by Zoey Oliver
“Hopefully, this song will end soon so I can go die from embarrassment in private.” Coming out of the maneuver, my head keeps spinning, but from an entirely different sense of vertigo. I dip my chin, averting my eyes, and shake my head. Why am I saying these things aloud?
Henry laughs, and even though it’s the sort of pleasant, tickled laughter that makes me smile, too, I still want to drop through an escape hatch in the floor and disappear. I’m sure my face is bright red now, because it feels like it’s glowing with the heat of molten lava.
“I’ve heard you’ve recently graduated.”
Thank God, a change in subject. This I can talk about. “Yes, I did.”
“With all the accolades, I bet.”
I nod. “I did well at university.” I manage to clamp my mouth shut before mentioning that all I’ve done for the last five years is study morning, noon, and night. Henry doesn’t need to know I’ve had next to zero social life and very few boyfriends.
“Tell me, what are you now the reigning expert of, Ms. Graduate?”
We sway in a much more leisurely fashion now, allowing my brain to focus on more than what my feet should be doing. “Oh, I’m far from an expert. It’s the sort of thing that requires years of additional real-world experience and field research. My classes and labs only touched the tip of the iceberg.”
“Really? What’s your degree?”
“Environmental engineering.”
“Wow, well done. Where does all this field research take place?”
“Africa is where I would go — there are so many emerging events there, so much still to uncover and study. I’d love to help with the water crisis, working with a team to find sustainable solutions. Wouldn’t it be lovely to ensure everyone has access to clean, drinkable water? And living in Africa sounds fantastic, doesn’t it?”
“I’ve never been, actually. Have you?”
“Yes, last summer. I signed on to an externship program and spent eight weeks in Uganda. It was just… amazing. Such a beautiful place, so different from here.”
Henry lifts his arm and turns his wrist while holding my hand. I follow the movement, conducting a circle in front of him before he pulls me back in and asks, “So, when do you jet off to the wilds of Africa again?”
“I’m not, actually.”
“Why’s that? Have you lost interest in it?”
“Oh, no — I love environmental engineering! But…” I sigh. “There are more important things that need my attention. My family, for starters.”
“I see. You’ll be staying around here, then?”
“It looks like it.” Especially if you keep your hand right there on my waist.
“Well, that’s the second bit of good news you’ve shared since we began this dance.”
His words lift my spirits and pull me back from the edge of grieving for Africa, for what isn’t meant to be. I glance up at his face, and he’s looking at me so sweetly, his expression tender. I want to ask how he’s been, but I’m afraid to know. I don’t want to hear about the kind of parties I’ll never be hip enough to be invited to, or the wild women who throw himself at them. Not right now. Not while his arms are wrapped around me. I just want this moment with him to be mine.
We move in harmony with the music, and little by little, Henry pulls me closer until we’re pressed together. I wonder if he’s noticed the fullness of my breasts pushed against his chest. I’ve certainly noticed the strength of his arms as he holds me. I’m wondering what he’s packing under the layers of that regal uniform — strong abs and muscular legs and…
I push the thoughts out of my head. It’s foolish to think he’d find me remotely attractive on that level. I’m not a skinny model, ten feet tall with an exotic accent. Simple Abi, that’s me. For half my life I was a gangly tomboy splashing into muddy ponds to catch turtles and salamanders, and now that I’ve become a woman, my body has morphed into full-figured curves, even in the places I wish weren’t so curvy.
The music softens as the band nears the end of the piece. We come to a stop, and Henry lets go of me. He gives me a bow, and I curtsy out of habit, but it’s all over too fast.
Henry notices the tiny frown in my expression. “Are you all right?”
Scurrying to cover the train of my thoughts, I tell a partial truth. “My left ankle is killing me.” Immediately, I regret saying it, because he’s not going to ask for another dance now.
Another song begins, and I step back, ready to excuse myself, but Henry reaches for my hand. “Come with me,” he says.
Eager as a bee heading to a freshly bloomed flower, I let him lead me off the dance floor. I don’t ask where we’re going or what we’re doing, because I don’t care — I’d follow him across a bed of hot coals if it means I can stay in his company a while longer.
We reach the edge of the ballroom, and Henry releases my hand. I curl my fingers against my palm, already missing the heat of his skin against mine.
He opens one of the heavy glass double doors leading out to the balcony. He pokes his head out and looks around then steps back inside and leans close to the hulking royal guard standing nearby.
“We don’t wish to be disturbed,” Henry tells him quietly.
The man bobs his head immediately and makes a slight bow. “Of course, Your Highness.”
He touches his earpiece and discreetly updates the rest of the security team as Henry ushers me through the door. It goes shut behind us with a quiet whoosh. I look over my shoulder to see the security guard positioning himself directly in front of the glass doors, his back to us and the dance floor completely obstructed by his mass.
The cool night air greets me as I walk through the evening shadows to the edge of the stone balcony, resting my hands on the intricately woven iron railings guarding the high drop-off. The balcony overlooks the East Lawn below, framed by formal gardens. It’s beautiful in its orderly elegance, but I always preferred the untamed look of the wildflower garden next to the back woods.
“Any thoughts on how you plan to pass the time while you’re here?”
Henry’s voice is right behind me, his breath curling against my neck in a little heat wave. It sends a shiver up my back, and goosebumps break out across my arms. I spin around to face him, my heart beating rapidly.
As he sidles his hips and moves even closer, I realize I can’t recall what he just asked me.
His gaze lowers to my lips and then moves down to my chest. My heart flutters with his intentional gaze. He looks back up at me, an eyebrow raised. “You’re all grown up now, aren’t you?”
I nod. Words have fled me, and I’m barely breathing.
He reaches up and gently sweeps a tendril of hair out of my face. His eyes lower to my lips again as he runs his hand down the back of my head, stroking my hair.
“I hear you’re entertaining suitors.”
I nod again. What is happening? Is he going to kiss me? I dare not move, for surely, I’ll do something clumsy and ruin this moment.
“Are you ready to be married, Abi?”
The question catches me off-guard, and my mind races to come up with an answer — for him, for myself. “I think so,” I whisper.
Henry tilts his head and looks at me curiously. “So, you’ve had your fun, then?”
His fingers are playing in my hair, each little tug sending pleasure to my scalp and down my back.
“What — what do you mean?” I stare at him, my eyes wide. I think I know what he’s asking, but I can’t be sure.
A smile plays across his lips. “Time is running out, you know.”
Emily’s words from yesterday echo in my head. You didn’t cut loose in college… you’re running out of time… have some fun before you’re married… you could use a long, hard night of trouble…
“Are you offering something?” The question rolls out of my mouth before I can stop it. Where did that come from? I’m ready to die from embarrassment for being so presumptuous. It’s probably painfully obvious how little practice
I’ve had with flirting.
His eyes fixate on mine. That expression, it’s making my knees weak. Like a starving wolf sizing up its dinner.
“Maybe,” he says, running his hand under my hair, his fingers stroking the bare skin of my neck.
A thought occurs to me. Did Emily put him up to this? Another more likely possibility follows, a mortifying one. Spencer. This could be one of his crude pranks.
My breath hangs in my chest, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What do I do? How do I play this off? I’m irritated at the idea of Spencer fucking with me, and even though it’s the most logical explanation for Henry’s unexpected attention tonight, I can’t bring myself to push him away. I’m desperate for him to kiss me, even if it is a joke.
Every fiber of my being is longing for a taste of his lips on mine. I know he can see it on my face, and it scares me, this power he has over me right now, but I can’t help it.
He steps back abruptly and looks over at a small seating area to my right, deep in the cover of shadows.
“What is it?” I say, startled.
“I almost forgot why I brought you out here.”
He walks to a pair of chairs and turns them to face each other. He sits down in one and pats the other. “Come, sit down.”
My feet carry me over to him on automatic pilot, and I sit down obediently, but my mind is whirling. What is happening? What is Spencer up to now?
As soon as I’m seated, he leans down and wraps a firm hand around my left ankle.
“Wh—what are you doing?”
Henry pauses and looks up at me. “May I?”
“Uh… sure.” I have no clue what he’s up to, but as long as he’s touching me, I’m not going to complain.
He lifts my foot off the ground, and the layers of sheer fabric of my dress slide up my legs, bunching up around my thighs, exposing my knees. I tip back and grab the arms of the chair to keep my butt from slipping off the cushion.
Henry places my foot in his lap and begins undoing the straps of my high heels. I watch as his fingers work deftly on the tiny buckles. How many times has he done this? He gently slips my shoe off and sets it on the ground.
“You said your left ankle was hurting, right?”
“Oh, yes.” I did say that. And it is, but…
He rubs his hands together and then places them on my ankle, the warmth flooding into my skin as he begins lightly kneading his palms against my tender muscles.
The sensation is heavenly. A small moan escapes me, and I lay my head back against the chair. “Oh my God, that feels so good.”
“So, tell me, Abi — why haven’t I seen you in seven years?”
It’s hard to form words with the little waves of pleasure running up my leg from his firm, warm hands. “I’ve been in school nearly non-stop until this summer.”
“Didn’t you have any breaks?”
“Sure, a few.”
“Why didn’t you come visit?”
Because my home and this palace and everything about nobility is an archaic throwback, and I wanted to escape it while I could.
“I did, once.” The words just slip right out. I can’t think straight when he’s touching me, my heel pressing into his inner thigh. Immediately, heat creeps into my face and I clamp my mouth shut.
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Why don’t I remember this?”
I tilt my head sideways, trying to look casual. “I didn’t stay long.”
Henry looks at me curiously as he works the palm of his hand against the underside of my lower calf. “Why’s that?”
“Just had things to do... you know.” I shrug calmly, but my cheeks are on fire, and from the look on Henry’s face, I’m not pulling it off.
That look reminds me of when the East Lawn flooded, and he caught the ten-year-old me damming the creek in the adjacent woods. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing,” I say, the word rushing out in denial too quickly.
Henry stops massaging my leg. He’s really staring at me now, his head cocked to one side. “Abigail Strathmore. You have a secret.”
“No, I don’t.” Oh my God.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
He raises an eyebrow, studying me. “Is it that dark and twisted?”
“No. It’s just… God, it’s just embarrassing.”
“I bet it’s not that bad. Try me.”
“You’re the last person I want to tell.” Why can’t I just stop talking?
“Oh? Really?” He leans forward. “Now you have to tell me.”
I shake my head and will my mouth to zip itself shut forever.
He gives me a determined smile that makes my stomach do flips. “You know I’m not going to let this go. And I usually get what I want.”
I draw in a deep breath, bracing myself. “Fine.”
“Good.” His smile deepens, and he looks at me expectantly. “I’m listening.”
“It was about two years ago I think. I came back for a visit and I was supposed to meet Spencer here to go to some charity event at the Brightson Galleria.”
“All right. What’s the embarrassing part?”
“Pierre said Spencer was in the music room. So, I went there, looking for him.”
“Go on.” He shifts to the edge of his seat, my knee bending as he moves forward, still holding my ankle.
I put my fingers over my lips and shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can.” A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “You went to the music room and…”
“Spencer wasn’t there.”
“If that’s the whole story, you’re a terrible tease.”
I lower my eyes. “You were there.”
“Was I?” Henry’s mysterious smile deepens.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“And you didn’t come in and say hello because…?”
There’s a devilish look dancing in his eyes, and I hesitate for a moment before finally saying the words.
“You weren’t alone.”
That devilish look reaches to his lips. “No, I wasn’t. I remember this day now. The day you didn’t show up for the Brightson event. I was entertaining a guest.”
I let out a little scoff. “Oh, is that what you call it?”
He leans close to me, his eyes fixed on mine. “Well, actually, I was licking her pussy,” he whispers. “And you were watching me.”
My eyes go wide. “How — how did you know?”
“I didn’t, until just now. The look on your face is priceless.”
My chest fills with something between mortifying embarrassment and rage — maybe both. I brace myself on the arms of the chair and pull my foot out of his lap. “Fuck you, Henry.”
Before I can stand up, he drops to the stone on his knees and runs his hands under my dress, up my legs. It catches me off-guard, and I freeze.
“Don’t be angry, Abi. That wasn’t how I meant it.”
My whole body is shaking, partly from fury and partly from the effect his words and hands are having on me. “The hell it wasn’t.”
His right hand slides over my knee, moving slowly up my thigh. “I just wanted to know if you’re interested.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re lying.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I like it when you’re feisty,” he says, his gaze turned up to me, a wicked expression of delight on his face. “That fire in your eyes right now — it’s beautiful.”
I blush and turn my head away as he inches his hand further up my thigh. My legs are trembling, and it’s not from anger.
Part of me is convinced this is a trick, some cruel game my brother’s put him up to — Hey, you know a great way we could fuck with Abi? Flirt with her, pretend like you’re seducing her. It’ll be hilarious.
But the way Henry’s been looking at me tonight, it makes my heart pound. It can’t be fake, can it?
I don’t want him to stop, but I’m scared. Sc
ared he’s going to suddenly pull away and laugh at me, at my naivety and how easily I gave in, so stupid and gullible. Scared that he’s just playing with me and I’m just a silly girl under his spell.
“Abi,” he whispers. He slides his other hand up my thigh. I know he can feel my legs shaking under his touch.
I glance at him, my hand curled against my mouth. I haven’t felt this shy in ages, if ever. He’s still staring at me, studying my face.
“Would you like me to do to you what I was doing to her?”
I shake my head. “No.” Liar. I’ve thought of that scene countless times over the past two years, the vivid images playing in my head as I masturbated, equal measure of both unrequited lust and the burning heat of envy driving me on, desperately wishing my fingers were Henry’s tongue.
He smiles and slides his hands to the top of my thighs. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to be one of your… hookups. I’m not that kind of woman.”
“What kind is that? The kind who likes pleasure?”
His fingers stroke the fabric of my panties, inching closer and closer to the sensitive mound between my thighs.
“Who likes when a man makes her wet?”
He presses his thumb down on my clit through the sheer fabric, and I gasp involuntarily.
“Who likes when a man makes her cry out in ecstasy?”
He begins rubbing his thumb in a circle over the top of my underwear, swirling across my clit, sending waves of pleasure through me. With his other hand, he hooks a finger under the elastic band between my legs.
“Do you think any of the men in there want to pleasure you like I do right now?”
I’m not thinking about Finley or any of the other suitors my parents’ advisors have approved. Henry has my undivided attention. All I can focus on are his hands under my dress, his husky voice whispering into the still night air. I can’t believe I’m letting him do this, but I want him to, so badly. I want his hands between my legs, his tongue, his...
“They want your power, your wealth, your status,” he continues. “I don’t need any of those things — I have my own.”
He slides the strip of fabric to the side, and his fingers make contact with my sensitive skin. My heart is racing, and my clit is throbbing under his thumb.
