“I’m lucky I had you, I guess,” I say.
“I’ll say,” she says, playfully, giving me a playful punch on the arm.
“See? That didn’t even hurt.”
“Well, before you count your chickens,” she says. “You might want to check in a mirror. I’m really glad you feel fine, because you look pretty bad.”
“I look bad?”
Well, there’s no way it’s very serious, but out of curiosity I ask her to bring me a mirror that’s on the shelf.
Rebecca holds it in front of me, and for a moment I’m just concentrating on his body, on her tits looking so perfect. Finally, I focus on my face.
Holy fuck.
“What the fuck?” I say.
Surprisingly, she lets out a little laugh. “Sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just a nervous laugh, I guess. I do that sometimes.”
“What the…” I say, studying my face intently in the mirror. One side of my face is completely black and blue with deep bruises. It looks like all the blood has been cleaned off me fairly well, but I can tell it was there at one point because there are cuts running all over my face.
“You still look hot,” she says, putting the mirror down and coming over to me, and kissing me gently on the bruises.
“I don’t even want to look at the rest of my body,” I say. “How can you stand to look at me like this?”
“You’re very handsome,” she says. “A couple bruises and scrapes aren’t going to keep me from fucking your brains out.”
I smile at her.
“I think that’s a good attitude to have,” I say.
26.
Rebecca
I straddle Luke, making sure to avoid some of the parts on his upper body that I know are injured.
“This doesn’t hurt at all?” I say.
He shakes his head. He’s fiddling with his belt buckle, which isn’t even there, of course. “Oh,” he says. “I forgot I’m wearing a hospital gown.”
“Here,” I say. “Let me do it.”
I help him pull off his hospital gown, and then I undo my own pants. I have repositioned myself on the bed to do it.
When I’ve got them down around my knees, he makes a fake growling noise at me, and pushes himself down on top of me. He’s kissing my neck, and biting my ears.
“I can’t keep away from you once you’ve got your pants off,” he says.
“I need you to fuck me,” I say. “I was so worried when I heard you were in a car accident, and then when you are at the police. You’re not going to do that again to me, are you?”
“I swear I won’t,” he says, kissing me.
The way he’s all over me, the way he can’t keep away from me, it’s all turning me on so much.
“I need you right now,” I say.
He doesn’t need to be told twice, and soon we’re making out heavily, moving all over the bed. Occasionally he hits a soft spot somewhere, and makes a little groan, but overall he seems like he’s still got all of his physical faculties intact.
He’s on top of me, and the tip of his thick cock is pressing between my thighs.
“I need you in my mouth,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything, but gives an excited grunt in recognition, and moves his body up so that he’s straddling me. His cock is so big that by straddling me below my breasts, he can push it into my mouth.
I purse my lips as I receive his cock in my mouth. It’s been too long since I’ve had him inside me, and much too long since I’ve had him in my mouth.
I’m sucking on him, bobbing my head up and down, and I can tell by the look on his face that he’s too fascinated to even blink, let alone look away.
Luke’s thrusting his hips, his cock coming into my mouth now.
I love the taste of it, and I almost protest when he pulls away.
Now he’s kissing my ears, my neck, my breasts, kissing me all over.
“I want you,” I say, and it’s not long before his cock is pushing its way inside me.
He’s thrusting slowly but powerfully, and little by little he’s pumping faster and faster.
He still looks fucking hot, even with his face all fucked up. There’s no way an injury could take away his good looks, and I’d still love him either way.
“I love you,” he says, right before we finish together.
We’re cuddling, my head in the crook of his arm as always, in a blissfully calm state, both completely naked, lying on top of the hospital bed sheets.
We don’t need to talk. There’s no need for words now that we’ve found each other and admitted to one another how much we each mean. I know I can’t live without him now, and I know he feels the same about me. There are no more questions, no more insecurities.
Well, the only thing left is what will happen with his family.
“Rebecca,” says Luke, looking me right in the eyes. “This might not be the most…well, this isn’t exactly traditional, but will you marry me?”
Holy shit!
If I’d been holding something, I would have dropped it. Hell, if I’d been standing up, I might have passed out.
“Holy…” I start to say.
He’s beaming at me, apparently aware that I’m not going to say no.
But I remain frozen for another couple seconds. I open my mouth but no words come out.
He looks nervous now. “I’m sorry I don’t have a ring or anything right now, but I wasn’t planning this…You’ll have a ring of course, one of the heirlooms, or whatever you want… Can you just say something, Rebecca? I need to know, even if you’re going to say no.”
“I…,” I say, trying to speak, but the words still aren’t coming out. I’m overwhelmed, but it’s not like I’m anxious. I’m actually incredibly calm and incredibly happy. “I’d love to,” I say.
Luke just beams at me and comes in quickly for a kiss. It’s like fireworks are coming off inside me as we kiss, and soon enough we’re making out again, with our hands all over each other.
“Oh,” says someone, at the door. “Sorry…”
I look over, turning my head away from Luke.
“Mom, Dad,” says Luke, in Liserian French, surprised.
“We’ll come back another time,” says the King, looking red in the face and embarrassed.
The queen, though, gives me an unmistakable wink, before turning to leave the room with her husband.
“Wait,” calls out Luke. “I’ve got some news.”
“You’re going into the drug smuggling business?” says the Queen, giving her words a comic but sarcastic bite to them.
“No,” says Luke. “We’re getting married!”
“He just proposed,” I say.
“And you said yes?” say the King and Queen in unison, faking a surprised tone for comic effect. “After the stunt Luke just pulled?”
I nod my head. “Well, he says no more drug smuggling until after the honey moon.”
Everyone laughs.
Fortunately, we’ve got our clothes back on.
“Congratulations,” say the King and Queen together. “Welcome to the family!”
“You know,” says the Queen. “I was starting to worry he’d never find a nice girl and settle down.”
“Who says I’m settling down?” says Luke. “I’m just getting the best partner ever to go raze hell with.”
“Well if your definition of razing hell is camping and hiking in the wilderness all around the world, then I’m in,” I say.
Everyone laughs again.
“You know,” says Luke, after we’ve been chatting for about ten minutes, all of us happy, cheerful, and full of laughter. “I thought you two would be a little more upset than you are.”
“Just happy to have you alive son,” says the Queen, poking at his facial bruises with her hands.”
“I can’t believe it,” says Luke. “After all the trouble I’ve gotten into before, I finally wind
up in prison and the hospital on the same day, and I don’t get so much as the threat of punishment.”
“I think you’re really maturing, son,” say the King. “I’ve seen a lot of changes in you the last few weeks, and I’m really happy to see you’ve found someone to spend the rest of your life with.”
“You know,” says the Queen. “You probably don’t know this, Luke, but your father was a bit of a hell razer in his day. You wouldn’t believe all the things he got up to before he met me…and well, it only took me a little while to domesticate him.”
“I had no idea,” says Luke. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that, Dad?”
“Didn’t want to set a bad example,” says the king. “But I guess it didn’t work, did it? It’ sin your genes or something.”
We all laugh. I’m laughing at the absurdity of this dignified grey haired Liserian king being a hell razer in his youth.
“I’m just glad most of the domestication’s already happened,” I say. “I don’t have so much work cut out for me that way.”
“We’ll see about that,” says Luke, laughing.
EPILOGUE
27.
Rebecca
Luke and I got married two years ago, give or take a few days. We celebrated our anniversary yesterday. To celebrate, we’ve come back to Texas where we met, to go camping. The anniversary dinner was a simple one with cheese and a bottle of wine that we’d been saving. Today, we’re dead tired, from having hiked ten miles already.
The wedding from two years ago is still fresh in my mind. Of course the press was interested in it, but we managed to do it under the radar for the most part. The paparazzi only showed up at the very end as Luke and I were driving away in our honeymoon car. Luke joked about out racing them, but since the car was almost 80 years old, it wouldn’t have accelerated anyway—he really has calmed down, and he barely even drinks much these days, just a glass of wine or a cold beer every once in a while.
The wedding wasn’t in the palace where everyone thought we’d have it. We actually had it in my parent’s backyard in Pennsylvania, in their country home outside of Philadelphia, about a six hour’s drive from Pittsburg.
I doubt I’ll ever go back to Pittsburg, since I’ve long since left my job, and everyone else I know has since moved on. Not that it’s a bad place, but I just don’t have a ton of happy memories there. Before I met Luke, I was my happiest off in the woods somewhere, certainly not in the city itself where I worked.
Basically, we wanted to have the smallest wedding we could. Jill, my roommate came. My parents came, and Luke’s, of course. But aside from a small smattering of other close family friends, no one else was there. And that was just the way we wanted it. It was basically the opposite of a normal huge royal wedding. Then again, we aren’t exactly doing things in the normal royal way.
We don’t live in the palace, and we don’t have any plans to do so soon. We do spend most of our time in Liseria, near the palace, in a large and very nice apartment in the capital city, Lycherstac. It’s a nice apartment, but it’s certainly below the normal royal standards. Luke and I both aren’t that interested in luxurious items, and we’d rather spend our time out in nature…well, either that or fucking each other’s brains out.
Our sex life hasn’t died down in the slightest. If anything, our desire for each other has gotten stronger and stronger. Hardly a day goes by where he’s not trying to get in my pants, and most of the time I let him in happily…more that happily. Hornily is more like it, if that’s even a word.
“I got the firewood,” cries Luke, appearing around an outcropping of rocks, his arms full of firewood.
“Let me help you with that,” I say, rushing over and grabbing a couple of the larger pieces right before they tumble out of his hands.
“I think I did a pretty good job for my first time gathering firewood,” says Luke, as we work on setting up the firewood in a pattern that will work for our campfire tonight.
The sun is going to set in about an hour, and it looks beautiful right now as the light is sinking lower and lower. Fortunately, the temperature isn’t as crazily hot as the last time we came here, the first time we met.
“You did a good job for a prince,” I say, jabbing him in the ribs with my elbow.
It’s been our joke for a while now that he’s a spoiled prince and doesn’t know how to do anything, and so he needs special recognition when he does a “commoner task.” Of course, it’s only funny because it’s not true in the slightest. Luke actually knows quite a lot about being outdoors and camping.
“I wish I’d done this thing the rustic old fashioned way the last time I was here,” says Luke, taking out his kit of flint and steel.
“Rather than the party RV?” I say.
He nods.
“Well, maybe we wouldn’t have met if you hadn’t been traveling in that crazy and disgusting RV,” I say.
He nods, and then leans over and gives me a quick kiss, before starting to flick the flint and steel together, showering a pile of very dry leaves with sparks.
A couple minutes later, and we’ve got a roaring fire.
“I’ll grab the marshmallows,” I say.
“The what?” he says, giving me a confused look.
I know Luke’s still never done some of the American things I take for granted, like toasting marshmallows over a campfire.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “You’ll love them.”
I return a moment later with the bag of marshmallows, partially smushed from spending so much time in my hiking pack. After all, we don’t even have a car with us. Instead, we hiked in from the bus station. We’re doing this whole trip in a decidedly non-luxurious and non-royal style. That’s OK. It’s nice to have a change of pace, because next month we’re going to Paris with his parents for their yearly royal outing. It’s going to be nothing but eating in the fanciest restaurants, being pampered in expensive hotels, and meeting important French people, not to mention mingling with the large community of expat Liserians who live in Paris.
“Here,” I say. “Just put the marshmallow on the stick, and then hold it over the fire.” I hand him one.
Luke takes out a pocketknife that he bought at a local big box store and with a smile on his face starts whittling down two sticks for us.
“Just be careful not to burn the marshmallow,” I say, smiling at him. “It’s really fun watching you get so excited about that pocketknife, and about carving things.”
“I can imagine,” says Luke. “Just about everything that can be carved, I’ve carved it at this point.”
It’s true, and even though we’ve got to be very careful about how much stuff we can bring with us, since we’ve got often got to carry it for miles and miles, Luke has been carting around a huge collection of little things he’s carved out of wood. Well, some of them aren’t even so little. He’s got a chain that he’s carved out of wood, somewhat ingeniously, I think. He’s also got a large amount of slingshots.
“And I imagine you’ve had plenty of fancy knives back in Liseria,” I say.
“Well,” he says. “They’re not things you get to play with. Mostly royal heirlooms, swords, and daggers with rubies and stuff like that. I always thought it was boring as a kid, and the only time I got to play with a knife it was just a standard military knife for self-defense classes. But I like this whole American tradition of carrying a pocket knife that you can use for little tasks, or for fun.”
Luke takes a moment to stop his carving to simply admire what I know he considers the rugged American simplicity of his pocketknife. It’s an old and very famous American brand that I would have never thought much of. Apparently, though, you can’t get them in Liseria.
I take my recently carved roasting stick and show Luke how to put the marshmallow on the end of it.
I hold mine carefully over the fire, but Luke jams his right into the big flames. “Got to get it done quickly,” he says. “American style.” He sta
rts laughing at his own joke. Really, he’s laughing about how he’s been trying to adopt some of the American customs. When he was in his partying mode, he was trying to sound just like an American by adopting some of our worst words, not to mention some of our worst habits, like shot gunning beers in thirty seconds flat.
Now, he’s calmed down a lot with the slang, not to mention the party boy behavior. He’s still just as regal and commanding with his presence alone, and I like him a lot better now that he’s not running around getting drunk and arrested all the time.
In another moment, Luke’s marshmallow erupts into flames, and we both start laughing hysterically.
“That’s what happens when you try to be too much like one of us,” I say. “I like you as you are, my weirdo Liserian prince.”
“Why am I so weird?” he says, giving me a charming smile.
“Here,” I say. “Taste some of this.”
I hold out the marshmallow for him, now that it’s cooled down a little, and he sucks down the whole gooey goodness in one gulp.
“Holy shit,” he says, a childish smile of wonder working its way across his face. “That’s fucking delicious.”
“I know,” I say. “But you just ate mine.”
“Oh,” he says. “Sorry. Here, I’ll make you another one.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Trust me, I’ve had plenty of them in my lifetime. I really just wanted you to try one.”
“Here,” he says, leaning in and kissing me. “You can still taste some of it.”
“Gross,” I say, but I kiss him anyway. Really, I don’t think it’s gross, and even after two years, Luke still has a way of making my heart flutter and my pulse skyrocket. But it’s nothing like the anxiety I used to have.
Filthy Royal Page 17
