Royal Affair (Royal Scandal #1)

by Parker Swift

  I smiled. “Only your mind?” I let out breathless chuckle. I was giddy with success.

  “Thank god you’re laughing. You should probably be running from me, but I don’t think I’d let you.” He came and leaned over me as he untied me, stroking my ass. “You ok?” he whispered. I nodded. “Just accept it, baby. I love seeing that plug in you.” The fullness was still so present, and the pressure shifted as he moved me gently onto my back. He took a moment to rub my elbows and knees, massaging the tightness away.

  He got on the bed, leaned against the headboard, and pulled me between his legs, my back flush against his warm chest. He grabbed my knees and pulled them towards my shoulders, aligning our legs, knee to knee.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Trust me.” He took one of the ropes in his hand, and quickly and expertly tied my left knee to his own left knee. He repeated the process on the right and firmly spread his legs apart, bringing mine with them. I was so riotously turned on, the sweet spot between my legs was ringing, begging to be touched, and I was desperate to quell that need. I tried to pull my legs together, to get some control over my desire, but he grabbed my knees and pried. “Relax, baby,” he urged. “Don’t fight me. I’ve got you.”

  I leaned back into his rock-solid chest and took a deep breath, trying my best to relax. The warmth of his body made his earthy sweet smell all the more potent, and it was its own special brand of aphrodisiac, as if I needed any more. I was open and available to him, and there was nothing I could do about it. He elbowed my arms out of his way—there was no way he was going to let me interfere—and he cupped my breasts with his hands. He toyed with each nipple, pinching, kneading, and the sensations shot straight to the apex of my thighs. He pulled at my breasts with my nipples, creating a pinching pain that brought all my blood to the surface. My legs tried to get some purchase on the sheets, and my hips lifted, but he pulled his own legs taut, reminding me of my restraints. I was trying to will him to touch me or gain some control over the mutinous sensations between my legs. When that failed, I attempted to reach my own hand around to touch myself, but he left one of my breasts in time to snatch my wrists. “When I say, baby. You’re so impatient.”

  “Ugh! You’re driving me crazy!” I growled at him, and he laughed. My eyes closed, and I turned my cheek into his chest and did my best to writhe beneath his touch. Was he actually going to make me come just by toying with my breasts? He kissed my neck, and finally, as I was sure I was going to combust, he reached both hands down to my pussy. With one hand he gently parted me, and stroked my landing strip with his thumb. With the other he sank two fingers deep into me, stroking my g-spot and pressing against the plug from the inside. Pleasure radiated, pulsing through me. I was right on the edge, and my chest was heaving in anticipation.

  “Come for me, baby. You can come now,” he whispered, as he finally exerted the perfect pressure to my clit. I unhinged and came apart around him in an instant, my back arching, my legs desperately trying to close to contain the pleasure. He kept them at bay, forcing me to take it all. And the orgasm just kept going, spiraling through me. I was sure it was dying down as I could feel the intense sensitivity rising, but he paused for a moment, allowing it to settle, and then resumed his assault. I couldn’t believe it when the orgasm resumed, more intense than before.

  I moaned and turned to bite his arm to muffle my own cries. Just when I was peaking—I was sure I was being ripped apart by this pleasure—he reached further back and gently tugged at the plug, and I let it go. As the fullness left me, my continuing orgasm took its place, reverberating through my ass and down my legs. The feeling was otherworldly. I was actually writhing from the pleasure radiating through my limbs. Slowly, I began to come down, completely wasted. Dylan untied my legs from his, and I instinctively curled them up and folded myself into him. He let me, wrapping his legs around me, and he held me tightly to his chest, kissing the top of my head.

  “Hush, baby.” He stroked my hair.

  “How did you?…I never…” Finally, I settled on “God, that was good.”

  He let go a light laugh. “Good.”

  “But fuck. I think I should be in charge next time.”

  He chuckled again into my hair as he kissed my shoulder. “What would you do with me?”

  “What will I do, you mean? I’m not sure yet. Maybe I’ll just put you on that horse of yours and send you galloping so I can recover.” I sighed into him, my eyes closed in total exhaustion.

  “Hungry?”

  “Famished. Although I don’t think I can move.”

  He righted us, and hopped out of bed, reaching for his jeans. He threw me a t-shirt from his bureau, and it hit me in the face. I gave him a horrified expression and threw the shirt right back at him, which he dodged expertly. Damn, the man had reflexes. Dylan picked the shirt up off the floor, marched towards me with a grin on his face, and slipped the shirt over my head before landing a kiss to my lips. “Dinner, baby. Come.”

  “I just did!” I shouted at him as I fit my arms into the shirt and he went into the bathroom. I heard another laugh, and even if I wouldn’t admit it then, even if I was patting myself on the back for keeping my cool and embracing our casual fling, I felt a deeper part of me let go and let him in. I was about to fall hard, and somewhere deep inside I knew it.

  Chapter 22

  After a delicious meal of creamy ravioli and fresh roasted vegetables, eaten on the floor of his upstairs living room, we exchanged stories about teen years and joked about tricking the shopkeeper in the jewelry store. Dylan had nailed the perfect imitation of the snooty couple who’d come in. It was amazing to me that this half-dressed man sitting on the floor with me, telling me about a prank he’d pulled at boarding school, was a highly respected, aristocratic, and intimidating architect by day who scared the shit out of his assistants. It was also hard to believe that he couldn’t give me more than just sex because it felt like he was so close to giving me everything.

  Without even realizing it, we fell into a deep sleep in his bed. I was so warm and so at home. I woke once in the night and found myself completely enveloped by Dylan, his leg resting over mine, and my whole back pressed firmly against his front. His arm tightened around me, and I drifted back into sleep.

  The next time I woke, the light was peeking through the drapes. I was on my back, and I found myself looking up into his very awake, very sexy face. His nose was inches from mine, and his legs were parting my own, spreading my thighs. His two-day-old stubble was better than any cup of coffee—between it and his cock pressing between my legs, I was instantly awake.

  “Don’t worry—I’m wearing a condom,” was the only thing he actually managed to say to me before he thrust into me. Hard. My knees flew up to help accommodate him. Apparently I woke up wet for him, because there was no doubting my readiness. He met no resistance. His elbows at my shoulders, his forearms framing my face, he kissed me hard and deep as he found his rhythm. His possessiveness and his neediness were written all over his body. This was not slow and gentle—he wasn’t working me up, he was going to come soon, and hard. He tilted back, changing his angle, and all of a sudden I felt him, right there, hitting me inside in the perfect place, and my body quickly caught up with his. I felt the now-familiar feeling pulse through me, as though a fist inside me began to pull all the strings taut, the rise of desire right at the base of my belly. And we came together, crying out each other’s names breathlessly. He stilled inside me, and I threw my head back, arching my chest into his, trying to capture and contain the remains of my orgasm. He returned down to me, kissing me softly on my lips and cheeks. He was still in me when he kissed my nose and said, smiling, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, yourself,” I said, returning the smile. He withdrew and rolled onto his back, taking me with him. I perched above him as he quickly removed the condom. I curled my knees up his sides, righting myself so I was sitting atop his still-hard cock, nestled between the folds of my still-we
t pussy. I put my hands down, fingers spread, onto his chest. “I guess it’s been twelve hours.”

  He reached up and tucked my hair behind my ears. “Indeed.”

  “That was quite the wake-up call. Do all your sex slaves get that kind of service?”

  “Very funny. Although if that’s the title you’d prefer, I’m sure it can be arranged.”

  “As opposed to what? Fuck buddy?” I asked, and his look cooled instantly.

  “Lydia, I’m sorry. You know you’re more than that, right?” Not this again. How was I supposed to keep my head on straight about us being not being anything more than “just sex” casual fling partners when he said stuff like that? Now, I was getting pissed.

  “Am I? I mean, I don’t mean to be cold about it, but we should probably be clear on this, right? Call a spade a spade and all that. You said we can’t be more, so aren’t I? Technically? A fuck buddy, I mean.”

  He winced again. “Please stop. Just, don’t call yourself that, ok? I don’t want to talk about this now.”

  I sat up and looked at him sternly. Even if I had just had incredible mind-bending sex, I needed to get this straight. “Well, I do. Dylan, if you really don’t want this to go anywhere, I have to see other people.” God, I didn’t want to do that, but I needed to see him react. And I also needed to keep him at bay. “I know you like to call me yours and in the heat of the moment say ‘you’re mine’ and all that, but the reality is, I’m not, and you don’t actually want that. I can’t just be your secret stash of kink forever. I need to, well, I need to protect myself.”

  Dylan was sitting up now too and looked pissed beyond all hell.

  “Bloody hell, Lydia. Come out and say what you’re thinking, why don’t you. You think I don’t want that? That I don’t want you to be mine? Lydia, you don’t want it. Trust me. If you need to go out and fuck someone else to keep your head on straight, fine. Fuck!” He was sitting up now, running his hands through his hair, and I slid off of him. “You should, in fact. Do that. Because you don’t want my world. I won’t see you destroyed by it. And if you feel yourself slipping into it, you should leave.”

  I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, and I did not want him to see how destroyed I was by his reaction. Maybe I could have been gentler in my approach, but fuck him. I slid off the bed and went into the bathroom, closed the door, and started the shower.

  I was standing under the stream, letting the hot water dilute my tears, when the bathroom door opened. Dylan walked into the shower and pulled me to him, so our bodies were flush against each other. He used his fingers to tilt my chin, but I couldn’t bear to open my eyes. The tears were still falling steadily, but he brushed them aside, kissed my cheeks, and pulled my face to his chest. He just held me while the water pummeled my back.

  “I’m sorry,” he started. “I’m so sorry. I never should have kissed you, never should have roped you into this. Especially given everything you’ve been through.”

  “How can you say that to me?” I tried to push against him, remove my body from his, but he wouldn’t let me. He just held me tighter. “You wish this hadn’t even started?” I asked in disbelief.

  In that moment, I could feel just how much of myself I’d already let go, so much more than I realized, because every ounce of me was feeling crushed, lost inside his rejection.

  “Will you shut it? Let me finish. Of course I don’t wish that, but it’s probably what I should have done. Christ!” he said furiously, running his hand through his now-wet hair.

  “What is it, Dylan?”

  He sighed heavily. “Lydia, when I was younger, before Caroline, I had this friend, Grace.”

  Seriously? Another girl? “A girlfriend?”

  “No, never. A childhood friend. Her mother had died. Her prick of a boyfriend dumped her at the funeral, and she was a mess.” He paused, closing his eyes and rubbing hands over his face. “She wasn’t getting along with her father, and she had nobody. She was one of my closest friends, so I invited her to stay with me at my flat in London while she got some space and figured things out. We’d go out with friends, get drinks—I did my best to cheer her up. I took her on a mini-break, anything to take her mind off it all. And it was working until the press caught wind and went mad.” He paused, almost as though he was bracing himself, and when he spoke again his voice was tinged with anger and regret.

  “They were horrible. My grandfather had just been on an international tour with the Queen—our family was in the spotlight, and people had noticed that I wasn’t a kid anymore. They were speculating about whom I’d marry and what I’d do and all that shite. When I’d asked her to stay with me, it was because I cared, because I wanted to help her. What I hadn’t realized was that I was no longer free to do that. The paps started trailing us endlessly, saying we had eloped, that she was pregnant, that we’d already had a baby, anything. Everything. She couldn’t go to the bloody chemist’s without the papers writing about the cold medicine she’d purchased. She couldn’t go to work without someone from fucking Hello! magazine popping out of a bush. I couldn’t make it stop no matter what I did—those heartless vultures must have been able to tell what it was doing to her, but they just wouldn’t. Fucking. Stop.” He sounded heartbroken, like whatever had happened had broken a part of him too.

  I wrapped my arms around his waist, tightening them, wanting to comfort him, even though I didn’t fully understand. I hadn’t seen any references to this on Google, when I’d searched for him. I wanted to ask him, but I’d have to do it later. I didn’t want to interrupt when he was finally opening up to me, finally shedding some light on how he’d become the way he was.

  “It finally broke her. She couldn’t handle it, no one could have. The scrutiny was oppressive. Finally…Finally, I came home one day and she was in my bathroom, on the floor…God, Lydia, she was gone. No note. She just hadn’t been able to take it anymore.”

  “Oh god. I can’t imagine, Dylan.” I looked up and his eyes were glistening. This was obviously an incredibly painful memory for him. I gripped him tighter and looked up into his eyes. “Dylan, you know that wasn’t your fault, right?”

  “Of course it wasn’t my fault, but it does mean she shouldn’t have come to me for help. I made it worse. She had been such a vibrant girl. She was going through some terrible things of course, but it was being with me, around me, that brought her over the edge. My life is toxic, Lydia. Do you understand that? I can’t be a haven for anyone—I’m a goddamn war zone.”

  I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but pure determination—a conviction bred over nearly a decade of him rehearsing this explanation for the tragedy he’d witnessed. It was coated in a thick sadness, an airtight regret. I wanted nothing more than to cut through it, to bring warmth into those eyes in that moment. He gripped my shoulder with one hand and tilted my chin towards his face with the other, ensuring I was focused on him. As if I could be focused anywhere else.

  “Lydia, selfishly, I will take you for as long as you let me, but we can’t be more, and it has to be private. I won’t do that to you. Do you understand? I won’t have happen to you what happened to her.”

  “Dylan, you’re older now, smarter about the press. And most importantly, I’m not—”

  “No. I won’t do it. I won’t do that to you.” He was shaking, almost imperceptively, but I could feel it, just below the surface. “That’s why Caroline and I got engaged. She’s in the same boat I’m in, only far worse. We figured if we were together then at least no one would get hurt. We were both already embedded in this insanity.”

  The determination remained in his voice, laced with emotion, and I could see now how it had guided him through his adult life. It had probably served him well, keeping the guilt beneath the surface at bay. He’d nearly married someone because of it.

  “Why didn’t you go through with it?”

  “It turns out marrying someone you’re not in love with is harder than it looks. But, Lydia,” he started and then paused, exh
aling deeply into my hair as he held me against him. “If you need to date, to see other people, I understand.” His fists were clenched and his arms stiff around me. I hoped that meant that it was killing him to say those words, because it was killing me to hear them.

  “It can’t possibly be as bad as you say. Can’t you see that she was depressed, that it wasn’t you?”

  “Please, stop, Lydia. Trust me. I’ve been privy to this bullshit longer than you have. And it’s just gotten worse. I’m sure you heard about the phone-tapping scandal?” I nodded in confirmation—the British paparazzi tapping the phones of high-profile celebrities and politicians had been international news. “My phone was tapped, and thank god, there was no one in my life that could have gotten hurt. In some cases even the police were helping those crooks—there is no one to trust. It’s just gotten harder to have privacy, not easier. Less possible to escape it.”

  “So why not leave it behind? It wouldn’t be like this for you in the States, you know. No one would care who you dated.”

  He paused, dipping his face into the stream of water.

  “No one?” He half smiled.

  “Well, I live here. Remember?”

  “I do. Thank god. But I can’t, Lydia. My family…Well, I can’t just leave.” I sighed into him. It was clear he was not budging on this. “Just stay, Lydia. Stay with me, my way, just a little longer.”

  And of course I would, even if I shouldn’t, because being with him felt less and less like a choice every time we saw each other. I couldn’t imagine turning away from him, even if I wanted to. And even if I was hurt by the walls he was erecting between us, I now knew, without a doubt, that he regretted their existence as much as I did.