by Anna Bloom
His lips trailed around the swell of my right boob, brushing against the silk of my top.
“No, not a loser.” I squeezed my legs tight together as heat burned as hot as coals. Noticing the movement, his fingers reached down and ran up my thigh, easing my legs apart and running over the material of my shorts. I groaned as his lips continued to brush maddeningly around the edge of my pebbled nipple, while his hand stroked firm passes over my core.
“Oliver.” I tried to stretch up, but he had me captured in his grasp while his free hand punished and teased.
“What’s the matter, Leia?” Raising up a little he kissed along my throat, along the edge of my jaw, his teeth pulling on my earlobe.
“There are better ways to exercise than running in the morning.” I changed my statement as I tried to move my hips so his fingers would slip inside me. They didn’t, stroking instead over my clit as I writhed against his hand.
“Like what, Leia?”
“Like this.” I gasped as his tongue thrust into my mouth; hard and utterly delectable.
Sleep to orgasm in two minutes. My anticipation clawed inside me, burning hot and endlessly intense.
“Am I a royal loser at this too?” His lips went back to their maddening path on my neck and I managed to giggle and gasp all at once. “Roll over.” His command turned me to orgasmic jelly. My legs, usually utterly useless, responded instantly and I rolled onto my tummy.
He raised onto his knees and pulled at the waistband of my shorts, tugging them down and exposing my butt. Flipping heck. Pulling on my hips, he lifted me slightly before running his fingers between the cleft of my arse. I groaned into the pillow as his fingers slipped deep inside me, pushing right against that spot that makes my toes point like a ballerina. “Oh shit.”
He chuckled, low and deep, his fingers unrelenting as he slipped another one inside. Turning me slightly, his other hand reached around and pressed hard against my clit and rotated in a small but intense circle.
“I think I’m going to die.” I pushed back on his fingers, making them go so deep it almost hurt. The pleasurable pain lit a deep and unmanageable tingle. It waved over me, dragging me higher and higher, until his fingers disappeared and I spiralled back down.
He pecked his lips against my neck and smacked my arse so hard the sound rang around the room. My orgasm, so close and painful, ebbed away, leaving me clawing desperately at the cotton sheets. Leaning close to my ear, he flicked his tongue against my earlobe; his warm breath on my skin made me shiver. “You can think about that all day while you are with my mother.”
“Oliver.” I groaned into the duvet. “You can’t do that.”
Sweet Jesus, the ache of dissatisfaction already stung, it would only get worse.
“Your royal loser shall look forward to his apology.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I whined.
It didn’t make any difference, he slipped off the bed and left me aching in a way I’d never experienced before.
It was going to be a long day.
By the time I’d got out of the shower and dressed—I’d considered finishing off Oliver’s tantalising tease for myself as I stood under the hot water in the wet room but decided I’d wait. It wouldn’t be the same, and I knew, and he knew that I wanted him to finish the job—Daisy and Oliver were eating pancakes at the kitchen island. He poured me a coffee and pushed it across the island, a secret smile playing across his lips. “So, Daisy what shall we do today while Mummy is with the Queen?”
I held in my groan.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I lifted an eyebrow.
“No. I’m still on holiday.”
I thought hard for a moment trying to work out what day it was until he laughed.
“It’s Saturday.”
Had it really only been just over a week since Daisy had been almost fatally ill? I wondered if weeks would ever feel the same again.
A pang struck my chest at the realisation things would never be the same again. Would life now feel like a forever of Sundays?
“What are you thinking?” His smile dropped.
“That this is weird.”
“Good weird or bad weird?” His smile lifted, but his eyes remained tight.
“Just generally weird.”
He nodded slowly. “I guess.”
I shrugged and smiled brightly, leaning over to kiss Daisy’s head. “We’ll have to tell Nana that we can’t go for Sunday lunch.”
“No need.” Hesitation flickered in Oliver’s gaze. “I’ve invited her here. I hope that’s okay. Mum likes a Sunday lunch, although John and Isabella moan like babies every week.”
“Nana is coming for Sunday lunch with the Queen?” I’d just taken a bite of pancake and it lodged into my throat. I coughed; panic sweat breaking out over my skin when I thought I might die at the hands of a crepe.
“Sure.” He shrugged like this was to be expected.
“Okay.” I gulped my coffee, but it just made my sweating hotter. I tried discreetly to dab at my face with my shirt.
In the dressing room, I’d tried to find an outfit suitable for a day of meetings with the Queen. I’d ended up putting on the cream shirt and jeans I’d worn to Oliver’s warehouse the first night I’d gone for toasted sandwiches. For one long moment I thought back whimsically to that night. He’d made it all seem so simple. Now here we were, and on the surface it did seem simple. I just didn’t know if I could trust it for how it appeared.
Oliver reached for my hand and squeezed tight until I offered him a smile that hid my sheer and utter I-want-to-puke panic.
“Leia, I—” a knock at the door to the apartment interrupted his words and he rolled his eyes—utterly unprincely.
The knock sounded again and grumbling under his breath he stalked for the door, while I made a mental note to never disturb his pancake time.
A woman was there in a smart grey suit, her silver streaked hair smoothed up into a neat updo. “Your Highness,” she bobbed a curtsey, “Miss Lawrence is expected in the palace now.”
He raised a dark eyebrow, his lips quirking slightly. “Did you hear that, Miss Lawrence? Your presence is required in the main palace.”
I gulped hard and wished to the gods of deodorant there was a roll-on for the face.
“I haven’t had my breakfast yet.”
The woman’s quick gaze scooted over me. “Not to worry, we have fruit.”
Oliver snorted and then perched himself back on his stool next to Daisy. The woman waited expectantly, her gaze talking in the place of words.
I wasn’t to be late to meet the Queen.
Grabbing a pancake and shoving half of it in my mouth and then wiping the back of my hand across my lips, I leant down and gave Daisy a kiss.
“Ugh, Mummy, you are all sticky.”
“Have a good day.” I tried to say.
Oliver tangled his fingers in mine and pulled me close, leaning up to my ear. “I’ll be thinking about your apology all day.”
I choked on the pancake, sweated from every pore, and nearly fell over all at once.
He chuckled and let go of my hand. “Have fun, Leia.”
I glared as hard as I could while also trying to swallow pancake. “Why thank you, Your Highness.” I managed. Then I shoved in the rest of the pancake and turned for the woman at the door. “Shall we?” I said around the mouthful.
“Yes let’s.”
I walked out to the sound of Daisy and Oliver’s laughter.
They shouldn’t be allowed to hang around and do nothing all day while I did… what the hell was I doing?
Trying not to over think anything, I concentrated on the matter in hand, not falling over the gravel of the driveway and turning up at my audience with the Queen with blood on my knees and hands.
“No! Sweet Jesus, that hurts.”
“Leia.” The beautician’s voice tried to soothe me. “If you just sat still it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
St Mark’s Palace had a spa
. I mean… really… there were people starving on our streets and yet the royal family could go down to the basement level of their castle/palace thingy and have a hot stone massage.
Everything about it seemed utterly wrong.
Although I’d take a hot stone massage instead of going to have my fingers waxed… my fingers! I thought those hairs were meant to be there.
Did Oliver think he’d been hanging out with an orangutan? Because considering the amount of hair I’d had removed from my body, I’d think that was the case.
Carly, who had on a white button up uniform and looked like she survived on lettuce, had begun to lose her patience.
Victoria, who’d put highlights in my hair, and who studied the foils sticking from my head like a porcupine, kept glancing at the clock on the wall; we’d been down here for at least half a decade. After this torture, I had lunch with the Queen, Isabella, and the woman who’d been hired to help me navigate these new royal waters. Norma. It wasn’t a royal name I’d give her that, but the woman had a face you couldn’t argue with. She appeared to be the living embodiment of an etiquette rule book. They’d obviously called in the big guns.
“Okay, there we go, all done.” Carly patted my red raw hand.
“I really don’t think it’s necessary,” I grumbled.
“You will get used to it. The Queen is very keen for all members of the family to look smart and well kept at all times.”
I flexed my fingers, my mind drifting to the homeless shelter down the road from Bright Futures. I didn’t think anyone there would give a monkey’s arse if your fingers were hairy or not.
“Quite.”
“Okay, lets get those foils out and then we can blow dry before lunch.” Victoria’s voice singsonged but it sounded stilted and forced.
“Fine.”
Both of the women who’d spent hours working me over glared at one another. I could only assume their usual clients weren’t as vocal as me.
Forty-five minutes later I returned to the Queen’s suite with smooth and silky, shiny blonde hair. My hair which had always been fair, now blended about three different shades of ash, smoothing my usual straw-toned hair. It felt wonderfully swishy, and while I still didn’t approve of the utter overindulgence of having a personal spa, I couldn’t stop running my fingers through the blonde lengths. Four inches shorter than I’d normally wear it; it now hung in a thick sheet, reminding me of Freya’s beautiful ebony glossy lengths.
My face glowed with new skin; apparently the outer layers of my epidermis were utterly unnecessary and had been scoured off. I didn’t have make-up on though, for which I was eternally grateful. Make-up and I weren’t the best of friends and I had the ability to make myself look like a drunk clown when let loose with the stuff. At least they’d realised that much about me.
The woman in the grey suit waited outside gold and cream double doors. “Miss Lawrence.”
I nodded to Mrs Hurst who seemed to be the Queen’s ‘woman who does’.
Queen Margaret waited inside her suite for me. She looked beautiful in neutral colours, her pale hair in a smooth bun at the base of her neck. “Ah, Leia. You survived Victoria and Carly.” She stepped up and linked a hand through my arm, tucking me into her side although I was much bigger than her and I knew if I lost my balance, I’d squish her face first into her pale thick carpet.
“They were very thorough.” I flushed a little and the Queen chuckled.
“Better for Carly to get into all the cracks and crevices than to go somewhere else and then someone sells the story.”
“Does everyone sell a story?”
The Queen hesitated for a moment. “Not always.”
The dark head of Isabella Beaufort lifted from a cream silk sofa. I don’t think she liked to be upright—a sentiment I knew all too well. “Mother, be truthful; if she’s got this far, I doubt knowing everything will scare her off now.” She paused, her face pensive for a moment. “She’s clearly really in love with Oliver, although honestly, I have no idea why.” With that she flung herself back onto the sofa. The Queen frowned in her direction but didn’t say anything. Isabella’s fingers twitched a bit, as though she drummed along to music the rest of us couldn’t hear.
“That is quite true,” the Queen agreed.
“You’ve been here before though, haven’t you? With Charlotte Macclesfield?” I hated to say the woman’s name out loud. But there seemed no point in ignoring the fact that the heir to the throne had almost been married once before, not that long ago—that’s not what’s happening here, but still, I’d just had my lady garden waxed by the royal beautician… a line had definitely been crossed.
The Queen’s face clouded. “We made an error of judgement.” She nodded, but her beautiful elfin face sharpened with a frown.
“How do you know I’m not a mistake?”
Her expression cleared. “Because Oliver wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. And secondly, he never brought Ms Macclesfield to live at the palace.”
He didn’t? “Oh. Did he live with her at the warehouse?” I don’t know why, but that stung a little. I liked the idea of the warehouse being our place. Of course it couldn’t be ours. Nothing about him, was ours or mine.
“No.” The Queen smiled warmly and led me to the cluster of sofas where Isabella laid sprawled like a stroppy teenager. She nudged her with her knee. “Oliver’s never lived with anyone before.”
Her words floored me. I mean, I’d never asked, just kind of assumed. I mean… they’d been engaged to be married.
“Oh.”
The Queen smiled while her daughter propped herself up straight and then flopped her head back down—hungover by my reckoning—or drunk, I couldn’t quite decide. “You see, Leia. This is all new. A new start for all of us.” Her gaze sharpened. “And we don’t plan to make any mistakes a second time.”
Ten
“One must never talk with food in their mouth.” Norma sat ramrod straight at the luncheon table; luncheon not lunch. I shot a look at Mrs Hurst who slipped her own gaze to the side. Traitor.
“Yes, yes. Even Daisy knows that.”
In front of me sat a bone china plate that held a chicken breast, one piece of broccoli, and some tiny shreds of carrot. I didn’t care though; my stomach had grumbled for an hour.
“Never begin to eat until the King has taken his first mouthful. Also, you must never leave a room before the King.”
“Okaaaay.” I mulled this over, watching the gravy cool into a congealed gel on my plate. “So I have to watch the King all the time? I don’t want him to think I’m staring.”
Norma ignored me but Isabella snorted.
“At the end of the meal if you wish to leave the table to use the bathroom you must pick your handbag up and place it to the left of your plate. Staff will know then that you wish to leave your seat.”
What the hell had Oliver been telling them about my balance?
“I think I can manage that by myself.”
Norma’s smile grew tighter. “I’m sure you can; but can you do it in such a manner that doesn’t flash your underwear or knock a chair over?”
I paused for a moment. Actually, I couldn’t guarantee that.
“I don’t even use handbags. I don’t think I own one that isn’t a giant holdall full of cr—” I cut off my words, throwing a meek glance towards the Queen.
“You’ll have plenty, don’t worry.” Isabella took a sip of her wine. I hadn’t even managed to put my fingers on my glass yet.
“What exactly do you think I will be doing to need all these social cues?” I turned my attention for the Queen and voiced my very real concern.
She sent me a soft smile. “Leia, I know this is a lot. But Oliver will be King one day. It’s very important that you are seen to behave in a queenly manner.”
“Is that what Charlotte Macclesfield did, because if that’s how future queens are expected to behave then I don’t think I’m down with it.”
Norma let out a hissed gasp.
“I’m sorry,” I waved my hands in front of my face, part fan, part shield. “I hate to be rude, but I don’t want to sit here learning how to behave in public if you are expecting me to be something else behind closed doors. I can only be who I am.”
The Queen inclined her head.
“Your Majesty,” I began but she held up her hand.
“Margi.”
I scrunched my face. “I don’t think I can call you that.”
The Queen grinned widely. “Miss Macclesfield didn’t have a problem with it.”
“And I just told you, I’m not her.”
Taking me by surprise, the Queen leant forward and clutched my hand. “And that my dear is exactly why I can’t contain my excitement.”
“Excitement?” My voice wobbled despite my defiance.
“Everybody out.” She clapped her hands and it reminded me all too much of Oliver when I first met him. Every whim of his requests were met without any hesitation.
Norma and Mrs Hurst both turned for the door. Isabella went to get up too, but the Queen motioned for her to stay. “No, you stay.”
We waited in silence for the room to empty. Once the door had shut, the Queen lifted her glass and held it to clink with mine. I watched her take a delicate sip and then tried to replicate the motion. Dainty sips weren’t natural. I barely wet my lips.
“A lot of the protocols were put in place by the King’s Mother, God rest her soul.” She sighed a little.
To my surprise Isabella snorted. I shot her a side-eye and then returned my attention back to Oliver’s mother.
“Of course, there are many things I agree with. The royal family should be seen to be well put together, well turned out. No jeans in public, no public displays of affection. No diamonds on show before six pm.”
“That won’t be a problem.” I gulped my wine—it was automatic.
Her eyes settled on the bracelet Oliver gave me after our first night together.
“You can just about get away with an old family heirloom.”
