by T. K. Leigh
“So they dated in private for a while because they both understood once they went public with their relationship, they’d be pushed toward marriage. My father knew she had strong ambitions and respected those.”
“What kind of ambitions?”
While I’ve learned quite a bit about his mother through all my princess training, they didn’t go over any personal aspects of the woman who gave Anderson life.
“She loved animals. Was studying equine science and wanted to eventually work with horses. By the time she finished her schooling, my aunt and uncle already had four kids. So my father was now sixth in line to the crown and didn’t need my grandfather’s approval to marry any longer. Regardless, he asked for it, and they were married about a year later. But despite the fact she was now a princess, she never stopped caring about her horses. Even when she became queen consort, most of her time at the palace was spent in the stables.”
“I wish I could have met her,” I say after a beat.
“She would have loved you. You have the same…attitude toward this life.”
I chuckle. “The same disregard for the rules, you mean?”
“Exactly.” He pulls me to a stop and loops an arm around my waist, yanking my body into his. “But I wouldn’t change anything about you.”
“And I wouldn’t change anything about you.”
Digging his free hand through my hair, he presses his mouth against mine, coaxing my lips apart. Even his kisses feel different in this city. More poignant. More powerful. More potent.
“What do you say to going to my absolute favorite spot in Paris?” he murmurs against my mouth.
“And what’s that?”
“The view from our suite, of course.”
While I’ve enjoyed roaming Paris with Anderson, this entire day has been one big tease, my desire for him increasing with every second. I want nothing more than to lock ourselves in our suite and never come out.
“I’d love to,” I answer.
I barely utter a single syllable before he clutches my hand in his and hurries me in the direction of our hotel.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Anderson
The door to the room doesn’t have a chance to close before I slam Nora against the wall, my mouth claiming hers. Maybe it’s this city. Maybe it’s being away from my responsibilities for the weekend. Maybe it’s just Nora. I don’t know. But an animalistic craving unlike any I’ve ever experienced overtakes me. I grind my hips against hers, my tongue plunging deeper into her mouth, an addict desperate for his next high.
“Did you bring your camera?” Nora pants when I pull away, peppering hungry kisses along her jawline, nipping at her flesh. Gripping her thigh, I force her leg around my waist.
“My camera? Why?” I tug her closer, squeezing her ass.
“Because…” She moans when I cover her nipple with my mouth through her dress and bra. “I want you to take my photo. Like you did in Santa Monica.”
My muscles tighten at the memory of snapping her photo as she slept. How a few innocent photos turned into one of the most erotic experiences of my life.
I pull back, peering down at her. “Really?”
Her sultry eyes trained on me, she nods. “Yes. But even naughtier.”
“I’d be a fool to say no to that.”
Releasing my hold on her, I stride farther into the suite. I unzip my camera bag and retrieve the body, attaching a lens to it.
By the time I face Nora, she’s already naked, her dress and sandals lying in a heap. I expect her to head toward the bedroom and climb onto the bed. Instead, she brushes past me toward the French doors leading to the balcony.
“Nora, what are you doing?”
“What good are these photos if you can’t tell where we are? All bedrooms look the same. But there’s only one Paris.” She smirks flirtatiously, then steps onto the balcony without a care in the world that she’s naked, that somebody might see her.
It’s official. Paris has infused into her blood.
And I love every second.
I follow her out onto the balcony. A few blocks away, the Eiffel Tower shines brightly against a midnight blue sky. I cautiously glance around, concerned some paparazzi discovered our location and booked a nearby room. But we’re secluded on this balcony on the top floor of the hotel, the night sky offering a curtain not possible during the day.
Swaying her hips, Nora walks toward the bistro table and lowers herself into the chair. She crosses her legs, her posture and confidence reminiscent of Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. Then she stiffens.
“What am I thinking?” she says playfully, uncrossing her legs and slanting them to the side, crossing them at the ankles. “That was no way for a royal to sit. I really should pay more attention to the rules.”
I can’t help but laugh at the irony. “I’m fairly certain we’re currently breaking every rule in the book.”
“I didn’t see any rule against allowing my fiancé to photograph me nude.”
“Pretty sure it’s an unspoken one covered by the prohibition against indecent or immoral behavior.”
“Are you going to reprimand me?” she asks in a husky voice. “Maybe spank me for being so…naughty?”
“Jesus,” I hiss under my breath, my hands trembling with the excitement of an inexperienced teenager before he cops his first feel. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Hopefully you will soon.” She straightens. “Now, how would you like me?”
“That’s a loaded question,” I mutter under my breath, trying to concentrate on adjusting the aperture and focus on the camera, not the fact that the woman who will be my wife in just two weeks currently sits on the balcony of our Paris hotel room completely naked.
“I’m sure it’s not the only thing that’s loaded.”
I can’t fight the smile crossing my lips. This woman constantly surprises me. I never know what to expect with her, every day a new adventure.
“Come on, Anders. Tell me.”
I inhale, returning my gaze to her, doing my best to switch from horny male to professional photographer. I study the background and ambient light from the city, which casts a glow on Nora’s peachy skin as she sits with her back straight, expression even. There’s almost something…haunting about her.
“Like that,” I answer softly, bringing the camera up to my face and snapping a few photos. “Don’t move a muscle.” I squat, capturing her from a lower angle, the moon highlighting her sinful curves. “Look off to your left,” I say, entranced.
She does as I ask, peering into the distance, her chest rising and falling in a quicker pattern.
“Lift your chin a bit,” I tell her.
Again, she obeys my request, elongating her neck.
“My god, you are so beautiful.”
Right now, with Paris behind her, I see what so many others have commented on since I introduced her to my world. She is the new Grace Kelly. And not simply because she’s an American about to marry a prince, but because she bears a striking resemblance to the actress, especially now as I capture her silhouette. If I put this picture beside one of Grace Kelly, I doubt anyone would be able to tell the difference. Dainty nose, heart-shaped lips, milky skin.
“Hold on.” I quickly straighten. “I’ll be right back.” I hurry back into the room. Opening my suitcase, I grab a black velvet box. I’d planned to wait to give it to her tomorrow, but this is the perfect accessory right now.
Returning to Nora, I hand her the box, to which she responds with a playful look of disapproval.
“You spoil me. You know that, right?”
“If I can’t spoil my wife-to-be and mother of my child, who can I spoil?”
She attempts to reel in her smile, to no avail. When she opens the box, a gasp escapes. “Anders…”
I extend my hand, an unspoken request for permission. She nods. I take the box from her, removing the bracelet.
“Every woman needs a pearl bracelet.” I take her wrist in mine and at
tach the string of pearls.
“I already have one,” she reminds me.
“True. But this one is made up of all-natural pearls.”
Her eyes widen. “These are all-natural?”
I slowly nod.
“Jesus, Anders. How much did this cost you?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“You’re right. I don’t think I do.”
“Do you like it?”
She admires the glistening stones with appreciation. “It’s perfect.”
“Good.” I smile at her, my heart expanding. “Now, where were we?”
“You were taking dirty pictures of me.”
“They’re not dirty. They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
“You make me feel beautiful.”
She cranes her head toward me. I meet her lips, kissing her sweetly, but don’t deepen it. If I do, I won’t be able to control myself. And I want this night to last forever.
“Come this way.” I help her to her feet, leading her toward the ledge. “Bend a little at the waist and lean on the railing.”
She follows my request, but the angle seems wrong.
“Here.”
I move behind her to reposition her. The second our skin touches, the atmosphere shifts, sexual heat crackling and sizzling. I curve toward her, inhaling her perfume as I smooth a hand down her arm, linking my fingers with hers and moving it farther away from her body.
Then I straighten her so she’s putting her weight on her hands, yet not leaning too far over the railing. Content with her form, I grab her chin and position it so she’s looking down at the bracelet and sparkling diamond ring.
I step back to check her placement, everything about her just so damn perfect, right down to the slight swell of her stomach. I grab my camera, snapping several photos, wanting to capture everything about her. Her poise. Her confidence. Her grace. I’ve never met anyone else like her in my life. I doubt I will again.
“Is something wrong?” she asks once the shutter stops, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes locking with mine.
I set my camera onto the table and walk up to her. I smooth her hair back from her nape and plant warm kisses along her skin.
“I can’t wait another damn second.” I spin her around in one quick move.
She’s not able to get out a surprised gasp before I cover her lips with mine, my tongue tangling with hers. Hand firm on her hip, I steer her back into the suite. She moans into my mouth, running her fingers through my hair. When her nails dig into my scalp, igniting me on fire, I kiss her even harder.
Once we reach the bed, I carefully lower her onto it, my motions quick as I shrug out of my jacket and kick off my shoes. Then I yank my t-shirt over my head before shoving my jeans and boxers down my legs, stepping out of them.
Joining her on the mattress, I seek out her mouth once more, desperate for another taste of her sweet nectar.
“I need you,” she murmurs breathily.
“And I need you. Need to bury myself deep inside you.” I pull back, framing her face in my hands. “But I need to taste you first. Need your cum on my tongue.”
“Fuck, Anders.”
She writhes beneath me as I snake down her frame. I take one of her nipples in my mouth, gently nibbling. “Can I do that?”
“God yes.”
“Mmm…,” I moan as I inch farther south, my tongue trailing down her torso. Her stomach rolls through her increasingly ragged breathing, especially as I grow closer to her center.
When I settle between her thighs, I steal a glance at her, a look of delicious anticipation on her face. She squirms and pulses, her body telling me to give her what she craves.
The instant my tongue makes that first contact against her, she moans, temporarily relieved as she loses herself in my touch. I start slowly, teasing and torturing her, slightly pressing a finger inside her before retreating, which only frustrates her.
“Please,” she begs, her plea sounding like a combination of a mewl and a pant.
I grin, inching my finger a bit farther inside her as my tongue circles her clit. When I finally push all the way in, she whimpers, begging me to go deeper and faster. I continue my ministrations, adding another finger, then another, stretching and massaging her.
“Anders…,” she moans again, lost to the sensations.
I love watching her like this. So sexy. So needy. So out of her mind with lust.
“Do you want to come?” I ask, increasing my motions.
“Yes.”
“That’s my girl.”
When I nip her clit, she releases a noiseless gasp. Her motions grow more frantic and desperate until she cries out, her body pulsing through her orgasm. But I don’t pull away. Instead, I do everything I can to draw out this sensation of bliss as long as possible.
Once her tremors have subsided, I crawl up her frame and slam my lips against hers. “God, I love watching that. Love being the one to make you come like that.”
“And I love when you make me come like that.” She waggles her brows. “So why don’t you go for two.”
I chuckle, reaching down and stroking myself, but my dick doesn’t seem to get the message that there’s a beautiful woman in my bed.
“Oh, come on. Not now.”
“What’s wrong?” Nora hoists herself onto her elbows.
“Nothing,” I grind out, frustration forming in my throat as I stroke myself harder, to no avail. “Goddammit!”
“Here.” Nora sits up, reaching for me. “Let me.” She presses her hand against my shoulder, pushing me onto my back.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus on the warmth of Nora’s fingers wrapped around me, not the fear that this is yet another one of the side effects of MS coming to rear its ugly head at the worst possible moment. I push down the thought, remembering Nora posing on the balcony, so confident and sexy. But nothing seems to work, not even this incredibly provocative woman attempting to jerk me off.
“Fuck!” I roar, shooting upright. “It’s useless.” I bolt off the bed, grabbing my jeans and sliding them on.
“It’s okay. We’ll try again in a little while.”
“No.” I tug at my hair as I pace. “It is not okay. I’m fucking useless, Nora. I can’t even keep my goddamn fiancée happy because of this bloody disease.”
She scrambles to her feet, placing a hand on my bicep. “You don’t have to sleep with me to make me happy, Anders,” she says with all the sympathy I’ve come to expect from her.
It still makes me feel inadequate, though. Like I’ll end up not being able to give her what she needs. What she deserves.
Like I’m less of a man.
I shrug her off, making her gasp, the sting of my rejection seeming to burn her hand. But that doesn’t make me stop.
“Today, I can’t get an erection. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe I’ll start pissing and shitting myself. Is that really what you want? You really want to be saddled with someone who can’t even control his own fucking body?”
“Yes. A million times yes. Like I’ve told you repeatedly. I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is you. And I love you, Anders.” She grabs my hand in hers, not bothering to cover up. Instead, she exposes herself to me in all her raw vulnerability, as if hoping I’ll do the same.
But it’s different. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me. I’m going to be king one day. How can I lead an entire nation if I can’t even control my body?
“Anders, talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. Do you honestly think I haven’t noticed something off lately?” she retorts. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You need to take time for yourself. For your health. You don’t have to be everything for everyone.”
“Yes, I do!” I roar, my voice louder than I anticipated. “That’s exactly what I have to fucking be, Nora!”
Breath hitching, she straightens, eyes wide in surprise. And a hint of fear. It’s this fear that h
its me hard. I scrub a hand over my face, my mind cloudy as I attempt to collect my thoughts.
Stepping toward her, I cup her cheek. “I’m sorry. I just… I can handle the occasional tremor and dizzy spell. But what happens when I can no longer walk? Can no longer fuck?” I choke out, my frustration turning to despair.
She places her hand over mine as I continue to hold her face. “I’ll still be by your side.”
I pinch my lips together, shaking my head. I should find comfort in her reassurance that she loves me regardless of whether I’m able-bodied or bound to a wheelchair. And a part of me does. But there’s this other part of me that thinks it’s selfish of me to ask that of her. To force her to stay by my side while my body slowly deteriorates.
To force her to watch me die a little more every day.
She’s already lost so much.
Can I really ask her to lose even more?
“I need to go for a walk.” I retreat from her.
“Anders, please. Don’t push me away,” she begs again.
This time, I respond a bit more calmly. “I’m not. I just need to take a minute to clear my head. Try some of your meditation exercises. They always seem to help,” I lie. “Maybe by the time I return, the general will finally be awake.” I blow out a laugh, hoping my joke will console her, but she still looks at me with sympathy. And perhaps even a little pity.
I hate it.
“I won’t be long.” I place a soft kiss on her forehead, then tug on my shirt.
Once I slide on my shoes, I grab my wallet and mobile, firing off a quick text to Creed before walking out of the suite. I don’t even acknowledge him when he steps out of the next room and follows me toward the elevator. He doesn’t say a word the entire ride down to the lobby, being the good friend he is. Or perhaps trained protection officer.
I’m about to make my way onto the sidewalk when I spy a lounge in the corner of the lobby. I haven’t had a drink in nearly a year. Controlling my diet was supposed to help slow down the progression of my MS and prevent any flareups.