by Alyssa Cole
“Exactly.” He frowned. “Some things are inevitable. One way or another, you will leave me.”
Outside the door, she heard the singer’s voice rise and fall while holding a mournful note.
“Like your mother did?”
“I guess I have some issues I haven’t quite worked through,” he said ruefully. “More reason for you to turn and run.”
“What if I don’t want to run?” she asked.
“When I think of losing you . . .” His eyes squeezed shut and he shook his head.
“Oh, my sweet Phoko.” Her own eyes were warm and close to overflowing, and her thumbs brushed his cheekbones as if wiping away the tears he refused to shed. “You know what to do if you don’t want me to leave.”
He dropped his forehead to hers, and there was a hint of mischief in his eyes now. “Trick you so that I can spirit you away to my underground lair?”
She laughed softly. “No. All you have to do is ask.”
“Like your father did?” She knew he didn’t say it to hurt her, but because he was always thinking of the ways people could be made to do what others wanted.
She brushed her mouth against his. “He never asked—he demanded. And he prioritized his pain over my wishes. If you’re trying to compare yourself to him to drive me away, be accurate.”
He exhaled, ragged and harsh.
“Stay,” he said suddenly, desperately, the need so apparent in that one low word that her own throat went rough with emotion. “Please? Stay.”
She nodded, her forehead rubbing against his. If he was taking chances with his feelings, she would, too. She was going to keep being brave. “I won’t promise happily-ever-after, because you don’t seem to believe in that. I’m giving you right now. Because I love you.”
“Nya.” Johan squeezed his eyes shut again before finally taking her in his arms. “Thank you.”
“It’s a very basic truth. No need for thanks.”
He chuckled. “I love you, too. I’ve been worried this would happen since I first saw you in Thabiso’s apartment.”
Nya froze as his words sank in. “But . . . you couldn’t even remember my name on the plane.”
“I’m a very good liar. And I’m not nice.”
She looked at him for a long while, then shook her head. “You put on an elaborate act of not knowing who I was . . . why?”
He raised his brows, an she read the fear and confusion in his flashing blue eyes. “To push you away because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t. Because I was afraid of this. That’s normal, right?”
She shook her head. “You are so weird.”
He didn’t seem to notice the affection in her words, so she didn’t leave him hanging. “Well, then. I guess you really do love me if you were willing to go to that much trouble.”
His head tilted to the side and angled down, the motion so fast that she barely saw the way his mouth curved into a grin before he moved in toward her. His lips were soft and he still tasted faintly of the sweet tamarind candy she’d passed him just after they’d taken their seats.
His kiss was hungry—more wolf than fox, despite the nickname she’d given him. His body pressed her against the wall with the slightest pressure as he kissed her, as if making sure she really would stay but ready to release her if she wished. Then he covered her lips with his own and his tongue sought out hers.
His hands smoothed over her braids, caressed her neck, planed down her bare shoulders, and Nya was almost overcome by the harsh reverence in his touch. There was so much care in the balance between delicate and demanding. He kissed her like that for what felt like forever, and she held on to him, their sighs and licks and nibbles writing a new chapter in their shared story, one that had nothing to do with pain and loss and fear.
When her mouth was plump and sensitive from Johan’s kisses, he dropped to his knees in one smooth motion, one hand making use of the slit in her skirt to skim up her glutes and cup her ass. He looked up at her, his own mouth slick and swollen, his eyes flashing with desire.
“You got your wall slam, but I haven’t checked off everything on my list. On the plane, I told you that if you came to bed, I’d eat you up. We don’t need a bed for that, though.”
He licked his lips, and Nya’s knees went a little weak because she knew what that tongue could do to the most innocuous patches of skin. Now he wanted to taste her . . . there?
She leaned her shoulders back against the satin-lined wall for support, bracing herself, then splayed her fingers through Johan’s silky auburn strands. She tightened her grip, loving the way his eyes went an intense stormy blue as he looked up at her. She’d been practicing her dirty talk, but this was going to be easy.
“Eat me up,” she ordered. Three simple words to describe an act that she’d thought she was prepared for. She was wrong.
Johan’s big hands moved away from her ass, gripping the fabric of her skirt, parting the slit, and pushing it up. His mouth was already dragging up her thighs from her knee, pressing hard kisses into the soft skin. Pleasure didn’t make a gradual appearance—it slammed into her, pressing her body back into the wall, and that was before he pushed her underwear to the side and slid his tongue roughly over her clit.
Johan had always taken things torturously slowly, but not tonight.
“Oh my goddess,” she gasped. “Holy . . .”
He shifted forward on his knees, nuzzling up into her as he swirled his tongue over her nub relentlessly. The lascivious sound of him licking her—savoring her—was an accompaniment to the aria being sung on the stage, along with the soft cries she couldn’t swallow.
Her whole body vibrated with pleasure, like the delight she’d felt as the first loud attack of the orchestra filled the auditorium, but condensed so that it was barely contained in her body. His tongue curled between her folds relentlessly, like he was trying to unlock the secret of Tootsie Pops. Her knees shook, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could stand—or how much longer.
It’s too much! She thought one moment and then, It’s not enough! She tried not to tug at his hair, but he must have felt her fingers tighten and he took her direction.
His hand gripped her ass to hold her steady, and then he pressed his mouth firmly over her clit and sucked. Nya went boneless at the sharp shock of pleasure. She could barely hold herself up as he increased the pressure of his tongue and the suction of his mouth swirled over her nub. Johan didn’t stop, didn’t break rhythm as he held her up—his dedication to giving her pleasure couldn’t be called into question.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
Nya pressed her fist into her mouth, unable to stop the cries that his tongue wrung from her, and when the peak of her orgasm finally hit her legs gave out and she slid to the floor where he caught her and pulled her on top of him as he lay back on the carpet.
“Ça geet et?” he asked smugly, his arms wrapped around her and his hand rubbing the exposed skin of her back. His answer was in her ragged breath in his ear and how her body still trembled from his touch. But even though her legs felt like jelly and they were sprawled on the ground, she wanted more.
“I could be better,” she replied, sitting up so that her knees pressed into the carpet and she straddled him. She reached between them to unbuckle his belt and undo the button of his pants, kissing him as she pulled his cock free from his boxer briefs, and he was hard and hot in her hands. “I think we could both be better.”
“Sugar . . .”
“Do you have a condom?” She asked in a firm tone because if he didn’t want to be with her that was one thing, but she wouldn’t be second-guessed based on some notion of not knowing her own mind. Not in this.
He looked at her for a long moment, his gaze taking in her face, and then he smiled, leaning forward to kiss her roughly. He reached into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a square foil-wrapped object.
“The tuxedo came stocked with these.” He leaned in to kiss her again, and this kiss was lig
ht and playful, then he pulled away to rip open the packet. “It’s not like I’ve been carrying these around praying to all the deities that we might . . .” He shook his head. “I want you so badly, Nya. So fucking badly. In every way.”
Nya felt an ache in her chest, and she knew what it was.
“I’m already yours,” she said tenderly. Then she ran her hands down his lapels and tugged. “But I am really horny right now, soooo . . .”
She looked meaningfully down at the condom.
“You—” He shook his head with a low laugh, then rolled on his condom with practiced finesse, a nerve on his forehead jumping when Nya stroked him after it was on. “You really are something.”
“Something?” she asked, stroking him, wanting him inside of her but not wanting to pull her gaze from his.
“Something. Everything. Every damn thing.” He looked at her like she could extinguish suns and ignite supervolcanoes. Then he was pushing up her skirt, running his hands worshipfully over her thighs, and—
“Oh goddess,” Nya cried as he ripped her lacy underwear.
“Sorry,” he said, grinning wickedly. “That’s part of the debauchery package.”
“Not sorry,” she said, levering herself up with her knees. “That was hot, Phoko.”
She should have been nervous, but she couldn’t be, with Johan looking up at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, with him brushing her body with possessive but gentle caresses. He wanted her so badly that he was shaking with need, and that gave Nya all the bravery she needed to sink down onto his shaft.
“Oh!” She gasped at the unfamiliar thickness filling her.
Johan squeezed his eyes shut, his face flushed and his teeth clenched. He was absolutely still as she lifted herself up and down, up and down, taking him more deeply each time—except for his fingers gripping her waist, helping guide her.
“Johan. This is much better than I expected,” she gasped, and he opened one eye. “I’m—You’re—”
She sucked in a breath as the friction inside of her made her whole body shake with potent pleasure.
“We haven’t even gotten started yet, Sugar Bubble.”
Then he began to move his hips, slowly, slowly, but filling her more deeply than she’d thought possible. Nya felt a brief flash of pain, and whimpered, but it was gone as quickly as it had come and then there was only pleasure.
Johan sat up, still thrusting, kissing her mouth, her eyes, her face, his lips baptizing her with his affection. “I love you, Nya.”
His words filled her with as much pleasure as the sweet, tender ache building in her core. The pain was gone now, and there was only the delicious friction of Johan’s girth, and then of the fingers of one of his hands coming between them to tease her already sensitive clit.
Maybe it was the surprise that sent her over the edge—surprise that one man could give her so much pleasure while kissing her like he needed her breath to live. Her inner walls clamped around his cock and she threw her arms around him as she met his thrusts, a sobbing shudder racking her as her climax shook her.
“I love you, too,” she cried as she came, which wasn’t dirty talk but the only words her mouth could form when her brain temporarily stopped working.
“Oh god—Nya—” He hugged her tightly, too, then thrust at a slower, sharper rhythm as he whispered things that were alternately filthy and tender, words that pushed her so that Nya was caught in the riptide of another orgasm before he’d even finished his.
He collapsed back onto the carpet, still holding her close. From outside the door, the audience broke into raucous applause.
“Do you think they heard us?” she whispered, and Johan laughed, the sound loud and devious, and the vibration of it enough to make her toes curl. He rubbed his hand over her back.
“Maybe, though if you’re louder than a professional opera singer and full orchestra you might have superhuman lungs.”
“Superhuman lungs? We can test that once we get back to the castle.” She kissed his jaw then nipped his earlobe, wondering how it was possible that she was already eager to take him again. And again.
“I will happily be your test subject in the superhuman lungs experiment. Let’s go.” He glanced at the door. “I do feel bad about leaving before the show is over.”
“They’ll live,” Nya said, hauling him to his feet. She leaned closer to his ear. “I’m not sure I will if you aren’t inside me again soon.”
Johan wasn’t the only one who knew how to manipulate.
His nostrils flared and his gaze went hot. “I can’t argue with that. I’ll leave a note saying I had to go save my fiancée. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
Nya almost asked what it meant, that he’d said he loved her and called her his fiancée still. Their feelings weren’t fake but their relationship was . . .
Then Johan grabbed her around the waist and kissed her, and the music played loudly outside the door, and she let herself fall into that kiss instead of worrying.
Chapter 24
The humans didn’t know that Phokojoe’s ears were large and heard all. They didn’t know that he now spent much of his time listening for the voice of the girl who brought him sustenance and asked for nothing in return. So when the girl’s father demanded she tell Phokojoe she desired a coffer of gold, the trickster fox heard. An old witch woman had told the father how to take the Phokojoe’s gift and keep it, so that he would be rich and the fox god would exist no more.
—From Phokojoe the Trickster God
Johan awoke with Nya in his arms, with her hair pressed into his shoulder, her forehead pressed into his neck, and her leg slung over his thighs.
He waited for fear and anxiety to assail him—he’d been too busy for those emotions after they left the opera the previous night, losing himself in the touch of Nya, the taste of her, and the sound of her cries echoing from the high ceilings of his room. He’d told her he loved her, for god’s sake—he should have been curled up in the fetal position somewhere, or online searching for safety helmets and whatever other objects could protect her from harm.
He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent as he did.
No.
No.
Nya didn’t need or want his overprotection. He could do this. He was aware enough of his own problems, and he’d deal with them as he urged the people he cared about to deal with their own.
Portia had been sending him therapy referrals at least once every two months. Maybe he’d look into it. Yes.
There was a knock at his door and he slipped away from Nya reluctantly. The referendum voting was still happening the next day, and there was much to be done, like search out his brother who was returning from school to make an appearance at the castle before the polls opened the next day. He needed to find some way to make things right with Lukas, too, no matter how the referendum turned out.
He slipped on his pants and tiptoed over to the door, cracking it slightly. Greta stood at the threshold, expression tight. She held the daily paper in her hand.
“Have you seen this?”
Johan grinned. “Well, no, I was busy.”
Greta unfurled the front page and revealed the huge picture. He had no idea when it had been taken. It was him, shrouded in darkness, touching the ring that he’d worn around his neck until he’d slipped it onto Nya’s finger, with Bulgom Pamplemousse glaring out from beneath him. It was him. Not Prince Jo-Jo. His expression was somber and completely unguarded, blown up on the front page. And he was holding a teddy bear.
Christ.
“The Lonely Prince,” the headline read. He scanned the article, and it was mostly nonsense but a bit too close to home—some story about Johan’s never-ending pain, how he slept with his teddy bear close to his heart because he was so frightened of being alone.
All of the anger that had been pushed away by his night with Nya returned, having doubled in size. It muddied his thinking, and he crushed the paper in his hand. It was as he crushed it that
he remembered Nya’s flash going off in the bedroom of the airplane.
No.
“Jo-Jo. I wanted to tell you yesterday that I saw a disturbing text on Nya’s phone as I was holding it. Something about getting rid of outdated royal institutions. Very conspiratorial-like.” Greta floundered. “Have you considered that most of this started when she arrived?”
That was true, wasn’t it? The reports in the papers, the news that had somehow started to leak from Thesolo linking them together.
“And her father was attempting to destabilize their kingdom,” Greta added.
“Hmm,” Johan said.
I come from a family of politicians, Johan, and my father was a criminal one at that. You’re not the only one who knows about manipulation.
It made sense, as far as schemes went. It was a good long con, all the coincidences that had driven them together that seemingly had no explanations. Now she was in his bed, and the reputation he had painstakingly built at the expense of his true self was in shreds.
“And . . . I rechecked the IP addresses of the latest posts on that forum, and whomever it was used our IP address. The comments were coming from inside the house, so to speak.”
Johan tousled his hair, rolled his neck from side to side.
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”
He closed the door and stalked back toward the bed. Toward the woman he’d told he’d loved, who he’d finally let his defenses down around.
She seemed to sense him coming, rolling onto her back as her eyes fluttered open. She smiled, and the anger suffocating Johan loosened.
He was being ridiculous. Wasn’t he?
“Nya.”
“I need coffee,” she said, and then stretched. “And a massage. No one ever told me sex uses so many muscles!”
He tried to smile, but it was halfhearted, and when she noticed, her own faded.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He held up the newspaper, watching her reaction as she took in the image. She sat bolt upright in the bed, grabbing the paper from his hands. “This is the picture I took on the plane.”