The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1)

by Iris Morland

  If I cracked, it meant that she was right.

  Olivier was still telling stories about his life as a prince to the girls. Castles, crowns, horses, the whole nine yards. He told of how he’d dropped one of the royal crowns before his father’s coronation ceremony, denting the soft gold. “I’d tried to hide it with paint,” said Olivier, “but when my nanny had discovered me, she nearly had a stroke.”

  Fortunately, the crown had been repaired in time, and Olivier hadn’t been tossed in the dungeon. We all laughed, although mine was strained.

  Luisa has no idea what she’s talking about, I told myself. You aren’t stupid enough to be falling in love with Olivier.

  Yet as I watched him charm all of these people, I felt that prick of jealousy once again. When he caught my gaze and smiled, I wished he’d only smile at me. No one else.

  It was selfish, and silly, but I wanted him to look at me and listen to my every word. I wanted him to charm me. Mostly, I wanted that story he’d told about us in the library to be true.

  But none of it was true. We weren’t dating. We weren’t in love. It was all a lie he’d concocted to entertain the girls.

  It was all a lie for him.

  Yet I had the terrible feeling that it wasn’t a lie for me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You have saved me, Your Highness.” Stefan bowed low. “My daughter will never forget this night. So, the information you require in exchange for your service tonight.”

  As the taxi passed through the city, I gazed at the documents. The documents that included my father’s address. Or at the very least, his last known address.

  And because my life was absurd, Connor Gallagher just so happened to be living in Dublin, Ireland.

  What an asshole. He was right under our noses the entire time.

  “You don’t seem pleased,” said Olivier as we took the elevator to our hotel rooms.

  I blinked. “What? Oh. No, I’m pleased. We got what we came for.” I folded up the papers, handing them to Olivier, but Olivier pressed them back into my grasp.

  “This is your father, Niamh. Not mine. Aren’t you excited? Happy?”

  At the moment, I only felt tired. Tonight had been so emotionally draining that I struggled to feel anything about this.

  It should feel like a victory. We should be toasting each other and screaming in the streets that we’d gotten this.

  Yet why did it feel like a failure? Or, worse, a mistake?

  I pasted on a tight smile. “I’m just tired, that’s all. Once we return to Ireland, I’ll be more excited.” At Olivier’s skeptical expression, I widened my smile. “See? Happy. So happy.”

  He said nothing, but based on the look on his face, he remained unconvinced.

  I went to my room and lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I considered ordering a bottle of wine to drown my sorrows. Instead, I turned on the TV and watched reruns of The Golden Girls and ate some German snacks I’d picked up at the train station. Damn, I wish I could be as ruthless as Dorothy or Sophia.

  I texted Rachel, mostly because I needed some commiseration. But how did I explain the situation I was in? I hadn’t updated her on the whole Prince Thing since I’d spoken to her back when I was in Dublin.

  Sending her the longest text ever, I explained as much as I could. The text was so long that my phone had to cut it up into multiple messages. Okay, maybe I should’ve just called her.

  My phone rang. Rachel. Oh shit, I hadn’t expected her to call me—

  I answered. “Hi?”

  “OH MY GOD!”

  The conversation proceeded to vacillate between Rachel nearly screeching in my ear, to me attempting to explain, to Rachel going back to yelling at me. She wasn’t angry; she just tended to yell when crazy shit went down.

  “YOU ASSHOLE. YOU KEPT THIS FROM ME?”

  I had to hold my phone away from my ear. “I’ve been busy,” I hedged.

  “BUSY, MY BIG TITS! I’M GOING TO STRANGLE YOU WHEN YOU COME TO NEW YORK.”

  I wasn’t scared. Rachel had been threatening to strangle me since we’d first met. It was her way of expressing affection.

  After Rachel had calmed down with some help from Maddie, I ended up spilling my veritable guts to them both. I admitted that I was starting to feel things for Olivier and that I hated myself for it.

  Both women were silent for a long moment. Then Maddie piped up with, “Are you sure you know how he feels?”

  “I mean, he says he’s attracted to me. He told me as much yesterday at the park. But beyond that…” I sighed. “Doubtful.”

  Rachel harrumphed. “I think you’re going to have to put on your big girl panties—”

  I groaned.

  “—and just fucking ask him. Because you’re both grown-ass adults, and communication is a thing adults need to do.”

  “We all know you hate the Big Misunderstanding plots,” said Maddie.

  I could practically see Rachel throwing her hands up. “They just need to sit down and talk! It’s so stupid and contrived!”

  I didn’t want to admit that Rachel was right, because it would mean admitting that I was too much of a coward to ask the question I wanted to ask. And besides, did I really know how I felt? Were my feelings growing, or was I just horny?

  “I could be confusing it with lust, you know,” I said.

  “True,” Rachel conceded. “Which is why my next suggestion is that you should really jump his bones.”

  “I agree,” said Maddie. “Get that princely dick.”

  “Oh my God.” I flopped onto the floor. “Did you really just say that to me?”

  “Stop acting like a dumb virgin and just get some good fucking. I never took you for a weenie, Niamh,” said Rachel.

  I sat up, my forehead creasing. “Excuse you, I am not a weenie. I might have ninety-nine problems, but by God, I have a fucking spine!”

  Somebody clapped, probably Maddie. “This is so exciting!” she said.

  The three of us talked some more, me promising to be brave and talk to Olivier, even though I wasn’t entirely certain I could do it. I probably was a big weenie.

  I had just started watching another episode of The Golden Girls when there was a knock on my door. When I opened it, I found Olivier standing there, wearing a robe like he’d been about to go to bed.

  “Are you sleeping?” he said.

  “I think I’m still awake?” I tried to sound jokey, but Olivier didn’t laugh.

  “Can I come in?” When I hesitated, he added, “We need to discuss our plans. For returning to Dublin, you know.”

  Oh, of course. I moved aside, letting him come inside, before putting on my hoodie to cover up my bra-less upper torso. I might have itty bitty titties, but my tank top was so sheer that you could see my nipples through it. And I didn’t really need to seem that desperate right now.

  “Do we need to fly straight there?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because I could use a day to just recharge.”

  “I’d rather not. It would be better to go there straight away, because the address Stefan gave us might not, in fact, be your father’s current address. That would add more time to this endeavor of ours.”

  I sat on the edge of my bed, while Olivier sat in a chair across from me. Although only a few feet separated us, it felt like an ocean. I rubbed my arms, a chill prickling my skin.

  “Fine. That makes sense. We can stay at my grandda’s estate.”

  Olivier began to drum his fingers on the table, and I waited for him to say something else.

  “Is that it?” I said finally. “You didn’t need to come into my room to ask me this. Should’ve saved a trip and just texted.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Are you annoyed with me? Because you’ve been prickly all evening.”

  “Annoyed? No. I told you: I’m just tired.” I yawned widely. “See? Tired. I want to get to bed, actually. If you’re going to take care of the tickets like usual—”

  Olivier got up and, to
my shock, pulled me to my feet. “Why are you lying to me?”

  I kept just shaking my head. “I’m not lying. Why are you being so weird right now? It’s creeping me out.” I plucked his fingers from my arms like they were leeches. “And please unhand me, good sir.”

  Olivier let me go, but he kept staring down at me. A flush had crept up his cheeks. He looked flustered. It was so weird that I wondered if I’d already fallen asleep and was having a fever dream.

  “Was it because I said that nothing could happen between us? Is that why you’re cold all of a sudden?” he said.

  I inhaled sharply. “We both agreed nothing could happen. So I’m not going to be petty enough to take that out on you. Christ, give me a break, Olivier.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I gaped at him. I didn’t know what he wanted me to say. In the back of my mind, I heard Rachel and Maddie: Just tell him. No Big Misunderstanding, Niamh. Put on your big girl panties.

  I took in a shuddering breath. “You want the truth? Fine. I’m starting to have feelings for you, and it scares the living shit out of me, and it’s crazy, too, because we’ve only kissed, so what kind of Hallmark Channel original movie is this bullshit?” With every word, my voice rose. “I barely know you. We’re strangers. I think I might just have Stockholm Syndrome—”

  Olivier dug his fingers into my hair, and tipping my head back, he kissed me. Hard. I stiffened at first, but soon, I was like melted chocolate in his arms. Liquified, sticky, and all over him.

  I gripped his shoulders, my nails digging into them, as his hands roved down my back. He grabbed my ass and squeezed, while his other hand was busy cupping my cheek. Our tongues tangled as we deepened the kiss. I wiggled against him, and soon I felt his dick harden and press against my pelvis. I wanted to let out a triumphant laugh.

  Olivier quickly divested me of my hoodie, and then he was cupping my breasts, watching my expression as he thumbed one nipple, then the other.

  “Does this seem like a Hallmark movie to you?” he said gruffly.

  I looked down. “Pretty sure boob grabs aren’t allowed in those.” I sounded breathless and extremely horny.

  Olivier pushed one strap of my tank down, then the other, and it was only my arms at my side keeping my breasts covered. I felt a moment of self-consciousness, what with the light still on and my tits being rather fun-sized. But I forced the fear aside. Drawing up my arms, I let my tank slither down to my ankles.

  Olivier drank me in. His gray eyes were so dark, they were stormy. His circled his fingers around one breast while cupping the other. “I’ve wanted to touch these since I first saw you,” he admitted. “And when you fell asleep against me on the train, I stared down at them the entire time.”

  “What a pervert you are.” My words turned into a little squeak when he pinched a nipple.

  “I kept wondering what your nipples looked like. Were they pointy or puffy? Were they pink or dark red?”

  I looked down. “I think they’re a mauve color?”

  “They look like they should be in my mouth.”

  Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to say no to that. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he leaned me back before his sucked one nipple into his mouth. It was like my entire body was suddenly aflame. He licked and rolled the nipple with his tongue, and then before I knew it, I was collapsing onto the bed with Olivier on top of me.

  He feasted on my breasts until they were tender and red. I could only dig my fingers into his golden hair and hope that I didn’t burst into tears from the pleasure. It didn’t help that his hands were busy pushing my pants down. Soon, he found the elastic of my underwear and then the soft skin of my pelvis.

  “Olivier,” I breathed. “What are you—?”

  He shushed me. “Tonight is for you.”

  His fingers found my pussy, and I wasn’t even embarrassed at how wet I was already. He delved between the folds, and I could hear how slick I was just from that movement.

  Olivier leaned down and whispered French words into my ear. It was so sexy that I could’ve come right then and there.

  “That’s cheating. I don’t know what you’re saying,” I complained.

  He just grinned. “That’s the point, ma chérie.”

  He then began speaking in Italian, which was just beyond annoying. But my annoyance faded quickly, because his fingers were clearly magic, and he knew exactly how to use them. Pushing my panties down along with my pajama pants, I was soon completely naked except for my super sexy cat socks.

  He glanced at my socks, which had Grumpy Cat’s grumpy visage on them. “Is that a cat?” he said.

  “Come on, it’s Grumpy Cat. Do you even internet? May she rest in peace.”

  He shook his head, laughing softly. Then my stupid socks were forgotten the moment he pushed my legs open and parted my pussy folds. He slicked one finger through them. “You’re soaking wet.”

  I didn’t have a response to that. And I especially had no response when he pushed one finger, then another, inside me. My pussy contracted around them. When he leaned forward and began to lick the straining tip of my clit, I had to bite on my lip to keep from crying out.

  He teased my clit with that devilish tongue. When he upped the pressure, I let out a little squeal.

  “Too much?” he said.

  I nodded. “It’s really sensitive.”

  I’d had sex with guys who’d thought that mashing the clit with their thumb as hard as possible was the way to a woman’s heart. Maybe for some women—no shame—but definitely not for me. I preferred a lighter touch.

  Olivier licked around my clit, and it was just enough yet not enough pressure that I squirmed. He pressed his fingers upward in that dangerous come-hither gesture that, combined with the clit action, was the perfect recipe to send me straight into orgasmic bliss.

  Soon the only sounds in the room were his fingers moving faster, and the sound of my pussy nearly gushing as he played with me. He groaned when I bucked against his lips.

  I could feel my orgasm starting in my toes. My eyes nearly rolled back in my head. “Olivier,” I gasped.

  He didn’t let up. He licked a little faster and rubbed a little harder inside. My orgasm slammed into me so hard that it was a good thing I was lying down. I screeched like some crazed banshee. I bucked so hard that I nearly hit Olivier in the chin with my crotch.

  Olivier just laughed and drew out my orgasm. I kept shuddering and shaking, my fingers digging into the comforter, my toes curling. When he was able to make me come a second time, I wanted to commission a statue in his honor.

  “Oh my God,” I kept saying, aftershocks sparking through me. “Oh my God.”

  Olivier crawled up the bed to lie beside me. He kissed me, his fingers still wet with my juices. It was so hot that I moaned into his mouth.

  I reached down to rub his dick through his pants, but he gently pushed my hand aside. “Tonight was just for you.”

  I was so drowsy from my double orgasms that I didn’t have the heart to protest. I yawned widely, blushing at how loud it was.

  Olivier smoothed my hair from my forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  I didn’t have the words to describe how I was feeling. It wasn’t just the physical pleasure. My heart was practically in my throat. I gazed up at him, dangerous words on my tongue. But I swallowed them.

  Because at least we had this—this temporary, incendiary thing.

  “I’m good,” I said hoarsely.

  Olivier pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. I buried my face in his chest. He stroked my back, whispering words in French, until my eyelids got heavy and I fell fast asleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I woke to the sound of rain. Yawning, I stretched my arm across the bed, only to find myself alone. Olivier must’ve returned to his room. Disappointment slashed through me, until a minute later the door unlocked and he came bearing coffee and pastries.

  I might be able to resist an actual prince, but I couldn
’t resist a handsome man bearing food. He smiled at me as he handed me a latte.

  “I bought a few different pastries,” he said, “since I wasn’t sure which one you’d like.”

  My eyes lit up as I looked at the array of food. I ended up choosing one that looked like a coffee cake but was denser and had sliced almonds scattered across the top. Olivier chose one that had strawberries and strudel as its topping.

  After we finished eating, Olivier said, “How are you feeling?”

  I almost blushed like a schoolgirl. The night before came roaring back, and I could almost feel the sensations he’d awakened in me again.

  “Um, fine. You?”

  He licked his thumb. “I woke up with a major case of blue balls. I had to go to my room and, ah, take care of it.”

  “You could’ve woken me up, you know. I know a few good ways to cure that particular illness.”

  He smiled. “It’s fine.” He wiped a crumb from my bottom lip, and I touched his thumb with my tongue. He inhaled.

  “Why don’t you want to have sex with me?” At the moment, I was mostly just curious. Most guys wouldn’t have hesitated. Hell, most women wouldn’t have hesitated. I’d jump his bones right then and there if he wanted some good dicking.

  “I want you. Don’t believe otherwise.” His eyes darkened, his thumb continuing to trace my lips. “I want to see these pretty lips wrapped around my cock. I want to fuck you until you scream my name, your pussy squeezing me like a vice.”

  Well, okay then. If he didn’t want to turn me on again, he was doing a terrible job of it.

  “Now I’m extra confused,” I said.

  He drew his hand away. “If we were to date, it would change your life irrevocably. Although I can move about fairly freely here and in other countries, in Salasia, I’m never alone. The paparazzi follow me wherever I go, and they follow anyone associated with me. Especially any woman I’m dating.”