So he did it again. And again. He also allowed himself to shamelessly press his erection against her hip, grinding harder with every “Oh!” she emitted—and she emitted a lot of them.
It took a while, but he judged that his best bet was to keep doing what he was doing. He felt like he was unraveling her slowly but inexorably. And he enjoyed the hell out of the process. It sounded stupid, but he felt almost honored to be witnessing this. He didn’t get the impression that Princess Marie Joséphine Annagret Elena let go like this very often, much less in front of other people. Much, much less at the hands—literally—of other people.
He saw the level of trust involved and honestly, it scared him a little.
But not enough to stop.
And eventually the telltale panting started up again, and she was undone.
The more alarming part was that even though he hadn’t come yet, he kind of felt like he had, too.
Leo was such a good kisser.
Which was a somewhat strange thing for Marie to think given that he had done so much more than kiss her. It was just that she’d spent so much time admiring those pillowy lips of his. To have them on her was the strangest, most wonderful sensation.
Coupled with the fact that when they weren’t on her, they said the most alarmingly delicious things.
It was like she had special, secret nerve endings that only Leo’s mouth, with the things it did and the things it said, could light up.
“You okay, Princess?”
Oh. She was lying there like a crepe, flat and listless. Spent on account of the inaugural firing of all those newly discovered nerve endings. And, she realized with a surge of embarrassment, she’d just lain there the whole time and let him hover over her—let him dismantle her.
“What are you thinking?” Leo pressed.
He was worried. That she regretted their encounter, perhaps. There was nothing overt on his face to signal worry, but he was looking at her with the same intensity with which he had looked at Gabby in the rearview mirror of his taxi a week and a bit ago. A lifetime ago.
Marie was thinking that she could not abide this being the second time that she found release and he didn’t. She couldn’t just lie there and let him . . . do things to her.
She was certain she was going to enjoy doing things to him, too.
She wasn’t sure how to start, though. Being with Leo already felt vastly different from her experiences with boys at university.
But she didn’t have to think about it very hard before she realized she did know how to start. He had taught her that.
She lifted her hips, hitched her panties and jeans up, sparing a thought for how undignified this was and finding she didn’t care, and sat up. “I’m thinking about what I should do to you.”
He sat up, too. His lips twitched, and the intensity look receded. “Are you now?”
“Yes.” She planted a hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him back down so he was on his back. “Do you have any thoughts on the matter?”
His lip twitch intensified, and her worry receded even more. “Oh, I have thoughts on the matter. Many thoughts.”
“Let’s hear them.” She undid the fly of his jeans. How was it possible that this entire time, he’d been fully clothed? She’d like to blame the cold, and the temperature did make a significant degree of disrobing impractical. But in retrospect, it seemed unfair that while she’d been lying there with her pants down, she hadn’t gotten to see him at all.
“I’d rather hear yours.”
“I am struggling with the same dilemma that plagued you.” She mimicked his earlier move, grabbing the waistbands of his underwear and jeans together and tugging. He lifted his hips to help her and soon she had his . . . manhood exposed.
His manhood. She laughed inwardly at herself. Was this a gothic novel? She was now, for the first time ever, looking at Leonardo Ricci’s penis. He would probably call it his cock.
And it was a very nice cock. It was big and pink and circumcised. She’d heard that many American men had circumcised penises. The ones she’d seen up close had not been.
“What dilemma?” he prompted, his voice sounding a little put out, but not, she was confident, because he was genuinely annoyed.
“Oh, yes. I am pondering the hands-versus-mouth question you posed earlier.”
“Princess.” It came out like a warning.
“Yes?” When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “I think hands, as you decided. It’s rather cold out here, and I think perhaps the other is best left for more comfortable environs.”
He did something then that seemed like a hybrid of a laugh and a groan, and she found she enjoyed inspiring such a sound. No. She didn’t enjoy it. She loved it. Her whole self loved it, from her brain to her lungs, which were suddenly working overtime, to the spot between her legs that was throbbing anew.
“What are you thinking now?” He was still worried. Or worried anew, because he’d dropped the worry mask a moment ago when he’d expelled the laugh-groan. She was starting to understand how much Leo worried. How much, beneath his facade of breezy defiance, there was an ever-present hum of disquiet.
“I’m not thinking anything useful,” she said. “I’m thinking too much. Overthinking, as you said a moment ago. So I’m going to stop doing that.” She settled her hand lightly on his penis, noting that doing so made the resulting laugh-groan much heavier on the groan. She used her other hand to guide his hand so that it rested on top of hers. “Show me the way you minister to yourself, and I will emulate it.”
“Oh my god,” he said, but he did as she asked, curling his bigger palm over hers and guiding her hand. She got the hang of his preferred rhythm and pressure fairly quickly, and she expected him to turn the matter over to her, but he didn’t. He was hard beneath her hand, like iron, and his hand above was scratchy, like sandpaper. The warring sensations, though limited to her hand, felt like they were engulfing her whole body. Moisture pooled between her legs, and her breath shortened to match his. A few more strokes and he was bucking into their joined hands. It was oddly, intensely erotic.
The only disappointing part was that it didn’t take very long. She could have kept it up forever, watching his face twist in a gorgeous sort of pleasure that looked like it bordered on pain, knowing she had put that expression there, even as her own desire coiled up anew. It made her feel powerful.
And it had nothing to do with her identity as a member of the Eldovian royal family.
Which, in turn, made her laugh with delight.
“I’m glad you find my total and complete paralysis funny,” Leo deadpanned. He did look rather done in, lying there as he was with one forearm resting on his forehead and his pants still down.
“You look thoroughly vanquished,” she observed, flopping forward onto his chest and breathing in his spicy orange scent.
“I am.” He groaned as his arms came around her. “I am thoroughly vanquished.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I gotta find Gabby,” Leo said as he put his dick back in his pants, packed up the uneaten food, and helped put the princess to rights.
Put his dick in his pants and helped put the princess to rights. Eff him, but that was something he had never imagined himself thinking much less doing.
He smiled.
Because he had a feeling it might be something he would have the opportunity to do again. As he buttoned Marie’s coat up, his mind skittered back to the threat/promise of a blow job in “more comfortable environs.” It kept replaying that sentence—and another one. Show me the way you minister to yourself, and I will emulate it.
When he’d first met Marie in New York, her oddly formal manner and way of speaking had annoyed him. Then, as he’d come to understand that in many cases it was a front for nerves or insecurity, he’d minded it less.
But now? Now, it drove him wild.
It made him stiffen again when he thought about it.
Marie looked at her watch. “I suspect the horseback ridi
ng will be done by now, but I’m sure Gabby is well looked after.”
“I’m sure she is. She’s loving it here. But I hadn’t planned on being gone so long today. I haven’t seen her yet.”
“Let’s go find her, shall we?”
“Your braid is a mess.” He tried to smooth the destroyed hairdo, but it was no use.
She pulled off the elastic securing the bottom of the braid and combed her fingers through her hair. “It will just take me a moment to redo it.”
“Why don’t you leave it down?”
“You don’t like the braids?”
“I do,” he assured her, and it was true. The sometimes elaborate hairdos she wore in Eldovia were kind of like her white nightgown—maddening in their seeming primness. But he also liked her hair down. The way it had been in New York when he’d first been getting to know her.
Well, actually, what he liked best was her hair down after it had been in braids. It was the dishevelment he liked. It was being the disheveler. He wasn’t going to say that, though. So he pulled her hood up and said, “I like your hair all ways. You have good hair.”
And good eyelashes.
And good lips.
Okay, enough. He nodded toward the path. “Shall we?”
“I’m sorry again about the NDA,” she said quietly once they started walking.
“Forget about it.” He had.
“The first boy I slept with took a picture of me sleeping in his bed and tried to sell it to the student newspaper—this was at university.”
“What?” The fucker. “Did he succeed?”
“No. I called Mr. Benz, and he took care of it. I’m not even sure how.”
Maybe there was something to say for meddling Mr. Benz after all.
“I hadn’t had him sign anything—Mr. Benz had told me, when I left, to make sure anyone who might ‘be in a position to compromise me or my reputation’ signed an NDA. But I was afraid of insulting him.”
Shit. “Write me up a new one. I’ll sign it.” He contemplated asking her for the name of this dude, but checked the impulse. What was he going to do? Hunt him down vigilante-justice style?
“I don’t want you to. I just wanted to explain.”
“Princess, I appreciate the trust, but now I’m going to have to insist on signing one.” He had been thinking about the document as an affront to his pride, as a symbol of the gulf between them. He hadn’t been thinking of it from her point of view, about what she risked when she made herself vulnerable to men who might turn out to be dickheads.
“No,” she said decisively. “It’s good to reevaluate one’s habits periodically. Actions one performs by rote that may not . . . be serving one anymore.” He was ramping up to object again, but she cut him off. “Let’s find Gabby, shall we?”
Back at the castle, Frau Lehman reported that Gabby had enjoyed both skiing and horseback riding, that Mr. Benz had taken to his bed exhausted, and that she had escorted Gabby to the library to borrow a book, then tucked her into her room for a rest.
Except Gabby wasn’t in her room when Leo and Marie poked their heads in. “I bet she’s back in the library,” Leo had ventured, and yep. When they appeared, she sprang up from where she was sitting on an old-fashioned-looking sofa surrounded by haphazard piles of books. She was holding an equally old-fashioned-looking volume in her hands. “Oh my gosh, Leo! Look at this!” Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright with excitement.
“The Red Fairy Book,” he read aloud from the faded gold-leaf lettering on the battered cover. “Andrew Lang.”
“It’s in English, unlike a lot of the rest of the books in here, and it’s full of fairy tales I’ve never heard of!”
“Yes,” came a posh voice from behind them. Leo didn’t have to turn to know it was King Emil. He braced himself for a royal damper to be put on what had, so far, been an incredible day. “Remarkably,” the king drawled, “it turns out your Disney schlock isn’t the sum total of the world’s folklore.”
“Father,” Marie said.
Emil ignored his daughter and turned to Gabby. “Miss Ricci, I must ask you not to use my library if you’re going to treat its contents so carelessly.”
Leo sighed and turned back to his sister, the princess of clutter. On the one hand, he couldn’t really argue with the king. Gabby’s room at home was a complete sty. And that was saying something, because it wasn’t like Leo had the highest standards himself on the domestic front—it was another arena where he constantly felt he wasn’t keeping up.
“Oh!” Gabby turned red and started stacking books like she was on speed.
On the other hand, King Emil could go fuck himself.
Leo turned to say as much, but Marie had her father by the elbow and was in the process of yanking him out of the room.
Well. Okay then.
“He’s a royal jerkface,” Leo muttered as he helped Gabby put the books back on the shelves.
Gabby giggled, which had been his aim, but then said, quietly, “Frau Lehman said I could use the library.”
“Yes,” Leo said. “But did she say you could treat it like your own personal property and mess it up like this?”
“No. She said I could borrow one book and take it to my room, which I did . . . but then I came back.” She hung her head. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not the one you need to apologize to, kiddo.” As much as he hated it.
Marie invited Mr. Benz to stay for cocktails and dinner. He was startled by her invitation but accepted, as she’d known he would. Instead of seeing it as an invitation he was free to refuse, he would regard it as his duty. She was using him, shamelessly, as she had that morning. It wasn’t something she normally did, and she vowed not to make a habit of it. But she hoped his presence might act as a buffer between her father and the Riccis. Not that Mr. Benz was known for his sparkling, upbeat personality, but she didn’t have a lot of options here. Anyway, he was often so wound up this time of year that it might have the side effect of doing him some good.
To her surprise, though, they didn’t really need him.
Gabby marched straight up to her father and said, “Your Majesty, I would like to apologize for using your library uninvited and for treating it disrespectfully. I got carried away with my enthusiasm for some of the books I found there, and I lost track of my manners. It won’t happen again.”
She performed another of her little half curtsies—Marie really needed to impress upon her that she didn’t need to do that—and turned to Leo, who nodded very slightly, as if signing off on the statement of remorse.
Her father remained silent, staring at Gabby.
“Miss Ricci,” Mr. Benz said, “if you would be so kind as to inform me what sorts of books you like, I will see to it that—”
The king held up a hand, silencing his equerry, and Marie suppressed a sigh. This was exactly why she’d invited Mr. Benz. He had a talent for smoothing things over, especially where her father was concerned. But if her father wasn’t even going to let him speak, he might as well go home.
“I accept your apology, and I offer you one of my own,” her father said, and Marie was certain that hers was not the only jaw in the room that dropped. “My reaction to your presence in the library was out of proportion.”
She could see that Gabby, who had so clearly rehearsed her apology with Leo, had not covered what to do when presented with one of her own. The correct response, of course, was to murmur her acceptance. Instead, her eyes went wide and she spent a long moment looking like a fox at the culmination of a hunt before blurting, “No biggie!”
Marie had to stifle laughter. She would bet her kingdom—her literal kingdom—that no one had ever said “No biggie” to her father before.
The king, to his credit, did not react. He turned to Mr. Benz. “Miss Ricci is a devotee of fairy tales and yesterday she encountered a volume that contained some stories that had, heretofore, been unfamiliar to her.”
“Ah.” Mr. Benz nodded. “Miss Ricci, are you aware t
hat His Majesty is himself the author of an English translation of a collection of traditional Eldovian fairy tales?”
“You are?” Gabby exclaimed.
“Mr. Benz exaggerates the situation. I studied comparative literature in my undergraduate days. I undertook a project collecting some of the traditional tales of these mountains, mostly passed down orally in German. Since I was doing it anyway, I thought I might as well translate them into the languages I already spoke. They aren’t formally published.”
Marie could see that this news both astounded and delighted Gabby. The girl remained silent, though, probably afraid of saying the wrong thing.
“My father used to tell me fairy stories when I was a girl,” Marie said to Gabby. She turned to her father. “Remember? I never wanted to go to sleep. Maman would insist, but sometimes you’d wink at me, and then you’d sneak back into my room later and tell me another.”
He smiled. A real one. “I’d forgotten that.” His expression became quizzical. “I think of your mother as the rebellious one, but we did deceive her from time to time with our bedtime stories, didn’t we?”
“Yes!” Marie agreed. “She was the rebellious one. But not when it came to bedtime, for some reason. I never could puzzle that out.”
“She was strict about your bedtime because she and I watched TV together after you went to sleep.” Father smiled in a way Marie might have characterized as dreamy, though dreamy didn’t seem like a word that should ever describe her father.
As if to prove her point, he shook his head and cleared his throat as the smile disappeared. “Miss Ricci, perhaps we can strike a bargain. I do much of my work in the library.”
What work? Marie was tempted to ask, but she knew better than to disturb this rare moment of goodwill.
“Therefore, I prefer not to be interrupted,” he went on. “Perhaps we can agree that you may borrow whichever volumes you like, but you’ll need to find another place to read them.”
A Princess for Christmas Page 22
