in my mouth, my tongue flicking over and over her nipples until her whining becomes louder and louder.
I don't want to stop. I want my mouth on her breasts constantly. I want my tongue on her skin, tasting all of her.
As I kiss my way down her abdomen, her muscles quiver. I breathe her in, sweet and musky, like I've never smelled anything in my life. I want to bury myself in her, to take every inch of her body and make it mine.
Between her legs, I pause, taking in the sight of her just like this. Spread for me. Wet for me. Panting for me. Tied up like this for me.
She looks down at me with half-lidded and heavy eyes, drunk with lust and desire and anticipation.
"Tell me," I say, my fingers meandering slowly up the inside of her thighs. My cock is ramrod-straight again, rock hard and pressing against my pants as I look at her perfect pussy, glistening with her wetness. "Tell me how much you want to feel my tongue on your clit."
"Please," she whimpers. "I want your mouth on me."
It's enough.
Even without saying my name, it's enough to hear her ask me for it. A low rumble comes from somewhere deep inside my chest. I'd like to say that I take my time with her, that I tease her longer, or that I run my tongue in circles over her clit again and again. I'd like to say that I lick every inch of her sweet pussy before thrusting my tongue inside her entrance.
But I don't do any of that.
I don't try to draw anything out. I can't.
I just don't have that kind of control anymore.
My hands gripping her ass cheeks to keep her steady, I bring my mouth to her pussy. Once I taste her sweetness, I can't think about anything else.
I fucking devour her.
I eat her like I'm starving. I'm tonguing her clit and her entrance and she's moaning, louder and louder until she's almost screaming. Her hips buck against my face as I thrust my tongue inside her, no matter how tightly I grip her ass cheeks and press her to me. She fucks me back, the way I think she would if I had her pinned down underneath me in bed.
When I spread her ass cheeks, a finger pressing tightly against her puckered hole, she comes. She comes with a loud cry, my tongue lodged firmly inside her. Her hips jerk, and I think I might hear her call my name – Max, not James – but I can't be sure because I also think I might have lost my damn mind.
With one hand, I reach between my legs, stroking my length frantically as she orgasms. I've lost all control, suddenly a horny teenager, and it takes moments before I'm coming again, spilling all over the ground between us.
When I catch my breath, I look up at her from where I kneel between her legs with my pants undone. She's still trussed up, her hair falling in large pieces from the messy bun that was piled on top of her head but is now sliding to the side. Her chest rises and falls and she's panting as she tries to catch her breath. A sheen of sweat glistens on her arms, chest, and abdomen, and the air between us smells of sex and dirt and hay and summer.
I breathe it in. I breathe her in.
She's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.
When I loosen the ties on her wrists, my fingers trace the light red marks on her skin. "I didn't think I tied them that tight," I say, suddenly feeling terrible for tying her up. I don't know what's gotten into me.
"It didn't hurt," she says softly.
I bring my lips down to hers. This time the kiss is so tender that it surprises even me. Sarcastic, abrasive, bitchy Princess Alexandra practically melts against me, and my arms encircle her, pulling her into me tightly.
My heart races and more than anything, I want to pick her up and take her back to the summer house and get her straight into my bedroom. I want her in my bed and I don't want to let her leave. "I think I heard my name when you came," I tell her.
She pulls back, her fingers tucking her hair behind her ear self-consciously. "I think you might be hearing things, James. You might want to get that checked out. I'd be happy to have the royal physician pay you a visit."
"I know what I heard, sweetheart."
She looks away, suddenly intent on finding her clothes. "I – we – shouldn't be out here like this," she says, her voice trembling. "Naked. Someone's going to come in any second."
Just like that, she's running again.
26
Alexandra
I've never been much of a runner. I mean, not literally anyway. Metaphorically, I guess I've always been one. Well, maybe even literally if you count the times I've run away from my bodyguards, which have been numerous. Those incidents mostly involve sprinting.
The past couple of days, though, I don't know what's gotten into me. I've been waking up early in the morning and dashing out of my room to run before Max comes onto his shift. With one of the other bodyguards lumbering silently a respectable distance behind me, I've gone running for an hour every morning around the outskirts of the large property.
I don't know why I've been running. I just know that ever since what happened in the stable, I've had all of this nervous pent-up energy I can't get rid of. The orgasm should have relieved that feeling – at least that's what I would have expected – but that's not what happened.
It's a million times worse now.
I find myself wanting him more and more. Hooking up with him wasn't what I thought it would be – a one-off that scratched an itch and made me want him less afterward.
Instead, I keep thinking about him. I keep fantasizing about being with him again. Worse, I keep thinking about how much I want him to take control, to render me helpless and to take me completely.
That's freaking terrifying.
So, I've been keeping Max at a respectable distance, trying to ignore the way he looks at me and how he smells when he stands close to me. I've been trying to forget how he tasted, and how his mouth felt between my legs.
It's not working.
So, I call Charlotte to distract myself. What I need is to talk to my friends. I haven't talked to any of them since we got to the summer house. I need to remind myself of who I really am, the Princess Alexandra who parties and flirts with boys and is completely carefree.
The Princess Alexandra who doesn't think about one man all the time, who doesn't crave the touch of one man.
The princess who doesn't surrender control to one man.
"Earth to Alex." Charlotte's voice cuts through my thoughts. She holds up her phone in front of her face, lying in her bed chatting to me through the video app. She sighs, snapping her gum loudly as she twists a long strand of hair around and around her finger. "I can't believe your father is keeping you all cooped up like this for the entire summer. It’s a tragedy, you know."
I can't hide a snort of laughter. "Yes, it's practically criminal the way he's forced me to spend two months in this mansion in the countryside with a pool and tennis courts and stables and lakes and household staff and chefs."
"Are you defending your father?" Charlotte asks, surprised. "And yes, it should be criminal. He's basically killed you, you know."
"Come again?"
She rolls her eyes. "Socially, I mean. He's basically killed your social standing. You're going to be a pariah by the time you get back. You've become a leper."
"I'm a princess. I'm not going to become a pariah. Don't you think that's a touch dramatic?"
"Is it, really?? You haven't posted anywhere online in weeks, Alex. That's basically the social equivalent of years. You've pulled a Kardashian and disappeared completely. People are asking if you're okay, you know." She points to her temple. "In the head, I mean."
"Who's asking if I'm okay? And Kim Kardashian disappeared after men broke into her apartment in Paris. I retreated to the country like we do every single summer for vacation. It's hardly the same thing."
"Reporters are asking," Charlotte insists. "They're asking your friends for quotes about your mental stability. Eva and I were out last night and they asked us about you."
Now I giggle. "Well, I'll count on you to let them know that I'm just as mentally un
stable as I've always been."
"I can't tell them that because suddenly you'll be the boring princess who's holed up with her nuclear, soon-to-be two-parent family and her new stepsister enjoying family time."
"Well, maybe I am enjoying family time."
Charlotte wrinkles her nose. "Honestly, Alex," she sighs. "Did your father arrange for you to have a frontal lobotomy? Because you sound like a Stepford child." She pauses, her eyes going wide. "Ohhh."
I laugh. "Oh, what?"
"Oh, you're taking something. That's it. You've found some kind of new drug that makes you into a homebody. Well, whatever that drug is, it's dangerous and you need to stop taking it."
"I'm not a homebody," I protest. "And I'm not taking anything."
Actually, that part is most definitely true.
When's the last time I did any recreational drugs? Or even had a drink? Oh my God, it was at the engagement party. Has it been that long?
I hadn't noticed. I've been so consumed by, well… other things.
Like fucking around in a stable with my bodyguard.
You're changing. You'd better be careful or before you know it, everything about you will be different and you won't even recognize yourself anymore.
"Last summer, you were busy escaping back to the city basically all season long," she argues. "You've become a complete homebody. You're a recluse. A hermit. Are you even showering?"
"Oh, my God. Yes, I'm showering. And I'm not a recluse."
Her eyes narrow. "What are you wearing? Are you wearing a sports bra?" I think I see her shudder.
"I went for a run," I reply, my voice defensive.
"You went for a run?"
"I've been running in the mornings," I tell her. "A little bit. Just for the past few days."
"You've gone on a health kick?" Charlotte asks, skeptical. "The girl whose idea of healthy is downing a bottle of champagne because it's made of grapes?"
"Grapes are healthy," I say, bristling at her implication that I'm suddenly becoming someone else.
I'm most definitely not. And even if I've developed a couple of healthier habits, those have nothing whatsoever to do with Max. I could use some healthier habits. It's not like mine have been the healthiest, anyway. Since my mother died when I was in high school, it's been a blur. I haven't stopped to slow down even to take a breath.
"When's the last time you went out?" Charlotte demands to know.
I try to think. "I don't know. Recently?"
"Please tell me you've gone clubbing with other friends. Do not tell me that it was the last time you were out with me."
"I'm sure it wasn't," I reply, racking my brain. Was that the last time I was out?
"If you say it was, I'm going to have to call you pathetic. Oh, and don't forget that you're going to be at my club opening at the end of the summer."
I jump onto the new conversation topic, happy to distract her from her interrogation and her shaming me about my new non-clubbing habits. "I haven't forgotten about it, because it's all you've been talking about," I tease. "How's the club coming, anyway?"
"You know, builders and contractors and blah, blah, et cetera, et cetera…" Her voice drifts off and she rolls over onto her stomach, setting the phone on her bed. "Boring stuff. My father is taking care of it all anyway. It's his thing, not mine, even if he says it's my club."
Charlotte's father is the largest real estate developer in Protrovia and probably even Europe. He's shady as hell with ties to the Russian mob and the Italian mafia and who knows who else. But he's a self-made millionaire who suddenly decided a few months ago that Charlotte's existence as a socialite was nowhere near good enough for his daughter and that she needed to follow in his footsteps. The nightclub is his attempt to get Charlotte involved in the family business. The only trouble is that his daughter is more interested in partying and drinking and boys than in business.
Our entire friendship is based on partying and having fun and blowing off responsibility, which seems a little sad in the light of day, now that I think about it. "Don't you want to have input on any of it? You're going to be running it when it's built, aren't you?"
She waves dismissively. "Ugh," she groans again, her favorite word. "We both know what's going to happen, Alex. We'll bring in our friends and party, make it the place to be, and Daddy will wind up just paying me for making appearances. It's not like I'm going to run anything myself. He'll want to pay you for appearances, too, you know."
"I can't accept your money, Charlotte," I tell her. "You know that."
"I know, I know. All of the royal rules about conflicts of interest. He'll donate it to charity or whatever," she says, blasé. She sits up on the bed. "I know. Let's go down to the coast for the weekend. Surely your family can let you go for one weekend to see your friends. Come on! We'll party all night and pass out and sleep half the day away on the beach."
That's basically what I did all summer last year. My father would yell about how I needed to stay in the countryside, that it was an important tradition, and then I'd storm out and run off to the coast in France or Italy with my friends. Then he'd threaten to take away my bank account and my crown, and I'd come back for a week before doing it all over again.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
After all, my father might be a king, but he's still only my father. I'm not actually trapped here.
Still, I find myself not wanting to run away. "I don't know," I say, hesitating.
"What on earth do you have that's keeping you in the countryside of Protrovia?" Charlotte asks, exasperated.
What do I have keeping me here?
Max, tying my wrists together in the stable.
Max, spreading my legs and burying his face in my pussy.
Max, telling me to kneel in front of him, my knees bruising on the hard floor. Max fucking my mouth with his cock, using me the way he wants to.
Max's tongue inside me, my hands bound, rendering me unable to do anything to resist as he gave me the most intense orgasm I've ever had.
The throbbing between my legs reminds me of exactly how much is keeping me at the summer house.
"Ohhh." Charlotte stares at me over the video chat. "Oh. My. God. You're getting laid."
"What?" I squeal. "I am not!"
"That's what it is. You don't want to come out with us because you're getting laid. Who is it? Is Finn coming up there to visit you?"
"What?! No, of course not." I grimace at the mention of Finn. "Gross."
"Your cheeks are flushed."
"Because I went running."
"You're acting really weird. Are you sure you're not getting laid?"
"I think I would know if I was getting laid," I tell her.
"Okay, then let's go clubbing and get you laid. I'll invite some boys."
"Yeah, I mean, you know, my family is doing a lot of stuff here and my dad is being really strict this summer, threatening my trust fund and everything, who knows why," I babble lamely. "Oh, shit. I think I hear someone at the door. I think it might be my brother. I'll have to call you back."
"I didn't hear a knock," she says.
"I'll talk to you later." I hang up before she can protest again, even though I know good and well that Charlotte has a point. I've been holed up at the summer house for too long already.
I'm not one of those girls who becomes a different person once