by Noelle Adams
“You’re... not?”
I crawled back over toward him, obeying the compulsion of my heart, my body, and no longer hearing any objections from my mind. “I’m not. And I still want you.”
He groaned and grabbed for me, pulling me over onto his lap so I was straddling his hips. Then he kissed me hard and deep and exactly as I wanted to feel him.
As we kissed, I rubbed myself against him, whimpering into his mouth at the friction. A little voice in the back of my mind was asking me how this was happening, whether I’d already forgiven him, whether I would be doing this in the light of day.
I ignored the voice since it wasn’t as important as everything else I was feeling.
Henry wasn’t nearly as patient and controlled as he’d been the previous night. His hands were moving over my body with a frantic kind of possessiveness, and they ended up on my bottom, holding me there, pushing my arousal into his with naked need.
He pulled his mouth away from mine but only so he could pull off my top. It was a long-sleeve pullover in the same soft fleece as my pants, and he yanked it off over my head, causing static to do a number on my hair, which was still mostly in the same messy braid I’d worn all day.
The fire had died down some over the evening, but the gold-and-orange light of the remaining flames flickered over Henry’s face as his eyes crawled over my upper body. I hadn’t been wearing anything beneath my top, so I was naked from the waist up.
He reached up to touch my breasts with a touch that was eager, almost young.
I arched into his hands and ground myself against him.
“Yes,” he hissed, pushing his hips into my motion. “That’s right. Take what you want.”
He was what I wanted.
He was all I wanted.
And everything in my body seemed to know it.
I whimpered and panted as he fondled my breasts, and I was still whimpering when he kissed me again.
As our tongues tangled together this time, he pulled the elastic out of the bottom of my braid and started unbraiding my hair with both his hands. Soon my hair was loose and messy and spread out over my bare back, and Henry was holding bunches of it in his hands.
This time when our lips parted, I couldn’t wait any longer. I reached down to his waistband and slipped one hand beneath it, pushing the flannel out of the way as I freed his erection.
He groaned uninhibitedly as I stroked him. He obviously had no more control than I did.
Then I raised myself up so he could pull off my pajama pants and panties. He dropped them on the floor as I straddled him again.
We weren’t thinking—about anything except how much we needed each other. We fumbled together until he was positioned at my entrance, and I eased myself down over him.
We both moaned as he entered me. I was wet and hot and clinging, and nothing had ever felt so good.
“Fuck, yes,” he whispered, gazing up at me with an expression I could only label as adoration. “Schatzi.”
I made a sound that was almost a sob as I started to move over him. He pulled me down into a kiss as he matched my motion with his hips. It wasn’t skilled or graceful or even particularly rhythmic. We moved against each other with a clumsy urgency that was completely uncontrolled.
He gripped my naked butt as I rode him, and he bucked up into me hard and fast as I clutched at the sweatshirt he still wore. And it wasn’t long—almost no time at all—that I felt a climax rising hard and fast.
I chased it with my shameless motion, making soft little sobbing sounds as the pleasure crested. He was obviously close to coming too because his huffs had turned into loud, raw grunts.
We couldn’t kiss anymore. We were moving too vigorously. But he was still gazing up at me with a need that was deep as well as wild, and I couldn’t seem to look away from him either.
I came first, my body shaking through the intensity of the spasms, and then he finally let go with a loud cry of release.
I kept jerking against him since my orgasm was slow in dying. He’d come inside me. I could feel it.
And that was the first recognition that we hadn’t even used a condom.
It had never even crossed my mind.
“Oh God,” I groaned, slumping against his chest.
He wrapped his arms around me tightly, making nothing but a wordless sound in his throat.
“Oh God,” I said again, more softly this time, my face pressed into his sweatshirt.
“Please say you’re not regretting it,” he rasped, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. “Please don’t tell me I was a mistake.”
“I don’t regret it.” It was the truth. It was nothing but a truth. “But a condom.”
“Oh.” It was obviously the first time he’d thought about it too. “Oh. Damn. Damn. Sorry.”
I was very wet between the legs from both him and me. I didn’t want to move, but it was starting to get very messy.
With a groan, I swung my leg up over his lap. I grabbed my pajamas from the floor and went to the bathroom to clean myself up and get dressed.
When I came back, Henry had pulled himself together too. He was still sitting on the couch, and his eyes were utterly sober as I approached.
I stood, looking down at him until he reached out and pulled me down, wrapping one of his arms around me.
I cuddled against him.
“You’re not on birth control?” he asked softly, stroking my hair, which was still a tousled mess down my back.
“No. I... I haven’t had sex in three years. Until you.”
He took a deep breath and released it. “Do you think...”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, just based on timing. But sometimes... things happen.”
“Yeah.” He eased me away from him so he could meet my eyes. “If it does, we’ll figure it out.”
“Chances are, we’ll be fine.”
He looked at me for a long time. “Are you regretting it? Tell me the truth.”
I shook my head. “I’m still not... not completely sure about everything, but I’m not regretting it. It was... I could never regret it.”
His face relaxed, and then he readjusted us so we were both lying on the couch under the blanket, with both his arms wrapped around me. “Thank God.”
I nestled against him again, feeling tired and comfortable and physically sated and almost, almost safe.
After several minutes, I asked groggily, “Are you religious?”
“What? What do you mean?” He sounded kind of sleepy himself.
“It’s just a question. Are you religious? Do you believe in God?”
“Y-yeah. My family is Catholic. Not intensely devout or anything, but still. Why do you ask?”
I felt kind of silly about the question now, but I told him the truth. “You just do a lot of thanking God, so I wondered.”
He was silent for a moment as he registered this, and then he chuckled, his body shaking deliciously against mine. “I suppose I do.”
I giggled too, nuzzling his chest.
I felt him kiss my hair. “The truth is, schatzi, I’ll never stop thanking God for bringing you into my life.”
WE FELL ASLEEP ON THE couch together, and we didn’t wake up again until morning.
It was bright in the room from the sun through the windows when I finally blinked myself awake.
We’d changed positions a bit sometime during the night. Henry was on his back now, and I was halfway on top of him. One of his arms was still holding me tightly even in his sleep.
His eyes were closed, and he was breathing slow and steady. I gazed at him for a long time and wondered what on earth I should do.
Things had felt so right last night, and I still didn’t regret what we’d done.
But it wasn’t that simple.
It could never be that simple.
Not with my life. Not with everything I’d been through.
Not when it would take so little for me to lose control of my world again and spiral back
into who and what I’d been before.
Not when Henry was prince.
Not when the rest of the world would be intensely interested in whomever he finally chose.
With a little gasp of fear, I sat up quickly.
My motion woke Henry, and he shifted and gave a little huff as his eyes opened.
“Good morning,” he mumbled.
“Morning.” I pulled my knees up under me, feeling cold despite my pajamas.
He must have heard something in my tone because he blinked a couple of times and focused on my face. “Damn,” he breathed.
I didn’t say anything as he rubbed his face and sat up.
“You’re regretting it after all,” he said. His hair was so messy it was practically standing on end.
“N-no. Not really.”
“But?”
“But I’m... I’m still scared.”
He gave a slow nod. “That’s understandable. I can see why you’d have trouble trusting me when I kept the truth from you.”
“I’m not trying to be... to be bitchy or anything, but I have to make good decisions. I have to. I’ve only known you three weeks, and I’m... I’m scared.”
He didn’t respond. Just sat and gazed at me, waiting.
“And it just finally connected in my mind that you’re a prince.”
“You knew that yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but I hadn’t thought through what it would mean. You’re a prince. Whoever you... you date is going to get a lot of attention. Right?”
His expression changed just slightly, proving he understood what I was getting at. “Yes. Probably. Not like the Prince of Wales or anything, but... yes.”
“With my history, it would be... messy. You know everything they’d dig up.”
“None of that matters to me,” he said, shaking his head. “You know it doesn’t.”
“What about your family? Are you telling me your mother is going to be happy with having me as... as your girlfriend when all the attention is going to be on who I used to be?”
“I told you. She’s the one who told me about you.”
“And she’s really okay with my history?”
His mouth twisted slightly. “I... I don’t know. She stopped pushing the idea after she saw some of the stories. But I’d already looked into you by then and wanted to meet you. I don’t care what she thinks. I really don’t care.”
“But they’re your family, Henry.”
“Yes. They’re my family, and they love me. They’re going to eventually accept any decision I make.”
I sat for a minute, breathing heavily, trying to sort through everything I was feeling. Then I asked, “What about your country? Are all those people going to be pleased about their prince hooking up with someone with such a trashy, embarrassing history?”
“I don’t care,” he said, more roughly. “I don’t care about any of that. Why don’t you and your dad come visit us for Christmas? You could meet my family and see the country, and you might realize it’s not as intimidating as you think. We’re barely even a city. There will be some attention, but it won’t last long.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
The calm he’d worked at transformed into tense emotion again on his face. “I want you, April. And any story that the tabloids want to drag up or the disapproving looks or the whispers just don’t matter to me.”
I stared at him, my vision blurring slightly. “They matter to me, Henry.”
He must have seen something on my face, heard it in my voice, because his face contorted with a surge of emotion and he jerked his head away with a ragged breath.
He was really upset. He thought I was telling him no and that this time it was real.
Maybe I was.
I just didn’t know.
It was all so much harder than it had felt last night when I was in his arms.
After a minute, his expression relaxed, like he’d reined in what he was feeling, and he said softly, “So what do you want to do? I’m not going to rush you or pressure you. We can take it as slow as you want. Just please don’t... don’t push me out of your life.”
I swallowed hard, trying to think, trying to be wise.
I didn’t have much practice in wisdom. I’d made so many bad decisions in the past.
I just didn’t trust myself.
I was the last person on earth who should ever be a princess, who should ever be a queen.
“Maybe we can...” I trailed off, still thinking. Then I started again. “Maybe we can take a little break.”
His face twisted. He clearly didn’t like that idea.
“I don’t mean a real break. Just a couple of weeks so I can think things through and figure out what I really want.”
“That sounds like a way to let me down easy,” he said hoarsely.
“It’s not. I don’t think it is. I’m just... I’m scared, and I need a little time. Can you please give it to me? You were going back to your family for Christmas anyway. So why don’t you do that. And then we’ll talk again after New Year’s.”
I could tell he was resisting, that he was worried, that he didn’t want to give me that much time to think and maybe decide against him.
“I need this, Henry,” I whispered. “Please?”
He swallowed and gave a short nod. “Okay. I’ll give you anything you need. Just know that on the day after New Year’s, I’m not going to just give you a call. I’ll be on your doorstep again.”
I couldn’t help it. I gave a little giggle.
My reaction seemed to reassure him, and he reached out to stroke my cheek very gently. “I know I made a mistake. I know I hurt you. And I know my being a prince makes things complicated. But you’re stronger than you think. Please don’t give up on us.”
I had no idea what to say to that.
THE SNOW HAD STOPPED sometime during the night, so the roads were passable by midafternoon. I was going to stay one more night, but Henry was leaving as soon as he could.
After our conversation that morning, it was quiet and awkward between us. Both of us knew there was nothing left to do until I’d had time to think and make a good decision.
So I was relieved and kind of sad at the same time when he came inside and announced that he’d be able to get out and drive back to the city. He didn’t have any luggage, so it didn’t take him any time to prepare to leave. He was wearing the clothes he’d come in, and he accepted the thermos of coffee and bottle of water I handed him.
I walked outside with him. The sun was shining brightly now, which should help the condition of the roads. I went with Henry down the front walk, which he’d shoveled that morning, and met his eyes when he stopped at the driver’s door of the SUV he’d borrowed from his brother-in-law.
“Drive safe,” I said.
“I will.” He reached out to cup my face and opened his mouth like he would say something. No words came out.
“I’m not saying no,” I said, hating the look on his face, something almost like grief. “Henry, I’m not saying no. I just need some time.”
“I know.” He took a deep breath, and I could clearly see he didn’t believe me. He thought I was letting him down easy. He thought I would decide against him. He thought this was it for us.
He’d said he wasn’t going to give up, and I believed him. But he thought he was already fighting a losing battle.
The expression in his eyes made my throat ache so much I could barely swallow. “Henry,” I rasped.
“It’s okay, schatzi,” he murmured thickly. He leaned forward and kissed me very gently on the lips. “I’m okay.”
He wasn’t okay, and the fact of it hurt me like a physical wound. But there was nothing I could do. I was too confused and scared and uncertain to offer him any reassurances, so all I could say was, “Goodbye, Henry. Have a good Christmas.”
He gave me another soft kiss before he pulled away. “You too. I’ll see you after New Year’s.”
There might
have been more to say, but I was nearly in tears, and neither one of us were capable to making more conversation. So I stood in the cold sunshine while he got into the car, turned it on, and started to back out of the driveway.
I stayed watching until he turned onto the road and disappeared from sight, leaving me alone.
Eight
FIVE DAYS LATER, I was trying not to think about Henry.
And not doing a very good job.
I was at my father’s fancy penthouse apartment on a Friday evening, and I was chopping vegetables for the pasta I was making.
I’d spent the past few days going shopping or to movies with my friends and going to museums or fancy restaurants with my father, who’d practically stopped working completely this week so he could spend more time with me than usual.
Christmas was on Monday, and then the following Monday was New Year’s.
Then Henry would come back, and he’d want to know what I’d decided.
The thought of him standing in front of me was thrilling and exciting and intoxicating.
And absolutely terrifying.
I still couldn’t resolve the disparate emotions he provoked in me in a way that gave me peace.
I was hoping it would come soon.
“You didn’t have to cook, you know,” my dad said, coming into the kitchen. He’d been going through some email in his office, but he must have finished up what he needed.
“I know. But I’m tired of eating out. And I like to cook sometimes.” I moved the celery I’d chopped in a neat pile next to the chopped onions.
He poured himself a glass of sparkling mineral water from the bottle on the counter. He never drank wine anymore, and I knew it was out of consideration for me. He sat down on a stool at the counter. “It looks good.”
“It doesn’t look like anything yet.” I’d started now on the mushrooms.
“Well, those piles all look very neat and professional.”
I laughed out loud and kept laughing as I sliced.
When I glanced back, my dad was smiling at me fondly. “I haven’t heard you laugh much this week.”
I nodded, my eyes focused on my knife, although I’d slowed down my slicing. “Yeah.”