by Scott, S. L.
“Yes . . . my king,” she says without prompting.
“Turn around and brace yourself.” She starts to turn, but I say, “Wait.” When she looks at me, I hold her face and kiss her, treating her like the woman I love before I treat her how she really craves.
When I pull back, I keep my eyes steady on her as she turns. She spreads her hands, and without asking, her legs go wide. I put gentle pressure on her head until she bends forward. Moving her hair to the side, I kiss down her spine until I reach the top of her round ass. Her ribs expand with her deep breaths, and her head lowers. Her body becomes mine once again as she gives in. I lick from one lower back dimple to the next and then run my thumb down the center of her crack.
A whimper escapes her when I pull my hand back. I could do a million things to her, and she’d let me because she trusts me. One of the many reasons I will never hurt her. One of the many reasons I know I’m the luckiest bastard.
Running my dick through her sweet little pussy lips, I stop when the tip dips into her. I want to fuck, be the selfish bastard I thought I was going to be. But her need is mine, and if I rush, I’ll leave her empty.
I hold her around the waist and push in slowly. Reaching around her hips, I find her clit and mimic the pace of my thrust. Once I’m seated deep inside her, I can’t keep steady. I move on instinct, being the animal she brings out in me.
I know she’s close because her clit swells enough to show off for me. I can read her body well. I fuck my princess until she falls apart in my arms, sending me into my own release.
The water is still warm, but we’ve been in here a long time. I still take a minute to rest against the glass while staring at her. Her arms must be tired, but she stays bent forward. I watch carefully for another few seconds before I help her. Slowly taking one arm down and then the other, I turn her and bring her into my arms.
A sob rushes through her, and though she’s quiet, too quiet, her body rattles. I sit on the bench and hold my sweet girl in my arms, letting her cry. She’s curled on my lap, her falling tears blending with the water from above. “Hey, look at me.”
She struggles to lift her gaze to mine, but when our eyes meet, I say, “I love you.”
That brings another sob bursting from her chest. Her hands roam my chest and neck, and she lifts up to kiss my neck. “I love you, and my heart is full, but my body feels depleted. Empty without you.” Her fingers tap across my jaw as if I’m the breakable one between us.
“Souls,” I say so quietly as I feel the meaning for the first time. All the questions lingering in the back of my mind while I gave her time to think are answered.
“What?”
“I feel the same because we’re soul mates.” I catch her hand and bring it up. “Do you know what that means?” She stares into my eyes with such innocence. “It means we fight for this. We fight to be together.” Kissing her wrist, I keep my eyes locked on hers. “You can be the queen, and we will be together. I’ll give everything here up for you. I’ll give up everything . . . except you.”
Her staggered sob is caught in her throat, then she gets to her feet. “What are you saying?”
“We can go back.”
Determination tightens her focus. “With you by my side, I’ll reclaim what’s mine.”
“How? Your parents—”
“Once I’m the queen, it’s all up to me. I don’t have to marry before I take the throne.”
“So how can I help you?”
We both stop when we hear the doorbell. “What was that?” she asks, looking through the glass enclosure.
“The doorbell.” She looks shocked. I am too, but possibly for a different reason. “That’s weird.”
“It sounds just like in the movies.”
I shut off the water and grab a towel from the shelf for her and then one for me. “You haven’t heard a doorbell before?”
“No. The palace doesn’t have one, and no one ever came to our place in Texas since no one knew we were there.”
Stepping out, I dry off just enough to walk out and pull on work-out shorts. “Not even to solicit?”
“No. They couldn’t get past security downstairs.”
The sound of a doorbell has never elicited so many thoughts before, but as she said, someone would have to get through my security to get to my apartment. Before I exit the bedroom, she comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and says, “Be careful.”
“Stay here.” I wish I had time to tell her about the panic room, but the doorbell rings again. Hurrying into the living room, I activate the security system monitor and go to the camera covering my front door. “Oh shit.”
30
Ally
Hutton’s T-shirt swallows me whole, but I love the feel of it, so I pull it on over my yoga pants when I hear a ruckus in the living room. I stand still, trying to decipher if I should run and hide, call for help, or . . . is that Jakob’s voice?
Bennett’s laughter reaches the bedroom, and although my heart is racing, I begin breathing again. “Oh my God!” I dash out of the bedroom to find my brother, my sister, Margie, and Bennett in the living room. I’m not sure who to hug first, but my brother opens his arms to me, so I go there. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“We can’t either,” he says. “It took a lot of convincing to let us come to visit.”
The word “visit” doesn’t sit right with me, but I’m not going to ruin the reunion. I embrace my little sister. “Hi.”
Her hug is tighter than usual, and when she leans back, she rolls her eyes. “I know you won’t believe me, but I missed you.”
I give her hand a little squeeze. “I missed you, too.”
Although I’ve been conflicted about Margie recently, I very clearly remember what she did for me a few nights ago. I wouldn’t have been able to leave with Hutton if she hadn’t snuck me my passport. “Hello.” I start slowly, testing the water that flows between us.
“Hello,” she replies and then curtsies.
When she’s up again, I say, “You’re here.”
“I’m not just your secretary, Belle. I’m your friend, and I was worried about you.”
It isn’t an apology, but that needs to be done in a private setting. Taking into account the passport and the fact that she traveled to check on me, I hug her. It could be that I just missed my friend. Or all three. Either way, she’s here. “I missed you.”
Peeking over to Bennett, he sticks out his bottom lip. “No hug? Wow, you act like we just saw each other or something.”
Hutton’s not wearing his watch, but it can’t be much past nine. “Yeah, maybe like, oh I don’t know, seven hours ago.” I go and hug him anyway.
He points at my head when I hug him, and he says, “See, Hut, old man, the women love me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replies. “Why didn’t anybody call me?”
I push off him and lean against Hutton, and whisper, “Your phone is still by the bed.”
Jakob says, “I called Hutton, and when he didn’t answer, I bothered Bennett.”
Bennett says, “I sent you three messages that they were here. We finally decided to barge in. Well, we knocked just in case—”
“Okay,” Hutton says, “we get it.”
His arm comes around me, and I hold on to it until Jakob, Marielle, and Margie’s eyes all go wide. I realize too late what I’ve done. Fighting my instinct of propriety and everything I was raised to believe, I stay, then I take Hutton’s hand and hold it. Right. In. Front. Of. Them. With Hutton in Austin, I never felt the need for propriety. Never kept physical distance in front of people. That’s because I was only ever Ally in America. But now as my two worlds collide? Now I’m Princess Arabelle and Ally.
“Guess you’ve done more than kiss,” Marielle deadpans.
“Wow. This escalated quickly,” Jakob says, “You’ve renounced the throne and already look at home. With Hutton.”
Hutton holds me and says, “She hasn’t renounced the throne. Tell them, Ally
.”
I catch the flash of annoyance on Margie’s face when she hears the name. I let it go and lead them to sit down. “I’m not giving up my birthright. Why would I? Because I fell in love? Because I shamed the monarchy? No,” I say, shaking my head. “They’re trying to teach me a lesson. They want me to marry the duke—”
“Ew,” my sister says, scrunching her face. “He’s like a brother.” Patting Jakob on the arm, she smiles sweetly. “No offense to you.”
With his hands up, he replies, “Offense taken. The guy is a dick.”
“Literally. And I agree. That’s why I told him it will never happen.”
Margie says, “Never say never.”
“Never.” But that wasn’t from me, though I was about to say it. Hutton crosses his arms over his chest, and says, “She’ll never marry him.”
Margie seems surprised but doesn’t say anything more when she sits back.
The doorbell rings again, and Hutton says, “What the fuck is with the surprise visits today?”
Bennett heads for the security monitor. “It’s Singer. I’ll let her in.”
I smile at the thought of my new friend meeting the people I care about. “Great timing. I can’t wait for you to meet her. She’s pure loveliness.”
Jakob asks, “Is she hot?”
Hutton taps his shoulder when he gets up and walks into the kitchen. “She’s off limits.”
“Says who?”
“My brother.”
“Ah. Yes, that puts her firmly in the off-limits category,” he jokes.
I’ve never seen this side of him, but when I think about it, we’ve really not spent a lot of time in the same place since we turned twenty-one.
“Coffee or juice?” Hutton asks, taking orders.
I hear Singer chatting away like a bluebird when she enters the living room with Bennett. Stopping in her tracks, she holds her hands out in front of her. “I didn’t know you had company. I can come back later.”
“No,” I say, standing up. “Come in. I want you to meet my family and friend.”
She blushes and giggles. “Sorry. I’m sort of freaking out inside right now.”
Bennett gives her a side hug. “Not just on the inside.”
“Stop teasing me. It’s like a royal trifecta in here.”
That earns her a rousing round of laughter. I introduce her to my family, and Jakob kisses the top of her hand, and then says, “I hear you’re married?”
Singer laughs. “Happily.” When she meets Marielle, she says, “You’re even more beautiful than you are on TV.” That instantly wins my sister over. Singer’s smile momentarily slips when she meets Margie. Her tone changes, but her etiquette is still intact. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I still don’t get Margie, especially when she replies, “And you, Mrs. Everest.” It’s not the words but her tone that comes across as rude.
No more. We will talk today.
Hutton turns on the coffee machine, and asks, “It’s nine fifteen in the morning. How did you guys know we’d be up?”
“Ethan told me you were working out earlier,” she replies matter-of-factly.
“How’d he know?”
“He knows everything.” She narrows her eyes and points a finger at her brothers-in-law. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”
Bennett laughs. “Your secret’s safe with us.”
She gets up and heads for the kitchen. “I stopped by to see if Ally—”
“Princess Arabelle,” Margie grits, correcting her while she stands in opposition.
“Margitte,” I snap.
My sister asks, “Who’s Ally?”
Bennett squeezes between her and Jakob and drapes his arms along the back of the couch. “I was going back to bed, but maybe I’ll stay and watch the fireworks.”
From the kitchen, Hutton yells, “Go home, Ben.”
Popping right back up, he says, “I’m out.” But then he turns back. “Want to hang out at my place, Marielle?”
“Oh, um,” she stutters, and her cheeks turn pink.
“No,” Jakob snaps, “she doesn’t.”
I’ve been stewing in my anger for minutes. So I finally stand. “Singer, I hate to be rude, but can I call you in a little while? My family and I have business to discuss.”
“No problem at all. Just call me if you have time.”
I walk her to the door and say goodbye before marching back to the living room, realizing I’ve not explored the apartment since I arrived. “Hutton, do you have a room where Margie and I can talk privately?”
“Down the hall past the front door. Take your pick of rooms, or there’s another living room you can use.” He comes to me with a cup of coffee and also hands one to Margie.
“Thank you.” I lift up on my bare toes and kiss him. I don’t even care if the whole world sees me. Screw stupid, outdated laws. We’re in America anyway. Let the Bruden police come get me.
Margie and I carry our coffees with us as we walk past a row of guestrooms and into the sunshine of another smaller sitting room. Like how I see Margie these days, I see this apartment with a new perspective. Hutton feels like home, but could this place be the one we call home?
“Please sit,” I direct and sit across from her.
“Are we talking as friends or you as my princess?”
“I want you to speak freely as my friend.” I turn my mug around in my hand, and ask, “What are you doing, Margie?”
“What are you doing, Belle?” She lowers her voice. “Did you take a shower with him?”
Thinking about my wet hair, I volley back a question, because I don’t owe her answers, “Why did you come to New York?”
“I’m your last saving grace, Princess. Your father has reviewed the security tapes that date back to your teens. He knows I was with you half the time. That I was an accomplice.”
“To what? To having a good time. Jeez,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’d think the man never partied before he was a prince.”
“He was allowed to. You were not, and you knew that.”
“I know it, but that doesn’t make it fair or right.”
“Fair?” she scoffs. “You’re spoiled.” She stands as I sit in shock. “You’ve been given everything, and you’re tossing it away like it means nothing. My mother worked her ass off, and here I am, trying to do what’s best for you instead of me, and you don’t even care.”
Standing, I walk to the window, allowing a moment for her words to sink in. She thinks I’m spoiled. Selfish. “I do care. About you. About my family. About my country and the people of Bruden.”
“Your country because you basically own it. I’m just a simple servant to the monarch.”
“You’ve been given a life of luxury and still have the right to quit any time you like. What really keeps you there if you hate it so much?”
“You, but you’re too blind to see that everyone is trying to help you succeed. That passport was a peace offering to help you out.”
“I appreciate you doing that, but what happened to us?” I turn away from her and look out over Manhattan. It’s easy to feel like queen of the world from up here, but do I need the world or just the little country of Brudenbourg anymore? “When did we become enemies?”
“When you put your own needs in front of your country’s.”
“I can’t win with you. I love my country, but when does loving my country mean I’m not allowed to live a life I love too?”
“It’s never been this way before—”
“I know. Isn’t it time we catch up with the times? You and I both know I’ve had sex and that alone could knock me out of the line of succession. But why? Why does that mean I’m not fit to be queen? My mother is the queen, and news alert, she’s had sex.”
“I didn’t make the rules, the laws, nor have a say in the matter. But you knowingly broke them, and if there are no consequences, then what keeps everyone else from cherry-picking their way through our laws?”
“I didn’t
murder anybody. I had sex with somebody I love. Heaven forbid.” Shoving my wrists in front of me, I add, “Lock me up and throw away the key.”
“That’s just it, Belle. You didn’t love Hutton when you had sex. You simply gave him the best part of you for free.”
Her lack of tact in delivery hurts. Yet I try to overlook the bluntness and take in her words. Sitting, I lean my head back and cover my face with my hands. This is where we are—we will never see eye to eye. It makes me sad to lose this friendship. It makes me mad that she won’t see my side. It’s so frustrating, but most of all, it’s hurtful. I sit up and look at my friend, the one I used to play dolls with, dream of what our Prince Charmings would look like one day, and keep each other’s secrets under a vow through a pinky promise that meant something. With no energy to continue a losing battle, I say, “That you think my body is the best part of me, that it’s the best I have to offer, says it all. I have so much more to offer than being a pretty talking head for Brudenbourg. If that’s all that is expected of me, maybe I don’t want to be the queen.”
Standing back up, I take my coffee and sip, savoring its taste. What I see as the best part of me is the man who loves me selflessly. He made sure this coffee was exactly how I like it . . . with a little dash of cinnamon. I won’t take that lightly, and I will never take Hutton for granted.
“That’s ridiculous.”
I’m about to leave, knowing this conversation is as over as our friendship, but add, “If you can’t support me and my relationship with Hutton, then we’re done here.”
“I can’t and won’t.” Her words are like daggers. “Your parents know you’ve had sex.”
“What?”
I thought I was only stabbed in the heart, but no. I’ve been stabbed in the back. I’m almost too angry to cry, but this stings. “You’re my friend. My best friend since we were eight. How can you do this to me?”
