The Royals: Alexander and Clara: Volume One (The Royals Saga)

by Geneva Lee

  “Do you want to tie me up?” she offered in a small, hopeful voice.

  I groaned and sank my teeth into her shoulder in an effort to restrain myself. She craned her neck, offering more of her delicate flesh as though she longed for the pleasure tinged with pain. The image of her elegant body bound in silk rope flashed through my mind. I craved her however I could take her, but the idea of having her at my mercy—at being able to give her more pleasure than she thought she could handle—tormented me.

  “Yes, poppet,” I murmured against her ear, catching its shell momentarily between my teeth. “But our situation has changed and I need to be certain that we understand each other.”

  “I…I…want you to dominate me,” she stammered. Her words came in a flurry of nervousness and expectation.

  My free hand slid around her waist to cup her breasts. I allowed my fingers to skim across the fragile tissue of her nipples, which responded immediately to my touch. “Your body is so responsive. It longs for my touch as if it’s just waiting for me. For my hands. Or my mouth—” my lips dipped once more to the hollow behind her ear. “But there are things we need to be clear about. First, I have to ask you. Did you enjoy it when I tied your wrists?”

  Her eyes closed in reverence and she bobbed her head. My cock throbbed, and I forced myself to ignore its demands even as her supple ass brushed against it.

  “Do you want me to tie you up? Do you want to give me control?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. Under the hand that covered her breast, I felt her heartbeat speed up.

  “Do you understand what you’re asking for?” I hated to force a serious topic at this moment, but I couldn’t stomach the possibility of crossing the line with her. Not after what she’d endured before we met.

  Finally there was hesitation. She didn’t know how to answer me. “I trust you, X.”

  “And I will not betray that trust,” I assured her in a soothing voice. “But I want to be clear about something. We are not a dominant and submissive. Not truly.”

  “But you want to tie me…and s-s-spank me,” she stuttered as she tried to articulate her confusion.

  This is what I couldn’t explain to her before when I’d glimpsed her fear, but now that lines were being crossed, I wanted both of us to understand what we needed from each other. It was a talk I’d planned to have with her after I’d taken the riding crop to her, and it was long overdue. “Clara, there are many things I want to do to you. I want to feel my palm vibrate against your ass as I spank you. I want to tie you up and leave you to the mercy of my tongue or cock or fingers. I want you to trust me with your pleasure. Sexually my appetite varies. Many times all I need is to be inside you, but since I’ve met you, I’ve sensed there was something different about you—a fearlessness.”

  “I’m far from fearless,” she said with a soft snort.

  “You are brave, Clara. Strong.” I tugged the hair still wrapped around her throat, drawing her closer to me. “You see my need for control and you aren’t afraid. It’s almost as if you—”

  “Like it,” she finished for me in a breathless voice.

  “Do you?” I attempted to keep my voice steady. Everything hinged on her answer.

  “I don’t fear it.” She paused, considering the question. “I do like it. I yearn for it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because in it, we’re free.” She spoke so softly that I almost thought I’d imagined her words.

  She understood. The revelation hit me with the force of a sudden storm. She understood the delicate dance between the light and the dark that consumed me and that coloured my passion for her. At that moment, the fragile handle I had over my desires broke.

  “I need to be inside you,” I grunted. My hand dropped to spread her milky thighs.

  “Yes, please.”

  My cock spasmed at the familiar words. As always her eyes were closed and her voice distant as though she wasn’t even aware she had spoken. But the urgency of them was always there. It was how I’d known it was okay to cross the lines she’d claimed to have earlier in our relationship. It was how I knew she needed to feel me now as much as I needed her.

  I kept a hold of her hair, relishing the ability to pull her closer to me as I positioned myself behind her.

  “Hold onto the headboard,” I ordered her.

  Her fingers stretched over her head, grasping the slats of the wooden frame firmly. Then I pressed my hand to her taut belly and drew her ass down to my waiting hips. My cock slid inside her cunt, meeting with no resistance. A strangled cry of pleasure slipped from her mouth as my shaft speared her, piercing her to the core. Clara settled over me, and even though she didn’t circle her hips, her hunger radiated off of her, drawing me in and urging me on. I yanked the hair collaring her neck, tightening it so that she gasped and her breath shifted to quick, shallow pants.

  “You know what to say if it’s too much,” I reminded her softly.

  She nodded, but the only word she uttered was “more.”

  I was lost to the request, slamming into her until there was nothing but the slap of skin against skin and her near-breathless cries. My hand slipped from her belly to massage her clit as I quickened my thrusts. I was rewarded as the first of her pleasure clenched my cock. Her passage clamped against me, hungrily drawing forth my climax. I jerked her head back so that I could watch her face as she came undone.

  “Say it,” I whispered in her ear as pressure weighted my balls.

  Her lips parted obediently, but the taut hold I had on her throat restricted her speech. She mouthed the words.

  “I love you.”

  My pleasure erupted, spilling into her. At that moment, she freed me with her words, with her body. I allowed myself to feel her love and it washed over me as I hammered her toward another release. I didn’t want this moment to slip away but as she shattered against me once more, her body crumpled, supported only by her white-knuckled grip on the headboard. Releasing her hair, I gathered her in my arms and lowered us to the bed, still filling her.

  I couldn’t give her what she needed, even as she gave me everything. I couldn’t risk her life by being selfish.

  “I will never have my fill of you.” My whispered promise wasn’t what she deserved, but it would have to be enough.

  We stayed like that for somewhere between a minute and eternity. Time had ceased to hold sway over us. Clara drew herself from my arms, turning over to face me. Our eyes locked and lightness tightened my chest. It was always the same. Happiness followed so rapidly by self-loathing that I could not separate the two from one another.

  Her fingers tangled in my hair, drawing my lips to hers. The taste of her was honey on my tongue. When we broke apart, she glanced at me, an unusual shyness settling over her lovely features. “What did you mean when you said I wasn’t truly a submissive? Am I—” she paused—“doing something wrong?”

  I tightened my hold on her, pressing her close to my chest. “No, poppet. It’s more complicated than that.”

  There were things Clara didn’t know about my past. I couldn’t imagine she wanted the torture of knowing about every woman I’d been intimate with. Still the only way to explain what I’d meant earlier was to reveal something that might hurt her or, at best, scare her.

  “The dominant and submissive lifestyle is not something that one simply turns on and off.” I paused, preparing myself for her reaction.

  “You were in one?” she guessed in a quiet voice.

  There was my Clara, always reading my mind. “Yes.”

  She stiffened but didn’t pull away. It was a better reaction than I could have hoped for, so I continued. “It was brief and it occurred not long after Sarah’s death.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “No.” My denial was harsh, but I understood what Clara was truly asking. Had I been capable of love before her? “I’ve never loved a woman romantically. As I told you, I loved my mother and sister. That’s all.”

  It pained me to say it, k
nowing it hurt her. Clara drew in a sharp breath as though she’d been physically wounded, but she didn’t speak.

  “The girl who was chosen as my submissive was no one to me but a willing partner hand-picked by my friend.”

  “This friend picked a girl for you? You can hardly run to the corner shop and pick up a submissive.” There was an edge to her words that pained me.

  “It was a friend of my father’s who is a lifestyle dominant. I had heard the whispers, so I approached him. He understood the need for discretion and found a girl who could meet that need.” Perhaps the more cut and dried I made it sound, the less doubt it would give her.

  “What did you do to her?” she asked, but I heard the true question: what will you do to me?

  Answering this question was like walking a tight rope. “She helped me discover that while there were aspects of the lifestyle I craved, others did not suit me.”

  “What did you do to her?” her voice broke as she repeated the question more insistently.

  “I tied her up,” I admitted slowly. “Sometimes I took a cane to her or a paddle. Other times a whip. She craved pain—nearly unbearable pain. It was more satisfying to her than pleasure.”

  I felt her withdraw from me even though she didn’t move.

  “Clara,” I said her name as if I could catch her before she slipped away. “I was angry and confused. My body was still healing from the accident or I would have chosen self-punishment. But you must understand this was a mutual arrangement. She wasn’t a slave or a victim. She was a willing participant.”

  “Do you…do you…” she trailed away, unable to find the words.

  “Not anymore. It was a dark period in my life. I don’t feel the same compulsion to punish now, although it did show me that pleasure can be drawn out. That it can be mixed with the edge of pain, and that dominance and submission can be liberating.” I brushed back a lock of chestnut hair that had fallen over her forehead. It seemed a good sign that she didn’t flinch. “What other questions do you have? I don’t want you to feel there are secrets between us.”

  She hesitated, her eyes darting away from mine. “Why did you stop?”

  “My father found out.” My lips curled ruefully at the memory. Apparently I’d only needed to look to him for punishment if I’d wanted to feel pain. “I’d recovered from the accident, and he wouldn’t stand for any more bad press, as he put it. So he shipped me off to Afghanistan.”

  We lapsed into silence. Clara to think, and I to allow her time to process. It wasn’t the whole truth. I didn’t need her to feel any more pity for me—or fear. Finally, she buried her face into my shoulder.

  “The two of us are pretty fucked up,” she said in a muffled voice.

  I laughed humorlessly.

  Clara pulled away, her eyes searching my face. Perhaps for the darkness she’d seen before. For the first time, I hoped she didn’t see it.

  “I only want to give you pleasure, Clara. If this scares you, I’m happy to take you to bed or up against a wall or in an elevator.”

  I was rewarded with a tentative smile. “So average boring sex?”

  “Sex with you could never be average.” The thought was ludicrous. “It’s not a coincidence that I’ve been perpetually hard since we met.”

  “You have a similar effect on me. I still think—” she hesitated—“that I’d like to explore.”

  It was a perfect term to describe our mutual desire. Clara had once again surprised me, proving her strength as she opened herself to the unknown.

  “Do you want to try?” she asked in a small voice.

  “No.” I shook my head and then rolled her onto her back. “Not now. All I want is to worship you.”

  She didn’t object as I lowered my hips between her thighs and joined her. We moved together, lips lingering on skin and hands holding tightly to one another. Both determined to not let the other one slip away.

  Chapter Eleven

  It took considerable effort to pry myself out of Alexander’s arms—and bed—to go to my flat for a few hours. After the whirlwind of the last thirty hours, I needed to clear my head. Tomorrow I had to be at the office and there were presentations to prepare. Besides that I hadn’t spoken to Belle since she called me on Friday night. I owed her an explanation before she called Scotland Yard to report me missing. Pausing at the door, I took a deep breath before I unlocked it.

  "I'm sorry!" I flew into the room. Dropping my pocket book on the counter, I hugged a startled Belle. "My phone died."

  "I assumed as much when it went to voice mail for the last twenty-four hours." If my best friend was upset, she didn't show it. I could almost spot the twitch of a smile on her lips, but she raised her teacup to cover it. She was dressed in a rose-colored dressing gown that made her look every bit the vintage ingénue, but it wasn’t Philip taking tea with her this morning. It was Aunt Jane. The older woman, already wearing today’s flowing garb and assortment of funky jewelry, stretched her arms wide to hug me.

  "She was worried," Jane said, earning a reproachful look from her niece. But Aunt Jane was far past caring what anyone, family included, thought of what she said. "I told her to stick a cork in it."

  My eyes flashed from hers to Belle’s, trying to keep a straight face but I failed miserably. To my surprise, they both joined in with my laughter. The atmosphere of the flat felt lighter than it had in weeks, and it seemed to be affecting all of us.

  "You're in an excellent mood," Belle noted.

  "She got shagged." Jane wasn't the type to tiptoe around the tulips. If the fastest path was to walk straight through, she'd mow them down. When it came to my love life, she didn't make exceptions to this rule. Still, I had to appreciate her frankness when it came to my recent romantic entanglements, even if she had a tendency to make me blush. After all, it had been her interference that had opened the door to allowing Alexander back into my life.

  "It's the weekend. Who isn't shagging?" Belle asked.

  Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "I thought you were handling this well."

  "Don't rub it in, girls,” Jane said in a mournful tone.

  "You see more action than both of us," Belle scoffed.

  "Fernando moved to Spain," she informed us. "I suppose I'm, what do you young people say, back in the game?"

  This time I didn't even try to smother my laughter. What would it be like to be a free spirit like Belle's aunt—saying what I liked and bedding men with exotic names? Of course, she wasn't married. I wasn't sure if she ever had been. From everything she'd said to me, there had been a long string of lovers in her life. But she'd hinted at one doomed relationship when she advised me to take a chance with Alexander. "Were you ever married, Aunt Jane?"

  Her eyes widened a bit and I remembered that despite how forthright Jane could be, she was still English.

  "Sorry," I murmured. "I was only curious."

  “It's fine." She waved off my apology, the sleeve of her turquoise kaftan swirling in the air. "No, not really.”

  “I didn't mean to pry." I felt terrible for letting curiosity get the better of me, and her answer only left me more curious.

  "Will I be seeing a lot more of you in the tabloids?" Belle asked, breaking the palpable tension in the air. No. Not tension. Sadness.

  I forced a tight-lipped smile, appreciative for the change in topic. Although I hadn’t quite decided how to broach the subject of Alexander yet. "I suppose so."

  This was going to be the hard part, telling Belle that Alexander's red carpet fib was no longer a figment of his imagination. We'd barely even lived together for the summer and I was abandoning her. It hardly seemed important that in a year she would be married herself and moving into Philip’s house, but partially because neither of us had anticipated how Alexander would change my life.

  "I agreed to move in with him." It was better to just be over and done with it than to drag it out longer than necessary.

  “You what?” Belle’s scream was an odd mixture of laughter an
d horror.

  “I’m going to live with Alexander.” It felt odd to say it out loud. Even stranger than it had to call it ‘our place’ with him in Notting Hill. I felt at home with Alexander as though I was where I belonged after a lifelong wait. But facing the reality of my decision outside his presence forced me to consider what I was choosing.

  “I got that part,” Belle snapped. Abandoning her tea on the counter, she rummaged through the cabinets until she found a bottle of scotch.

  “It’s not even noon,” I said as she poured a shot in a rocks glass and handed it to me.

  “It’s Sunday and we’re English.”

  That was apparently the final word on the matter. Aunt Jane took her glass without protest and swallowed it swiftly. She stood and gave me another hug. “I suppose I need to go check my partner.com profile. Maybe my next Fernando is waiting.” Then she leaned in and whispered so only I could hear, “No regrets, Clara.”

  As soon as she was out the door, Belle turned on me. “You can’t possibly have thought this through.”

  “I’ve been doing nothing but thinking for months,” I argued.

  “You’ve done nothing but work and avoid reality. Now you’re running back to the man who broke your heart!” No one would have guessed from looking at Belle that this slender blonde could raise such a ruckus. I, on the other hand, knew better. If I didn’t calm her down now, we both might say things we regretted.