by Alta Hensley
“Welcome back to royalty, Cheri. Welcome back to me.”
3
Cheri
Was it possible to hate a man but want to fuck him at the same time? I couldn’t blame tequila on this one, or the fact that he was a vagabond. Roman was definitely not a Costa Rican vagabond. He was simply an asshole. A sexy as fuck asshole. And the truth of the matter was, I didn’t hate him. I didn’t hate him at all. It practically killed me to admit that to myself. Things would have been so much easier had I truly hated the man.
And he was right. I did miss him. I hadn’t realized I did until the minute I laid eyes on his dark hair. I remembered how it used to curl at the ends after a day of hanging out at the pool sipping on lemon coolers squeezed from fruit we had picked fresh off the royal grounds ourselves. And his brown eyes. I remembered how they used to stare into mine with such a boyish naivety when we were young. And his smile. It had always been so easy to make him smile and laugh. There was no effort at all in getting Roman to release a big belly laugh that always made me giggle right alongside of him. He was my best friend. We sometimes would play with Roman’s brothers, but they were older than we were and always preoccupied with something else. We were basically all we had in the crazy and sheltered lives we were forced to live—almost as if we were rare birds trapped in a gilded cage. As children growing up—only two years apart in age—we knew we were arranged to be married. Everything was planned out for us to the finest detail. Not a single decision was to be our own. But we paid little attention to all that stuffy nonsense at that age. All we cared about was playing, having fun, and running wild while the palace staff had to chase us down. It had been the perfect childhood. Our idyllic kingdom.
Then we grew up. Friendship got confusing—really fucking confusing. We had sexual urges, and desires we couldn’t understand. Hanging out at the pool was different. It felt different. Our eyes wandered and lingered in places we both had never paid attention to before. We both wanted more. And eventually we had more. So much more. Prince Roman was my first kiss at the age of sixteen under a starry sky with the call of gulls and slap of waves in the background creating our soundtrack. He was my first sexual experience at the age of eighteen in one of the guest rooms in the palace during one of the many parties the palace hosted. We both had a little too much to drink, but it had felt right… it was right. Prince Roman was my first everything.
And here he was—years later. Sitting in a leather chair with the twinkling chandelier above his head casting little rays of light that highlighted his perfectly chiseled face. No doubt that beneath his black suit, with his collar opened just enough to show his rich sun-kissed skin beneath it, his body was just as chiseled.
I wanted him. More than I had ever wanted a vagabond in a coastal bar in the midnight hours, and that was truly saying something.
“My mother. Why?” I asked as a lump formed in the back of my throat. “Silas told me you purchased the estate to save it from foreclosure, and that you are funding her lifestyle.”
The cocky smirk washed off his face as he took a slow sip of his drink. Was he buying time to come up with the right answer? “It’s no big deal.”
But it was a big deal. A very big deal.
“May I have another drink?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. Should I thank him? I certainly couldn’t have saved the estate nor keep my mother in the lap of luxury. I had a trust that I’d sworn I’d never touch, determined I could make it on my own. But, even if I did liquidate it, the money wouldn’t have made a dent in what was no doubt owed. But then because of Roman’s act of kindness, he owned me. He had the control. He knew what he was doing. He knew. This was all a calculated plan. It was how the royals worked. Everything about them had always been calculated, and clearly Prince Roman was no different than the rest.
“So why? Why did you do it? So you could force me into marrying you? Blackmail of sorts?”
“Is that what you think?” he asked calmly. “That I would force you into marrying me?”
“Well, aren’t you?”
Roman didn’t answer my question but rather signaled for the waitress to bring us more drinks. This was dangerous. Bourbon and Roman were going to lead to bad things. Very bad things. I could feel it.
“Are you still writing?” he asked.
“Some.”
“Isn’t that why you left? To try to find your Hemingway? Why are you only writing some?”
I shrugged. “Does it really matter? Clearly I’m destined for other things.” I lifted my hands up and pointed at my surroundings. “I get to be here. With you, instead. Lucky me.”
“You are lucky.”
I snorted. “So you say.” I smiled at him and licked my lips. “Is that because I get to marry you?”
“No, because you get to fuck me. You don’t know how lucky you are. But you will. Soon.” His drop-dead smile returned.
“You’re a cocky son of a bitch.”
“I just speak the truth. You always liked that about me.”
God, there were so many things I liked about him. But he was right. I always had appreciated his straightforward honesty. I may not like what he’d say, but I did know that Roman would never lie to me. And through his arrogance, I could always see a genuine charm woven beneath his bravado.
I took a deep breath, not sure I wanted to ask the question I knew I had to ask. “So what’s the plan? How exactly do you see this all going down?”
The drinks arrived, and I watched as Roman laid a hundred-dollar bill on the waitress’s tray. Extravagant bastard, but I’m sure the young woman appreciated it. I also bet she would die to be in my place—destined to become a princess to a wealthy, handsome as fuck, prince.
“You’ve been gone traveling the world, but I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how this goes,” he said as he handed me my drink. “It’s the classic story. You and I are reunited lovers, finally settling down to spend the rest of our lives together. A believable story. The media will find our childhood pictures, document stories that our families and friends tell of us growing up, paint the perfect fairytale romance, and all will be wrapped up in a perfect package. You and I will dress the part, show up at parties hand-in-hand, charity events, pose for planted paparazzi, and do the tango we both know so well.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know this tango. I can’t dance. It’s why I left.”
“I’ll teach you. Remind you of the steps.” Roman smirked as he brought his glass to his lips. “I’ll teach you a lot of things.”
“Ha! Who says I need teaching? Maybe I have a thing or two to teach you. And this tango you speak of sounds uptight and boring. I don’t want to do dinner parties and pose for pictures my entire life.”
“Who said that is all that would be expected of you?” Roman asked with a raise of an eyebrow. “There is so much you don’t know. So much more that will be expected. That I will expect.”
The way Roman stared at me caused my blood to sizzle. A small twinge of excitement beat against my core. He always had that power over me. One look. That was all it ever took. Warmth flooded my face, but even more between my legs. Clenching my thighs tighter, to try to contain the hunger building inside, I glanced away, attempting to see if I could find Silas amongst the patrons sitting at the bar. I wanted the old man to join us again. Anything to break up the sexual energy flowing between Roman and me. A few more sips of bourbon, one more seductive look from this sexy alpha, and it was very likely I would mount that prince’s lap and fuck him in front of all who wanted to watch. I needed old man Silas to babysit us. To babysit me.
“Cheri,” Roman said, drawing my attention back to his handsome face. “Do you want to know what the first thought was that went through my head when I saw you walk through those doors tonight?”
I smiled. “Do tell.” I was sure whatever compliment he gave was going to melt my panties. Roman always had a way with wooing the ladies with his sensual language.
“That I wanted to see your pussy.”
/>
I swallowed hard, trying desperately not to show that his words were making my pussy, which he wanted to see, throb in need.
“I never took the opportunity to really see your pussy before. I plan to change that.”
I sat speechless. What could I say? What could I do? I didn’t even know if I liked what he said. My pussy liked his words… that much was for sure.
“Spread your legs for me,” he ordered, stunning me with the way his face went serious and his tone even.
“Excuse me?” My heart skipped, and I wondered if I’d heard him correctly. Would he be so bold to ask something like that of me?
“Open your legs right there. Where you sit. Now.”
I glanced around our surroundings, as if the only reason I wouldn’t follow his command was because someone would see me.
“No one is up here right now. No one will see. Just me,” he assured.
“You’ve got to be kidding, I’m—”
“Now,” he interrupted. “I want to see your pussy. Spread your legs.”
What the fuck was wrong with me? His dominance. His command. Everything about the way Roman said the words, the way he sat, and the way his hungry eyes waited for me to comply turned me on like I had never been turned on before. I wanted to do what he asked. As crazy as it sounded, I wanted to spread my legs. I wanted him to see my pussy. I wanted him to see what I had to offer—remind him of what he once had.
“The waitress—”
“Isn’t here,” he countered. “Unless you would like her to be. Do you want to show her your pussy too?”
“Roman…” I said, barely louder than a squeak.
His look changed, and that was all it took. His eyes darkened. His face hardened. Something about the way he glared into my eyes told me he was serious, and I was to follow his sexual command. He expected submission.
And fuck me; I wanted to give it.
Very slowly, I eased my legs open. My black dress bunched high on my thighs as I revealed the fact that I wore no panties beneath the dress. Had I done so on purpose? Maybe. I liked not wearing panties. It was a dirty secret that only I knew, and I liked it. It was my secret… until now. Roman could clearly see I wore no panties as I spread my legs before him.
I could see his chest heave as he took a deep breath. His eyes drank in my sex, no doubt glistening with my desire. The cool air of the room made contact with my wet flesh, heightening my arousal even more.
“Like that?” I teased. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Wider,” he commanded, never breaking his glare from my needy sex.
I did as he asked, spreading my legs as wide as the tight fabric of my dress would allow.
“Do you like what you see?” My voice came out low and husky. I couldn’t believe I was engaging in such a wanton act, but it thrilled me, heightened all my senses, and made me want to do more. I wanted to be a very bad, bad girl. Roman brought a lustful harlot out from my etiquette-trained good girl self.
“Stand up,” he said as he stood and placed his glass on the table near us.
I closed my legs, feeling as if I were in a daze induced by his masculinity. Who the fuck was this man? And what a man he was. Roman took my glass and sat it next to his as he reached for my hand, pulling me to standing. I brushed down the material of my dress so it covered all my private parts again, though a part of me was disappointed that my voyeuristic act had come to an end.
“Come with me,” he said as he led me toward a hallway in the far corner of the upper level. I hadn’t noticed it before, but with all the shadows of the club and the nooks and crannies, I was pretty sure I had only touched the surface. I assumed there was so much more to Spiked Roses.
“Where are we going?” Did I even care? Not really, but it still felt like a question one would ask when being escorted down an unfamiliar hallway.
Roman didn’t answer my question, but led me to a door and swiped a card into the keypad. There was a click of the lock pad, and he opened the door to what appeared to be like any other five-star hotel room, but on steroids. A large king size bed mastered the room. Floor to ceiling windows looked out onto the skyline of New Orleans, acting as the only needed art in the room. Damask wallpaper kept with the baroque feel of the club, but the reds and blacks were offset with golds and warmer tones. A crystal chandelier, like the ones in the club, hung over the lush bed, beckoning me with its jeweled ambiance. It smelled of money. If felt like riches. The room would give any capitalist an instant hard-on. It figured this members-only men’s club would have rooms of this magnitude. Clearly, no expense was spared for its patrons.
And, of course, Roman would have access to one of these rooms. I expected nothing less from the prince.
He ushered me into the room, the sound of the door closing behind us sending a tantalizing chill down my spine. Had I just crossed the threshold of no return? Or had I truly crossed that threshold the minute I walked into Spiked Roses?
Without having the time to process what being in a room alone with Roman again would mean, I was pushed against the wall, followed by Roman’s lips descending on mine. His forceful kiss almost stole what little reason I had left, though a small voice still barely remained.
“Roman… we are like strangers again. We can’t. We shouldn’t,” I breathlessly said between the attacking kisses.
“Be quiet,” he ordered, and then thrust his tongue into my mouth, dancing it with mine. Just as my knees threatened to buckle, he pulled away from the kiss to say, “I don’t want to hear another word unless it’s you begging me to fuck you hard.”
A tinge of defiance surfaced as I said, “Roman…” but then was quickly extinguished when he flipped me around, yanked up my dress, and spanked me on the ass, hard.
“Say nothing, or I will punish this ass of yours,” he said as he ran his palm over my naked flesh, caressing all the way down to my upper thigh. Pushing his body against my back, he brought his lips to my ears and nibbled as he said, “Only words allowed from you are pleas of mercy, or sexual demands for more.”
I felt the signs of my arousal trickle down my inner thigh. I had never been so wet, and as I thrust my ass out for more of his touch, I mewled in delight when his caressing palm made its way to my wet pussy.
“You like being a bad girl, don’t you?” he asked as he ran his finger along the seam of my sex, collecting my juices that revealed my need for more.
I shook my head, trying so hard to fight the urge. The urge to fuck Roman like no woman had fucked him before. But I wasn’t in control, and Roman proved that fact once again when he slapped my pussy. The sting, mixed with pleasure, caused me to gasp, yet press my body into his hand, silently pleading for more.
“You like your cunt spanked, don’t you, dirty girl?” he asked, inches from my face. He swatted my pussy again, only making my arousal surge from deep within my core, soaking his hand with my essence. “I can feel that you do. I can smell that you do.” He removed his hand, spun me around so I was facing him, and then brought his finger to his lips and sucked my juices while staring into my eyes. “And I can taste that you do.”
My dress was bunched up at my waist, my bottom half completely exposed, but I only stood awaiting Roman’s next move. I glanced down and could see that Roman’s cock tented his pants. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him. He liked what he saw. He liked what he smelled. And he definitely liked what he tasted.
He brought his lips to mine and kissed me again with even more passion than before. I could hear the unfastening of his belt, the lowering of his zipper, and the soft growl that escaped his lips when he gracefully shed himself of his clothing, never breaking the assault on my mouth. I stood helpless, barely touching him as if my arms and hands were numbed by the intense pleasure suffocating my soul.
We had never kissed like this before.
Never.
I had never hungered for him like this before.
Never.
He had never overpowered me with such animalistic
actions before.
Never.
“Take off your dress,” he said. “Then go lie on the bed, and spread your legs wide so I can see that sweet pussy of yours again.”
I was powerless to resist his commands. His husky voice was like a cadence to my uncontrolled march to do exactly as he asked. Walking toward the massive bed, I lifted my dress above my head and discarded it as I climbed up on top of the mattress. Pressing my back to the array of pillows, I slowly spread my legs as I had done before. This time, because I was completely nude, there was no restriction on how wide I could go.
Roman stared between my legs hungrily as his naked frame approached the foot of the bed. My eyes dipped down at his hardened dick. I had never really taken the time to look at his cock before. I had been too shy, too timid, and too inexperienced to feel comfortable to really look. As if looking at his penis in the past was somehow wrong, scandalous, and inappropriate. But not now. Now, I would look. Now, I would soak in the deliciousness of the man before me. I would taste that cock. I would lick every inch of it and not be timid in the slightest.
“Gorgeous,” Roman purred, climbing onto the bed and then between my legs. “I like seeing that pussy of yours. I can see you’re wet.”
A tinge of humiliation only sparked my arousal more. I liked being exposed. I enjoyed the feeling of vulnerability.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I’m wet.” I opened my legs even wider as Roman placed a hand on each one of my knees.
“I’m about to make you much wetter,” he said as he dipped his head between my legs and kissed my pussy softly.
A loud moan escaped my mouth as I closed my eyes and arched my back. I had no control of my actions. The need for pleasure overtook. The tip of his tongue licked my clit, but only for a second. The contact wasn’t long enough to give me the satisfaction I so desperately craved. Roman licked down one side of my pussy, and then back up the other side, his breath hot against my aching flesh. I clutched at the bedspread as his tongue once again found my clit, and he began to circle, suck, lick, and draw my sexual need to a different level of intensity.
