I’m not this man, who’s sitting here still, in one place with Belle.
I’m not this man who feels content.
"You love this place,” Belle says abruptly.
I love being here with her.
“What place?”
“This whole thing,” she says. “The summer house.”
“We all used to love it here -- Alex, especially. Now, not so much – all of her friends are in hotter cities, and there’s no club scene here.”
“We had a place on Cape Cod like this,” she says. “I mean, not like this place. It was a small summer home, my father’s first huge purchase after his company became really big. He kept it, even after he was really wealthy and could get a huge place in the Hamptons or whatever.” She pauses for a long moment before speaking again. “He was a good man. It was hard for my mother, after he died.”
“It was sudden,” I say. I looked up the stories about her father’s death, but that doesn’t mean I know how it was for her when it happened.
"It happened on a Friday night when my parents were out at dinner. He was having chest pain all afternoon. My mother had a hard time after that," she says. "She wasn't always so…political…you know. She used to be warmer than she is now."
“I think she makes my father happy,” I tell her honestly. “She seems to care about him, and that’s good for him. He wasn’t the same after my mother died."
"What was your mother like?"
"Joyful," I tell her. "She had a way of making the huge palace feel like a home. She knew everyone by name – all the staff, and the names of their kids. She knew who had an aging parent or sick child. Everyone loved her, my father most of all. The cancer took her joy away slowly. It bled the life from her. I think it did the same to my father. Until your mother came along."
"I hope she makes him happy," Belle says.
"I hope so too," I tell her. "Alex and I have been a disappointment to him."
"Albie," she says, her voice tender. "I'm sure that's not true."
"You can't ever live up to a ghost," I say. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about our parents anymore."
"Then what should we talk about?" she asks softly.
“Turn around.”
She does it without protest, sliding onto my lap, and I bring my lips to hers. I kiss her tenderly, softly, my tongue finding hers like it’s finding its way home. I kiss her like that for far too long until she breaks away from me. “No more talking,” I say.
Belle smiles, her hands around the back of my neck. She raises herself up so that she's looking down at me with her breasts in my face. Hovering above me with one leg on either side of me, she reaches between my legs and wraps her hand around the base of my cock. Teasing me, she rubs the head of my cock against her clit. “Whatever should we do, then?”
“This.” I reach up to grab a handful of hair at the nape of her neck, and I pull her face down to mine, my other hand grasping her hip. I lower her onto my cock, her slick wet pussy so tight I can’t imagine anything in the world better than being inside her. She’s warm and wet; the water in the tub hasn’t washed that away.
Belle moans my name. Her eyes close, and when she leans forward with her forehead near mine, her hair falls around our faces like a curtain, the ends curling into the water and dragging it down.
When she rocks against me, pushing my cock deep inside her, she throws her head back. It drives me crazy, the way she looks with her eyes closed and her head tilted, like she’s savoring the sensation of my cock inside her. "You love it," I say. "You love the way my cock feels in your tight pussy."
"Yes," she murmurs. "I love the way you feel."
"This slick wet pussy is mine," I say. I’m not sure if I’m reassuring her or myself. My hands explore her breasts as she picks up momentum. Having this girl riding me, taking her pleasure from me, makes me want to explode inside her.
"Yes," she says. Then she moans the word again when I take her breast in my mouth, my tongue flicking slow circles over her nipple.
Yes.
I pull her close, my hands roaming her back and arms, fingers tangling in her hair as she rides me, gripping then flesh of her ass. “This ass is mine.”
“Yours,” she breathes.
“All of it,” I tell her. I spread her ass cheeks as she fucks me, and push my finger against her asshole.
When she registers my touch she gasps, inhaling sharply and looking at me with wide eyes. “I’ve never…”
“I know,” I say. “But I want all of you. Every inch of you is mine. Say it.”
“Yours,” she whispers, pushing me deeper inside her. I press my finger against her asshole, slowly, letting her get used to the sensation. She rocks on my cock, riding me at her own pace, only once hesitating. I revel in the way her expression changes, the way she winces at my finger initially, but then lets go, pain changing to unabashed pleasure. “Albie,” she whispers. “That’s so…good.”
“Relax, luv,” I tell her. “I want to fill all of you.”
She whimpers, then moans louder as she lets go. She throws her head back, beginning to lose control. My finger pressed just slightly inside her tight hole, I let her ride me until I can feel her on edge, her pussy swelling around me.
When she makes the little whimpering noises that signals she's close, I pull her off my cock and stand, my hands on her waist.
“What are you doing?”
I step out of the tub and reach for her. She stands on the floor for a second before I wrap her in a giant white towel, then slide one hand behind her knees and lift her off her feet. "I want you out here."
"I'm dripping wet," she protests while I turn to reach inside the bedside table. When she sees what I have, her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”
“I told you I want all of you, luv.”
“I don’t know if I can…” she starts, but her voice trails off, her eyes fixated on me as I apply lubricant to the butt plug.
“All of you,” I say. “I want everything.”
She squeals when I climb onto the bed, but her legs spread immediately, like a reflex. “I’ve never done this before, Albie,” she says.
“I’ll take it slow,” I tell her. “Unless you want me to stop.”
She takes her lower lip between her teeth, and shakes her head. “No. Don’t stop,” she says softly. “I want you to have all of me.”
But before that, I have to taste her. Belle arches up her hips to meet me as I bend down to bring my lips to her sweet pussy. Her taste – fresh and sweet – makes me want to be inside her, but I resist the urge, taking my time with her.
Savoring her.
Exploring her.
When I finally bring the plug up to her ass and press it against her hole, she moans. For a second, I think she’s crying out in pain, but then she speaks. “I’m so close, Albie,” she whispers.
I fuck her with my tongue as I push the plug slowly inside her tight hole. Her knees tighten around my head as I fuck her.
Until she finally relaxes and accepts everything.
Until she’s filled to the hilt with the sex toy.
She grasps at my hair. “Shit, Albie,” she says, her words punctuated by gasps. “I’m going to come.”
I bring my face away from between her legs, sliding up her body until the head of my cock presses against her slick entrance. “You don’t come until I say you do, luv,” I tell her. I tease her with the head of my cock, pushing inside her but only an inch. Her pussy quivers around me. “Understand?”
She squirms on the bed, which I know only has the effect of pushing the plug deeper inside her ass. “Yes.”
“Do you want me?” I ask, pressing further inside her before stopping.
“Yes,” she whispers, arching her hips up again. “I was so close.”
"Tell me how close," I say, not moving. “I want to hear how close you were.”
“I was going to come,” she whispers.
“When?” I ask. “Tell
me.”
She moans. “When you put the plug in my ass,” she says. “When your tongue was inside me.”
I thrust all the way into her in one movement, finding her hands and pinning them over her head for leverage. Fucking her with deep thrusts, I watch the expression change on her face as she experiences the sensation of having the plug inside her. “Tell me how good it feels to be completely filled up,” I say.
“So good.” She lets out a little grunt that I know means she’s hurtling toward the same place again. She’s so tight, so wet, that I struggle to maintain coherence. “So, so good.”
“You’re so close now,” I say as I thrust inside her. “But I don’t want you to come. Not yet.”
Not even if the thought of you opening yourself to me makes me want to come inside you right now.
My cock swells, and I want to release everything I have in her. But I can't resist making her wait. I can’t help but enjoy telling her when to come. I can't help but enjoy making her release control to me. Even if I can barely hold out.
"Oh God," she moans. "Please?"
"Please what?"
"Please let me come," she whispers, and I feel her pussy muscles flutter around me. She's losing control.
"Not yet," I tell her, thrusting inside her until I'm on the verge of explosion. "You know that I’m going to take you completely. I’m going to claim your ass.”
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
“Tell me how much you want to feel me inside you,” I say. “All of you. Tell me how much you want me to fuck that tight little virgin asshole.”
“Oh fuck, Albie.”
“Tell me.”
“I want you to be yours,” she says. “Completely.”
It’s enough.
“Come for me, luv,” I groan, barely able to get out the words before I let go inside her, blinding white-hot light as I fill her up. Her muscles clamp down around me, and she starts to cry out, but I keep her from doing it, kissing her as she moans into me.
It feels like forever until she milks every last drop from me.
Afterward, she looks up at me, her chest still rising and falling, and her breath short. "Oh my God, Albie."
"I told you I'd make you beg."
CHAPTER THIRTY
Belle
"I want to fuck you."
I whirl around to see Albie standing there, the wall behind him open to the secret passageway leading from my room. “Oh my God. You nearly just gave me a heart attack,” I say, picking up a pillow from the bed and throwing it at him. "Besides, what if someone had been in here?”
"You were in your own little world over there," he says, crossing the room to reach me. He slides his hands around my waist. "I knocked and I tried to call you, but you didn't hear me."
"You need to go," I whisper, pushing him back. "My bodyguard will probably be knocking on the door any minute now."
"Simon," he says.
"You know his name?" I ask. My attention is split between Albie and the outfits I'm supposed to choose between that are lying on the bed. "Did you check him out?"
"Of course I did," Albie says. "I can't have just anyone looking after you. Noah assures me he's solid."
"How protective and also slightly misogynistic of you."
"Careful with the big words, luv," he says. "Me caveman. No understand big words."
I stick out my tongue at him before looking back at my outfit choices. "I'm going to be late," I say.
"So you don't want me to help you get dressed, then," he says, pulling me against his hardness. Heat pools between my legs, but I push him away.
"Your version of getting dressed involves fewer articles of clothing than mine does," I say, laughing even as he reaches for the hem of my t-shirt and yanks it over my head.
"You should be in fewer articles of clothing," he says. His hands run up my back to unhook my bra but I wriggle away.
"I need my bra, thanks," I say.
"But you don't need those pants." He reaches for the button on my jeans and I smack his hands.
"Out," I tell him. "I'm going to be late."
"Fine, fine," he says, raising his hands in mock surrender as he walks backward. "Where are you going?"
"Why, are you keeping tabs on me?" I tease. I yank off my jeans and shimmy into a royal blue skirt that matches a suit jacket on the bed.
A knock on the door interrupts us before I can answer, and I glare at Albie, as I point toward the secret passageway. "Just a second!" I yell.
Albie rolls his eyes and sighs before disappearing behind the wall. Luckily, it's only the stylist, checking to see what help I need with my outfit. She eyes me critically, her gaze focused on the length of my body. "Look," I say. "It seems a bit ridiculous to get dressed up like this to go do charity work."
Belle looks at me, her lips pursed like she just ate a lemon. "You're not doing charity work," she says. "You're representing the royal family. This isn't a formalized PR event, but there will likely be photographers there, media presence. You must look like you're one of the royals. Classy. Subdued. Appropriate. Oh, just a second. I have just the thing."
She disappears into the closet, leaving me standing there with my heart in my throat. When my mother said she'd set up some charity work for me, that I could go to visit a children's hospital in town or a refugee organization, I didn't consider the fact that it would involve the media. That is exactly the opposite of what I'm interested in.
The stylist returns with a pearl necklace in her hand. "This will do," she says. "Would you like me to help you with it?"
I nod mutely as she slips it around my neck, then steps back and nods her approval. "One other thing," she says, reaching for her handbag. She pulls out a file and hands it to me. "Your mother asked that I pass along the itinerary information to you. Your security detail will accompany you, but unfortunately, she will not. Something came up. She requested that I pass along her regrets."
"What?" I squeak. My mother sent the stylist to drop the bombshell that there will likely be photographers at the children’s hospital and that – oh, by the way, no big deal – I’ll be attending by myself?
I clench my hands, digging my fingernails into my palm. Damn it.
"Is there anything else, Miss Kensington?" the stylist asks. She's already on the move, headed toward the door with her large tote bag over her shoulder.
I clear my throat. "No. Thank you."
I wait until she's gone to groan my frustration, as I grab my clutch purse, momentarily considering faking sick to get out of this afternoon. But only for a split second – I’m going to a children’s hospital, after all.
I’ll be able to get through a little bit of media time, I mentally reassure myself. The palace public relations team has read me the riot act, already preparing me for what to say and what not to say when it comes to the media. If I can simply remember to breathe and smile and wave, everything will be okay. I’ll just pretend not to hear any questions that reporters ask.
It’ll work, I tell myself.
Totally.
I feel like I’m going to vomit.
Outside, I walk with Simon to the car. Simon seems to be made entirely of stone, his face expressionless. He makes no attempt at chitchat or small talk as we walk, something that at least the other bodyguards try to do.
Being accompanied by Simon only makes my anxiety worse.
I’m filled with dread. The only times I've been outside the palace or summerhouse have been accompanied, and now I'm walking into a potential media situation.