Cinderella Undone

by Nicole Snow

  It's the first time I've been inside it by myself since I was a kid. I look around, letting out the slightest whistle when the huge doors behind us slam shut.

  The fire isn't even lit. I have to walk over to the fireplace myself and start the gas.

  There's no Patricia, no Victor, no foreign emissary in shock and awe from standing in front of the richest royal family in the world.

  There's nobody. Just the ghosts of everybody who ever wore this crown, probably staring in horror at what I'm about to do. Maybe a few of my ancestors from the middle ages are cheering me on – the old Kings were notorious bastards, scoundrels who'd fuck the finest woman in every village in between their dirty orgies.

  “So, why are we here?” She says nervously. Like she doesn't already know.

  I turn, taking her into my arms, pressing my lips to hers for a good, long minute. “We're here tonight because of what I said in the car.”

  Staring, she cocks her head. It's adorable, and it really fucking shouldn't be.

  I let out a long sigh. “Look, love, I've never been great with words. Actions mean more. If a man can't show you what he means, what good is he?”

  I take her hand, lead her over to the huge golden chair in the center. My butt hasn't touched the ridiculously comfy burgundy cushion since I was twelve years old, but now it does.

  I sink down, feeling lightning roll up my back, pulling Erin onto my lap. My hands roam her curves, doing circles on her thighs, resisting the urge to rip right through that dress she has on.

  “You can't be serious!” she whispers sharply. “Silas, of all the things you've done, this is too much. We can't get caught – I can't. You're not telling me anything. Why are we here?”

  “Like you don't already know, love. I haven't been in this room informally for years,” I say, quickening my circles on her legs. Her thighs shift open, and my cock pulses again. “I was a little shit in my early teens.”

  “You? Never.” She rolls her eyes, pushing playfully against my chest.

  I catch her wrists with my free hands. Pulling her closer, we kiss before I continue my story. I'm not sure where the hell it's going, considering the blood rushing to my temples, making me hear the heartbeat that's pounding in my balls.

  It's hard to think about anything except how bad I want my cock in my Princess.

  “I snuck down here with a smoke bomb when I was a kid. Thought I'd throw it in the fireplace and let the white smoke roll out the palace chimney, get it thick over the city, in mom's memory. It was about a year after she died. Got the idea from watching the Pope being elected, watching the white smoke roll out the Vatican. That fucking counselor they hired, I wouldn't tell him anything. Words wouldn't help me then, and neither would any shrink. Thought I could remind myself and remind the country she isn't really gone, as long as we remember.”

  She blinks raw emotion. “That's a little more touching than I expected. So, what happened?”

  “It was the wrong kind of smoke bomb. The damned thing detonated in the fireplace and blew the glass doors to hell. Guards rushed in, thinking it was a terrorist. I never heard the end of it from dad, my nanny, and the prick who kept hounding me to talk through my feelings.”

  “That prick might've been right,” she says, moving a finger up my chest. “You can drop the asshole act sometimes, Your Highness. I know there's more to you now than what they show in the tabloids.”

  “Yeah, you'd better, after we've been more than skin deep.” My hands go straight to her ass underneath that dress, squeezing.

  Christ, she looks like an angel. She's soft, smiling, and teasing me the way my cock loves.

  “With some things, words aren't enough. What good does it do to tell you I'm deadly, crazy serious about all that crap I said in the car? That it wasn't just my dick doing the talking?”

  Her eyes are huge now. I hug her tighter, dragging her fully into me on the throne, until our foreheads are as close as our lips.

  “It's getting real between us, Erin. So goddamned real it's the only thing I taste, think, and feel when I'm able to. Or, hell, maybe when I'm supposed to be paying attention to everything else that comes with being heir to this throne.”

  “Silas...”

  My name comes out in such a low whisper, I wonder if she knows what the hell to say. I don't give us a chance to find out. I reach up, press my finger snug over her lips, and keep on speaking.

  “I know what you are. You're a walking, talking, cock-teasing risk, Princess. The biggest one I've ever wanted in my life. I could waste the next few hours telling you all about my feelings. Or, we can do it my way, and I can show you just how far I'm willing to go. Don't know yet if your pussy's magic, or what, but I know I can't let it go. I won't. Not for fucking anything.”

  Show me. Her eyes are screaming for it, begging with the same intensity they did in the car when I teased her to the edge of her O.

  I'm going to push her right off that cliff a few more times tonight.

  My finger drops away and my hand goes behind her head. We kiss in sweet, sexy silence, filling the void with passion.

  A woman shouldn't taste this good. I can't get that honey richness out of my mouth when my lips own hers again and again.

  My other hand paws at her breasts, angrily tugging on the fabric, rolling her nipple through the layers. She leans back while I hold her. Moaning, struggling for breath, already grinding her hips on mine.

  My dick's been denied all day, and he won't take a second more of this. Gently lifting her off my lap, I lower her onto her knees. She goes down like a good girl, reaching for my cock the instant I start working the zipper.

  “Suck.” It's one word, beautiful as it is filthy. “Suck me so dry I can't even see straight, Princess.”

  Cool air surrounds my free cock for about two seconds before it's bathed in her silky, intoxicating warmth. Scotch on an empty stomach wouldn't hit my brain half as hard as this.

  I'm grunting, clenching the arms of the throne, while my swollen head disappears behind her lips. She's been paying attention during the last few times I've let her do it.

  Her tongue teases me before moving in for the kill. Erin pulls me in, moaning on my length, bobbing her head up and down, until my balls are about to pop.

  Faster. Hotter. More tongue swirls around my massive cock, focused on that sweet spot underneath my tip.

  I can't help myself. My hips start moving ragged in her face, fucking her mouth as hard and deep as I can without hurting her.

  She loves it. I can see her nipples through the dress, hard and pleading, aching for my mouth as much as my cock begs for hers.

  “Jesus. Erin, baby, you're going to make me –“

  I never get it out. She starts pumping my thick base with one hand, reaching up with the other to pull on my tie. It's so fucking hot and possessive I lose it on the spot, especially when she slams her face down on my dick, pulling me in halfway, teasing me with that glorious tongue.

  Fuck!

  Her pressure doubles when I start groaning. I'm leaning back in my family's throne, grinding my teeth like sandpaper. I'm coming.

  Fire spits out my balls and my whole damned spine goes electric.

  This was my idea, yeah, but I can't believe it's actually happening. I'm coming so hard I see stars for at least the next minute, watching my seed spill out her mouth. Her little hand catches the excess before it spills on her top, giving us away once we step outside.

  It's so intense, so good. I jerk her up as soon as the wild spasms in my dick soften.

  I'm not done yet. I have to fuck her again, right fucking now, or else I'm going to do something worse.

  What's worse? Something outrageous, like saying the dreaded L-word.

  Yeah, Prince Silas Bearington III is losing his mind, but he hasn't gone so batshit insane he's letting himself say I love you to a Princess who was just pretend a few weeks ago.

  My hands tear at her furiously, helping her out of that dress. She's never looked more
beautiful than she does now, naked before me, bathed in the golden glow reflecting on the amber walls.

  “Tell me you're on something so we can fuck like we should.”

  “Yes. IUD. I've had it the whole time,” she whispers.

  Everything I need to hear. It's an invitation to her bare pussy. It's all I can tolerate as I jerk her up, tearing down my pants, bringing her on my cock.

  My hard-on never fades. It needs more, it needs her, right fucking now, or else I'm going to start climbing the walls and swinging from the two hundred year old crystal chandelier above us.

  She grabs the high seat of the throne behind me for leverage when I start pumping in and out. It's hell stopping ourselves from the moaning, the groaning, the screaming. The door looks like it's as thick as a vault, supposedly soundproof for royal happenings in here, but even I'm not crazy enough to test it, bellowing as loud as I can.

  I grab her hair, wrap it around my hands, and pull those chestnut locks tight. I swallow every little noise leaving her mouth.

  A dozen strokes in, she's coming. She's so hot, so responsive to every thrust inside her, it's like she was made for me.

  A thought so ludicrous it turns me into a fucking maniac. Maybe a maniac fucking.

  I don't know who I am or what I'm doing, buried in her to the hilt, moving her hips up and down my cock with a speed that defies gravity. Her gorgeous tits are flopping from my chest to my face each time she moves. My palm slaps her ass several times, forcing her on faster.

  Faster, goddammit! I won't stop until we've blown out every circuit in our bodies. Not before we're drunk and stupid and so sated on pleasure I'll have to request help just to carry us out.

  I'm surprised I last as long as I do. All the stamina I've built up over the years is about half what it should be when I'm fucking this woman.

  She's in the middle of her second climax, clutching my shoulders, tearing her lips off mine and arching her back, when magma churns in my balls. I can't stop it. Don't even fucking try.

  “Keep coming, love. Keep coming on this dick that owns you, the one you've been waiting for your whole life. Come the fuck with me!”

  Erin cries out, losing control, and so do I. I don't think about the noise or the guards or anything else.

  I'm too busy shooting every damned drop up her bare, clenching pussy this time, pouring my royal seed in her womb.

  I can't worry about anything outside us, except how fucking right this feels. I'm coming inside her, coming in my Princess, coming so rough I can't roar loudly enough to drown out the thunder roaring through my body.

  Even when it's over, with my come pouring out of her, I don't pull out. My cock stays hard while the rest of me is spent. My arms hold her against my chest, one hand rifling through her hair. I need to touch it, smell it, bury my nose in it to bring myself back to earth.

  “Silas...do you think they heard us?” She gestures to the door behind her, wiggling her ass, tempting me all over again.

  “If they did, it was worth it. I don't give a damn if we end up on social media tomorrow with our bare asses hanging out in this room. That kind of sex is worth it. You're worth it, love.”

  Smiling, she looks at me with those irresistible brown eyes, and kisses me again. “I thought you were insane before.”

  “You don't anymore? Guess we're making serious progress.”

  “No,” she says, her cheeks flushing red. “I'm starting to understand. And I think...maybe...this could become more than pretend.”

  So do I. I've confessed too much today to say it.

  But she knows exactly what I mean when our lips connect for the thousand time, salty and sweet as ever. We fuck two more times before we finally clean ourselves up as best we can and step out.

  I nod to the guards. They return my salute, staring ahead like statues, just as they've been trained.

  We're taking the stairs slowly, one by one, up to our room. The men back there don't show any signs they've noticed anything. I hope they've heard us the entire time, as twisted as it is.

  Sex like ours, in that room, is once in a lifetime. Fuck secrets.

  What we have is so exquisite, it deserves witnesses.

  13

  Royal Interruption (Erin)

  I wonder if I died in that ridiculous royal parade, coming so hard I passed out and never woke up in the fancy car.

  The last two weeks have been heaven. Fancy dinners, tours around the capital fit for a Queen, perfecting my royal smile in front of the tireless paparazzi cameras.

  Then there's the sex.

  Toe curling, gasping, sheet soaking bliss. Every day. Every night. Every time we're alone, or sometimes just barely.

  Sex that shakes the bed, the shower, the stone bridge in the royal gardens. Anywhere and everywhere Silas decides to lay me down, taking down my panties with his teeth, claiming what's his.

  It doesn't matter whether it's hours, or just a few minutes. I can't tell anymore who's more addicted to who, and I don't care.

  Yesterday, on our way home from a royal military memorial, nobody knew I had the gold clamps on underneath my dress. Silas looked extra dashing with his formal uniform on, the purple rose and diamond crosses he'd earned in the war shining brilliantly.

  The warrior Prince barely waited until we were in the nearest alley to conquer me. He held my hands by the wrists, hiked up my dress, and fucked me as hard as he could, those tiny golden teeth digging into my breasts with every thrust.

  It took the edge off the somber ceremony that came before. I notice he's drinking less, barely touching more than an evening scotch, or maybe a few glasses of wine with dinner.

  I wasn't sure before, but now? It couldn't be more clear.

  I'm his new addiction.

  His escape.

  His Princess – with more benefits by the day.

  Today, he's away, visiting Her Majesty. I haven't seen Queen Marina since she returned to the palace, except for a brief glimpse when everyone lined up to see her. She's slower, a little more shaky than before, still on bed rest half her days.

  But she's doing better again, and things are starting to feel as normal as a life of royalty, wealth, and power can be.

  Her Majesty isn't the only one. My last few calls with dad were just like old times. He tells me he's in remission, so swiftly and suddenly he probably won't have to go under the knife again.

  It's nothing short of a miracle.

  I even talk to my mom, so busy with work she's been completely out of the loop about my impending marriage to a billionaire Prince. It's clear she doesn't care about my life either, muttering half-thought complaints about her latest cases and business deals while she types on her keyboard.

  So, I don't bother to fill her in.

  Let her find out when the wedding invitations hit the mail. Just a matter of weeks now.

  “Madame, Miss Hastings will see you, at your convenience.” Dean calls lightly through my door, gentle as ever.

  “Thanks! I'm almost ready.”

  Ugh. Will I ever be? I don't really want to sit down alone with Serena, the bitch, and deal with her nasty attitude again.

  Too bad she's still the sitting press secretary. I'd better get used to it, too, because this Princess thing means a woman needs a high tolerance for assholes.

  We're going to have breakfast with the Queen next week, a halfway public affair that will have more cameras than usual covering it due to her health.

  I can't screw this up. Meaning, I have to put my own feelings aside, and work with Silas' old crush to make sure I don't curtsy to Her Majesty at the wrong time, or accidentally walk in front of someone who should go through the next door ahead of me according to royal tradition.

  There are a thousand and one mistakes waiting to be made in this position. However 'normal' this life feels, I'm very new to being a Princess. I won't even pretend I've figured it out yet.

  As soon as I'm done, dressed in a nice business dress and a blouse, Dean takes me downstairs. My g
uards stop outside the same small press room Silas and I used before for our prep work to face the cameras.

  Was it really only half a season ago? It's all come together so fast, and changed me in more ways than I can count.

  The door shuts behind me. Serena sits at her desk with coffee, a tablet and a stack of papers on the small desk next to the ancient stained glass window. Brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows dance across her skin, making her look more evil than she already does.

  “Oh, there you are,” she says, flipping her hair back. Something about that not-quite-English accent sounds extra haughty coming from her.

  She steps out behind my desk, gesturing to a chair, towering over me on her tall black heels. New heels. Like something she's bought just to rub her limited power in my face.

  I sit down and muster up my best look that says don't. I'm not taking this crap again.

  “Just tell me what I need to do so I don't screw this up,” I say, a small prayer that maybe we can get this over with quickly.

  Serena sits on the edge of her desk and narrows her eyes. “Protocol, protocol, protocol. I'd say you should've been doing that from the very beginning, but I certainly can't control what Silas lets his women get away with.”

  “Don't you mean His Highness?”

  She purses her lips. “Sure. Anyhow, the Queen's tea service is always a very sensitive and traditional event. This one, more than ever, knowing what we do about her health. You, madame, are expected to be at the Prince's side the entire time. Smile and wave to the cameras. Don't, under any circumstances, talk to reporters. You know how nosy they can be, I'm sure, since that's the direction you were heading before you found your Prince.”

  “I still am,” I say. My fists tighten on my lap when I see her give me a surprised look. “I'm going to be writing a book sometime after the wedding. All about my experiences, the beauty and kindness in this kingdom, falling in love with Silas.”

  “Don't you mean His Highness?”

  I blink at her angrily, wondering what the hell she means. As his fiancee, I'm not required to use the royal title. I'm sure of it. I looked it up weeks ago.