a bra, news articles about his fiancee. Why is he so annoyed?
“Go to your room,” he orders me imperiously.
“Excuse me?” I snap back.
Not even a Crown Prince gets to speak to me like I’m a child. Especially when I haven't done a thing wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he says, soft, his pained eyes looking up at me. “I’m sorry. Go back to your own room please.”
A rush of disappointment sinks like a stone in my stomach. He’s dismissing me. My princess act lasted less than twenty four hours. It was only ever meant to be nothing more than a fairy tale but it hurts that it’s already over.
I get up to leave and Lucien immediately rises to guide me to the door. His hand goes onto my low back for the last time. I almost feel like crying that I didn't get as close to him as I yearn to be, last night in his bed when I had the chance.
“Get ready and I’ll come to you at noon,” he says as he opens the door.
“Get ready for what?” I ask, my heart jumping as my eyes reach up to his face and I see he’s still looking at me with that strange expression.
Nothing at all like the muscle bound guy from before, running up the beach like an auditionee for bad Baywatch.
When you get him alone Lucien Leopold Max-Callander is all man, not shell man. I wonder how much deeper he goes beneath that sex-obsessed facade.
“For anything,” he tells me and plants a hard kiss on my mouth before sending me off.
I do as he tells me and return to the safety of the yellow room. I intend to go speak to Daddy but I discover the servants already in my room drawing a bath and laying out my outfit for the day.
“I can wash and dress myself,” I tell them but they don’t seem to hear me.
Either they’re typically inscrutable or don’t understand a word of English. I surrender to their primping and when they’re finished with me I look ready to star as that girl in a James Bond movie.
Would this be hot enough now to finally get the prince to seduce me?
Chapter TWELVE
Lucien
I step into the shower in a raging turmoil of conflicting emotion. I want Kennedy more than I’ve ever wanted anything. It took every ounce of willpower to resist her beautiful temptation in my bed this morning.
But I do have to resist.
Aside from being too young, she comes with a pile of baggage. None of that would have stopped me before. I would normally just pluck the sweet offering and move on. I must be losing my touch. Or my mind.
My dick jumps up stiff, It’s barely relaxed an inch since I woke up and found Kennedy still in my bed. Jesus – I must be a fool not to have plunged deep into that perfect little body. Don’t say I’m suddenly a prince with principles.
I stroke the length of my raging steel but my frustration only increases. I need to be inside her. I need the sensation of her surrendering her inner channel to my slow thrust. My palm won’t do.
Plus I have to attend an audience with my father the King.
He receives me in the audience room. Where he grants visits to diplomats and other minions – not even heads of state.
“Would you care to enlighten me on this latest news item?” he orders rather than requests, as soon as I sit down on the couch and sink into it.
I forgot the damn thing is purposely constructed to make me or any visitor at a disadvantage, lower than him.
“I went to dinner with Kennedy last night. The paps got a little carried away.”
“This is the person currently residing in the palace?”
“This person is Kennedy,”
“She looks less like a Kennedy and more like the Showgirl they’re calling her,” he says with distaste.
“She’s beautiful and smart and funny and more to the point, she seems to have principles.”
The old man looks completely unimpressed.
“And she’s my fiancee.” I blurt out.
Fuck knows why.
Call it a moment of insanity.
With all this crap from the media, I should forget my plan with her and find a more suitable replacement. But it was my fault, not hers, my goading that caused her to go out bra-less. Now she’s the subject of a worldwide media sensation, it would be like tossing her out on the open seas.
Something I can’t seem to do. Yet.
My father has lifted one of the newspapers with the tips of his fingers. Like he doesn't care to soil himself on an oily rag. Not that my father has ever come within a mile of an oily rag. He’s examining the photo. A flare of rage hits my groin, thinking that he’s getting a load of her breasts through the diaphanous fabric.
I’m about to tell him to stop fucking staring at my girl, I don't care if he is the king. He was a notorious fucking playboy until he was forty and met my mother. Only then did he calm down and start a family. After she died he never picked up another woman, so I guess that was genuine love.
I don't know for sure seeing as he sent me away to boarding school right after her death. I was expelled from every last one in Europe s
o he sent me further away to the US, where I got to work out my misery on the rugby field.
“I don’t see an engagement ring,” he declares at last.
Shit, her palm is on my chest for support or claiming possession. It’s clear that she’s wearing nothing but a tiny band around her littlest finger.
“I had to send it out to be resized,” I lie without missing a beat. “It kept slipping off her tiny finger and we don’t want to lose the Max diamond, right?”
That got him. A gift from some old maharajah grateful for being permitted to hide his state’s funds in my father's banking system, out of the way of the government back home. The diamond is flawless and worth at least a million bucks.
“You are required to ask permission from the State, ergo me, when you wish to marry.”
Shit, now he’s got me. How do I get out of that one?
“I wasn’t going to mention this yet,” I say deviously. “But we were in kind of a hurry.”
His eyes slide up from staring disdainfully at the news report to search my face.
“She’s carrying an heir?” He huffs, the wind gone from him.
I nod, imperceptibly. Shit, I don't like lying to the old man but I didn't like the way he was leading up to telling me to get Kennedy out of the palace and off the island.
Having her go back to the states and not seeing her again is not an option for me right now. I want her with me. I want to get to know the sexy cheeky girl under the disdainful stare. I’ve never wanted to know what’s beneath the surface of any woman until her.
“Then she’ll have to attend the State Dinner tonight,” the King announces.
“Fine.” I say. This audience has gone on too long and I’m eager to get to Kennedy’s room.
“Request that she dresses with a little more decorum,” he pronounces. I stand to back out of His presence but as I leave he has the last word.
“And make sure you put a fucking ring on it.”
I make one stop on the ground floor of the palace before heading up to get my girl for our date. I open her door, again forgetting to knock, then pull it shut.
Before it closes she tugs it back open and wraps her arms around my neck in a huge show of affection she must be putting on for the servants
“Leave us,” I say and they scuttle from the room like rats.
“I hope this is right,” she says, doing a twirl for me that instantly sends my cock soaring at the ceiling. “They put me in the bikini with this cover-up that doesn't really cover anything.”
“That’s how French women cover up,” I gruff out, forcing back the desire to tear that flimsy fabric away from her body and bury my face into her soft skin. “And you look incredible,” I add.
She smiles, genuinely pleased and before I know what I’m doing I’m on the fucking ground, on my knees in front of her. Her face falls.
“What are you doing? Are you okay,” she asks, worried.
It’s funny that she thinks I must be ill to kneel for her.
“I have to give you this.”
I pull the box from my pocket, open it and slip the ring on her finger. It fits perfectly, she’s the perfect size just like my mother was.
Kennedy’s eyes stretch wide in shock.
“It’s as big as an egg, is it for reals?”
“Yes,” I say laughing. “It’s the Max diamond.”
“Is that a thing, diamond's have names?”
“It is when you’re a famous diamond for a famous girl.”
“Well, you’d better not propose to your real wife like that,” she says, tearing her eyes away from the thing with a slight frown swiping her beauty.
“You had me on my knees at least,” I say, rising up hard.
“I’m sure that’s not a first for you when it comes to scantily dressed girls.”
“You really are cheeky all day,” I say, taking her hand and pulling her out of the room.
She’s wearing some high heeled sandals that I noticed some comment about in the news, questioning why a Prince’s bride is wearing knock-offs. But I like how they make her walk, her hips swaying side to side, her legs long and shapely. And they force her to take small steps, so she remains slightly behind me as protocol requires.
We walk through the palace, outside and across the swathe of lawn to the water. I jump down into the boat first, then lift her down, holding her in my arms a moment too long. Relishing the feel of her there, considering taking her mouth into mine. She looks up at me and her lips part.
“Let’s go,” I release her and get behind the wheel. This time she stands at my side without me forcing it.
“I can see why you need a private marina,” she whispers.
As soon as we’re out of dock and on open water, we’re surrounded on all side by paparazzi in boats bearing down on us like sharks scenting blood. Her voice is strong but I notice her lower lip tremble. It must be hell wondering what crap they’ll say about you next.
I take one hand off the wheel and pull her in front of me, before placing it back like a steel belt on a roller-coaster holding her safe. She leans back into me without a moment’s hesitation, relaxing there as my cock hardens against her butt cheek.
This time I don’t pull away. I feel her flesh compress around mine and the heat build in me. The photographers are having a field day capturing the romantic pose and before I can stop myself I'm compelled to tip my head down and press my lips against her neck. She undulates her body against me, careful not to give them too much but enough that makes me groan lightly into her skin and my cock pulsate hotly into her hip.
I have to stop doing this but I can’t. She’s intoxicating and I’m addicted.
Chapter THIRTEEN
Kennedy
My senses are jiggling up and down faster than the boobs on those topless beach bunnies. As soon as I manage to pull back from Lucien and tell myself to keep everything in perspective, cool and business like, he comes striding into my room and I forget all that. I’m so delighted that's he’s here I hurl myself at him. Then there he is looking up at me from under ridiculously long lashes.
Having that beautiful diamond slipped onto my finger by a handsome prince on his knees brought me slamming back into reality.
This is not a thing.
This is not going any further than a few dates for the gutter press and then me returning to my less than thrilling life studying botany in Chicago.
Pull back to business lasts all of ten seconds when he maneuvers me into that place between his strong flexing-power arms that I love to be. I need to feel his hardness pressing into my skin, to know that he desires me and this isn’t all nothing but a show.
“What now?” I ask as he stops the boat in a stunning cove sheltered by a half moon string of tiny uninhabited islands.
Nothing more than plant covered rocks really, but each is fringed with deserted white beach. Lucien tosses the anchor into the water and with a grin, climbs onto the boat’s edge. He raises his arms so every muscle lining his amazing torso ripples then he executes an Olympic quality dive into the water. The photographers are on us and have dropped anchor circling our craft, a flotilla of cameras aimed our way.
“Are you coming, Baby?” he shouts up from the softly undulating sea.
He’s already swum halfway to the closest island and I'm still standing here gazing with my mouth hanging open at the prowess of that unbelievable body. So strong, so firm and lithe. Oh god, what must he be like making love to a woman? No wonder they all beg to find out.
I slam my jaw back up, praying that isn't going to be tomorrow’s front page, me looking moronic. I kick off the heels as I pull the tiny shift up over my head and then loosen my hair from its tie.
I can tell the cameras are on hyper-drive but I don't care. All I want is Lucien’s stare fixed hard on my body as I climb to balance on the edge and lift my arms to a point above my head, like I’m about to emulate his dive. I wait for him and the paps to appreciate my breasts, barely covered and nicely lifte
d, then I pinch my nostrils and leap into the water.
I allowed him the masculine dive but I’m a good swimmer and I catch up to him fast. He’s grinning, impressed, I can tell. He takes off again, with me crawling fast behind. The paps are slow to catch on, but the boats haul anchor and start moving toward us.
Lucien throws me a complicit smile then bobs down as his feet come up in a dagger point. He dives down, grazing past my body, making me shudder with anticipation. But he doesn’t take my panties down under the water, nor does he come back up.
I look down and nothing. It’s been a minute, the photographers will be on me any second. Then I notice the opening in the rock, right at the level of the water. He must have swum beneath that into a cave. Without another second’s hesitation I follow.
It’s a little further than I thought and the water is dark inside the cave. I pull hard on my arms to come up and ram into something solid which I think is the rock wall but turns out to be Lucien’s chest. His hands clasp around me and I slide up through them.
He grasps my waist to hold me above water as I gasp at the air, laughing with exhilaration and excitement at escaping the swarm of paps chasing us. His huge grin settles as he looks at me, his gaze searing into me. His hands on my curves burn a brand and although I’ve just caught my breath, I start panting again. My breasts bob up and down fast and Lucien gazes down at them with a ravenous stare.
Oh my god, one has been flung free by the force of the water, popped out of my bra. With another grin, he reaches to adjust one side of the bikini. My skin prickles over every inch as his fingers graze the side of my breast and accidentally brush over the nipple. It rises hard in response to him and his smile falters again when he notices that.
His breathing rate picks up and he seems to be fighting a battle inside himself. All he needs is one little push over the edge. I inhale deeply so my breasts fill out. The one he’s fondling presses into his frozen rigid fingertips and he loses it. Instead of resettling the fabric in place he tears it away, exposing all of my breast.
His hard hand cups the underside and he pushes my flesh up at the same time he tips his head down and wraps his lips around the taut point. I moan and throw my head back so my hair floats out in the water like a halo around me. His mouth feels so damn good.
