“Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that I’m more than willing.” For the first time tonight, I let my eyes blatantly fall to the creamy swells of her cleavage. “How bad would you want me to be?”
Her breaths quicken, giving me a show as her chest rises and falls under my hot gaze. “Very.”
I give her a slow shake of my head. “Not good enough,” I say, my voice roughed from carnal need for this girl. Pushing my own limits, I let my lips skim the soft surface of her cheek, let my breath brand her skin...then I sink my teeth into her earlobe. She gasps, the sound sweeter to me than the expensive string quartet playing in the corner.
“There are levels to this sort of thing, pet, and I won’t assume I know which you desire.” I don’t add especially after what happened to you last night, but I know she hears it. “On a scale of one to you’ll-still-feel-my-cock-inside-you-next-week, what are we talking about, Marguerite?”
I feel her fingernails dig into the nape of my neck and a shudder roll through her body. “That last one. Definitely that.”
This woman. She’s fucking perfect. I check her eyes for hints of nervousness behind a false bravado, but find none. All I see are her pupils swallowing her irises until there’s only a golden-brown ring around them. It’s all the assurance I need to finally let go of that thread.
“Come with me,” I say gruffly. “I hear the stars are beautiful out on the terrace.”
She graces me with one of her mesmerizing smiles, this one with a touch of mischief in the corners. “I would love to see them.”
Taking her hand, I lead her off the dance floor and head for the large terrace, where the only stars she’ll see are the ones in her eyes when I make her come.
CHAPTER FOUR
As we pass through the French doors onto the massive stone terrace, a part of me warns that I’m being reckless. If any paparazzi manage to get a compromising shot of me at a public event, the fallout would be catastrophic. The other part of me—the one that still feels the indents on the nape of my neck and wants matching scratches down my back—doesn’t give a fuck about consequences.
It’s times like this when I’m even more grateful for Rolf than usual. All I had to do was give him a look and he knew what I wanted. Don’t follow us, don’t ask questions, keep the press away.
With any other bodyguard, I wouldn’t be able to get away with this, but Rolf and I have an understanding. He gives me space and privacy when I need it, and I promise not to go too far or do anything to get myself killed. Win-win. As long as my father doesn’t find out.
I take note of the smattering of guests enjoying the warm night breeze. Some are paired off, sharing intimate embraces and hushed conversations, and a group of eight is on the far side, clearly enjoying the benefits of an open bar by the sounds of their laughter and clinking glasses.
With my hand at the small of her back, I guide Maggie off to the right where the stone bannister meets the wall. There’s a large, sculpted topiary that gives some semblance of privacy, but we’re still in plain view of anyone who cares to look. It will take a bit of creative blocking to pull this off, but I’m nothing if not driven to succeed in everything I do.
I cage her body between mine and the bannister, both of us looking out over the gardens below. Thankfully, those are closed off to the guests, so I only have to worry about who’s behind us. Dipping my head, I run my nose up the side of her neck. She shivers and tips her head slightly, inviting me to explore further.
“Have I told you how stunningly beautiful you look tonight?” I say in a low voice before nipping at the shell of her ear.
“You mentioned it a few times, yes,” she says distractedly.
Keeping my left hand innocently next to hers on the bannister, I bring my right hand up and wrap my fingers lightly around the front of her throat, staking my claim on her body.
“That’s because, as a true gentleman, it was the only thought about you I was allowed to share. Do you want to hear the other ones, Marguerite? The ones that have been plaguing me and testing the limits of my decency all evening?”
I apply gentle pressure on the sides of her neck, causing a soft gasp to pass her lips. “Yes. Tell me.”
Releasing her, I make patterns on her skin with my fingertips. Across her collar bones, under the edges of her halter straps, over the exposed inner swells of her breasts, then finally to where her nipples are visibly straining for attention. As I tease each of her taut buds through the thin fabric, I watch her closely and reveal some of my more depraved thoughts.
“I wondered how sensitive your nipples would be. I imagined sucking and biting them through your dress until you begged me to take you.”
Pinching one hard enough to make her suck in a sharp breath, I soothe it with my thumb and then place my hand below her belly button. “I imagined stuffing you so full of my cock that I’d be able to see it in the flat of your belly with every rough thrust.”
A soft mewl escapes from the back of her throat as she presses her ass against my aching cock. I bite back the groan the little minx nearly pulled from me, which would have drawn attention to our not-so-innocent star gazing. “Someone’s getting impatient,” I growl in her ear. “How wet are you right now, pet? If I slip my hand between your thighs, will I find you damp...or dripping?”
She turns her head, our lips practically touching. “Maybe you should find out for yourself, your highness.”
“Oh, I intend to. But that’s not all, my sweet Marguerite.” I grin roguishly at the expression on her face; part surprised, part curious. “Right here, where we could get caught at any moment, I’m going to finger-fuck you until you come.”
“Oh, my—”
I cut her off with a kiss as my hand dips under that hip-high slit to push between her legs, hook her damp thong to the side, and plunge knuckle-deep into her slippery heat. I swallow her quiet whimpers and stroke into her mouth with my tongue like my middle finger strokes into her tight pussy.
I break the kiss to whisper gruffly in her ear. “Jesus, your cunt is so fucking wet for me. You have no idea what I’m going to do to you once I get you back on the Prince.”
Curling my finger, I find the ridges of her G-spot and use my thumb to draw circles around her clit. Her body snaps bowstring tight and she bites her lower lip as the promise of release gets closer. My gaze lifts to do a scan of our surroundings, just long enough to make sure no one’s paying us any attention, then it returns to the gorgeous creature in my arms. Her breasts heave with shallow breaths, nipples tightly furled and begging for more attention, and suddenly I have no more patience to play games at this party.
I need to get her back on the ship and alone. Now.
“Time for us to go, pet,” I say, pressing my forehead to hers and staring into her eyes. “Come quietly for me now, and I promise to make you scream for me later.”
Then, with a slight adjustment of my finger and thumb, she does.
CHAPTER FIVE
The ride back to the Prince took approximately three goddamn years. Or at least, that’s what it felt like with the scent of Maggie’s arousal permeating the back of the limousine, tempting me to dive between her legs and drink my fill as primal instinct demanded.
Instead, I’d forced myself to sit across from her. Not touching her as I wanted, not even describing the filthy things I planned on doing to her. I simply watched her the entire ride, making carnal promises of things to come with the heat of my stare.
I watched as the pulse in her neck jumped, as her needy nipples stood at attention and her thighs squeezed together, desperate for the relief I refused her. And though holding back nearly drove me mad, it had been worth it to see her anticipation building with every mile.
“Aren’t we going to your room?” she asks, as I lead her up to the sun deck.
“Not yet.” I give her a playful smile and usher her into the glass-enclosed lounge that’ll lead us out to where my arrangements should be ready for us. “Don’t worry, Marguerite, we have a
ll night to make it there.”
“I’ve noticed something, but I’m curious as to the why of it.”
“What’s that?”
“Everyone—including you, once upon a time—calls me Maggie. So why is it that sometimes you call me Marguerite?”
Clever girl. Stopping us in the middle of the room, I pull her in close and tuck her hair behind her ear. “Maggie is the little imp I once knew, and the incredible woman I now know. She’s a friend of my family’s and the youngest daughter of a man I deeply admire.”
“And Marguerite?” she asks. “Who is she?”
I use the pad of my thumb to trace the swell of her bottom lip, left to right, and back to center. Then I press it forward, invading her mouth the same as my cock will invade her cunt. She doesn’t balk at the intrusion but closes her lips around the digit and sucks. I growl in satisfaction.
“Marguerite is the sexy vixen who makes my blood hot and my balls draw up tight just thinking about her. She’s the woman I want writhing beneath me as I fuck her into oblivion, again and again, until she’s neither Maggie, nor Marguerite.” I pull my thumb out and grip her jaw possessively. “She is simply Mine.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but for the first time tonight, I can’t read her. “If you’d like the night to end here and now, say the word and Rolf can escort you back to your cabin. No hard feelings.”
“I want to know what it feels like.”
“What what feels like, pet?”
“To be yours.”
Sliding my hand down to her throat, I say gruffly, “And so you shall.” Then I take her mouth in a torrential kiss, a storm of possession and ownership I don’t deserve but have been given freely anyway. This woman is a gift, and it’s time I reveal the real treasure beneath all the pretty wrapping.
Like she reads my mind, she breaks our connection and trails a hand down my chest as she walks away from me. When the glass doors whoosh open, she tosses me a coy smile over her shoulder. “Coming, your highness?”
Grinning the grin of the devil, I follow. “Keep it up, little minx, and you won’t be coming for hours.”
The light sound of her chuckling gets carried away on the breeze as soon as we step outside. Rolf did a good job relaying my requests to the staff. The music piping in from hidden speakers is a playlist of sexy R&B songs, otherwise known as “music to fuck to.” A bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, a bowl of strawberries, and another bowl of fresh whipped cream sit on a small table next to the queen-sized lounger, and the water in the jacuzzi bubbles from the powerful jets.
Maggie plucks a ripe berry from the bowl and bites into it with her eyes trained on me. A drop of juice streams down her chin before she gathers it up and sucks it off her finger. She’s playing a dangerous game, and the mischievous look in her eyes says she damn well knows it.
“Naughty little imp.” As badly as I want to punish her for teasing me, I stick to my plans. I can always punish her later.
My tux jacket is the first to go. Then the bowtie, cuff links, belt, and more, until all that’s left are my unfastened black pants and the boxer briefs attempting to contain my monster hard-on.
“Your turn, Marguerite,” I say, nodding at her dress. “Off. All of it.”
She obeys, and when she steps out of the pool of red fabric to stand before me in nothing but her black spiked heels, I drink in every detail and commit them to memory. In the pale moonlight, her skin is like alabaster, flawless and smooth; breasts in the shape of teardrops accented with tight, pink buds on each tip; and tucked along the juncture of her right thigh is a raspberry-tinted... I squint a little to make sure I’m seeing it clearly. “Is that—”
She blushes and covers it up with her hand. “It’s a birthmark.”
I arch a brow at her. “In the perfect shape of a crown? It looks more like a tattoo or royal brand. Jesus, my family didn’t brand you, did they?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Preston, they don’t brand their employees like cattle.”
I was only joking—mostly—but Maggie effectively distracted me from the anomaly that is her birthmark by using my name.
“So, now it’s Preston, is it?” I drop my voice an octave and move to stand in front of her. Dipping a finger into the whipped cream, I paint lazy circles around one of her areolas, watching her fight to hold back her reactions. “I rather enjoyed hearing you call me ‘your highness’ in this context, giving me a sense of authority and power over you.”
“You’re the crown prince,” she says, her breath hitching when I almost graze the sensitive bud in the center. “You have power over everyone in the kingdom, including me.”
“No, not you. That’s as false as you claiming your birthmark isn’t a crown.” She releases an exasperated sigh, making me smile. Then I pause arts-and-crafts time long enough to lower her onto the huge lounger so that she’s reclined against the backrest. “If you think back on today, you’ll see that it’s you who holds the true power—my bossy demands notwithstanding.”
“How so?”
I spread her legs apart and kneel between them. Then I hold the bowl of whipped cream in one hand and begin to finger-paint her body in slow, torturous strokes, working my way toward the center and her most sensitive areas. Her muscles get more tense the longer she tries to keep her composure. And the more she does that, the more I’m determined to make her lose it.
“If you recall,” I say as I finally reach her tits with my designs, “you’re the one who set the rules from the moment you brought my coffee this morning. You wouldn’t say yes until I assured you it was just a friendly outing.”
“Friendly outing,” she repeats breathlessly. “Is that what this is?”
“Not anymore, imp.” I pinch her nipple, eliciting a delicious gasp that fans the flames of my need. “But keep up the sass and that’s what it’ll turn into.”
Though I made it obvious I was kidding, she curls her lips in and presses them firmly together, apparently not wanting that outcome any more than I do.
Once I’ve drawn on her tits, the sensitive parts below her ears, down her ribs, and the junctures to her thighs, I scoop out another healthy dollop of the silky cream. My gaze lands on my next canvas—her bright pink pussy. Guessing my intentions, Maggie sucks in a sharp breath and braces herself to give me as little reaction as possible. Challenge accepted, pet.
Intent on my task, I paint her puffy lips, leaving white trails behind with every stroke of my fingertips. Her fists clench at her sides and her hips start to undulate, mimicking the motion of fucking as her body goes from craving it, to shamelessly begging for it. The more she loses herself, the more difficult it is for me to concentrate, but I want to finish my point to her.
“When it was time for me to get ready for the charity gala, I asked if you’d like to be my plus-one. It wasn’t an order as your prince or employer; it was an invitation, and you accepted. Is that how you remember it?”
She makes a slight whimper when I stop touching her to set the bowl off to the side and wait. Finally, she answers. “Yes, it is.”
I nod, satisfied. “At the event, on the dance floor, it was you who insisted we leave the friend zone behind. Not that it took much convincing. I’ve been wanting the same thing from the very beginning.”
Placing my hands on either side of her mound, I massage the outer lips of her pussy with my thumbs. Occasionally I get close enough to her aching clit or her dripping entrance to torture her just a little longer and soak up her frustrated moans. Unable to resist her tightly furled nipples anymore, I lean over and use the flat of my tongue to lap up the sweet cream coating them.
“Ohmygod!” Maggie’s back arches off the lounger. I take what’s offered to me, licking, sucking, and grazing her with my teeth until I’ve cleaned off every inch of her gorgeous tits. Sitting back on my heels, I let my gaze slide lower to the location of my next conquest.
“And finally, when it comes to your power, there’s the most convincing evidence of all…” I stretch ou
t on my stomach between her legs, bringing my face level with her pussy. It’s already glistening with her arousal and my mouth waters.
She looks down at me and pushes her fingers into my hair as she asks, a tremble of desire in her voice, “What evidence is that?”
“Everything I do is for the purpose of bringing you pleasure, Marguerite. When we’re together like this, I’m not your prince. I’m your humble servant.”
And with that, I devour her like a man suffocating and the oxygen I need is buried deep in her cunt. I’ve never eaten anyone as sweet as Marguerite, I can’t get enough. That fucker Harry Styles has it right, after all. Her cunt tastes like watermelon sugar and I’m getting high as hell, already addicted to her flavor, her smell, the way her juices stream into my mouth when I rub her clit and pinch a nipple. And when she finally comes, she screams loud enough to wake the angels in heaven.
“Oh my God.” She smiles down at me where I’m still nuzzling and nipping at her inner thigh. Watching her float back to herself is just as intoxicating as it was to watch her fly. She lets out a quick laugh and shakes her head as though in disbelief. “It’s not hyperbole when I say that was the most incredible experience of my life.”
“That,” I reply with a cocky tilt of my lips, “was merely the beginning. I have so much more in store for you, pet.”
For the next hour or more, I show her exactly what I meant. Everything that I’d done with the whipped cream, I did with the strawberries. Giving her bites, then painting her body with the dripping juices so I could clean her off with my tongue. We took turns drinking champagne straight from the bottle, and at one point I made a luge out of her, pouring the expensive wine down the center of her body to flow between her breasts, pool in her belly button, then stream over her bare pussy to my waiting mouth.
After making her come for the fourth time, she interrupts our kiss to stare up at me with fervent eyes. “I need you, Preston. All of you. You don’t have to hold yourself back for me. I want this. I want you.”
Charming the Prince: A Mistaken Identity and Forbidden Love Romance, Racy Royals #2 Page 3
