by Mia Caldwell
Antique rugs and leather arm chairs decorated every inch of the room, and a few family photos in opulent frames were scattered across table tops.
Paris picked up one of the photos: three young boys, close in age and remarkably similar in appearance, riding horses on a beach as a handsome man ran alongside them, laughing. She couldn't help but notice that the oldest of the boys looked strikingly like a smaller version of Alex...
Paris found her thoughts interrupted when Alex poked his head in the library.
“Hungry? I can make us some dinner if you'd like.”
Paris smiled and nodded her head, distracted from her thoughts of the picture by her suddenly ravenous appetite.
* * *
Alex had called ahead to the skeleton staff that was in residence when the family was not in town, asking them to air out the house and supply it with everything he needed. He had then asked them to make themselves scarce. The staff were well trained, and did not ask any questions. Royalty was mercurial if nothing else, that was certain.
Paris quickly discovered that Alex was as skilled in the kitchen as he was at everything else. She sat at the bar, head resting on her hands, and watched as Alex chopped and sautéed and broiled.
The warm kitchen was filled with the smells of roasting chicken and rosemary and garlic, making Paris' mouth water. They sipped large glasses of thick burgundy wine, and talked quietly as the moon rose higher over the ocean in the distance. The rich wine on her empty stomach was making her bold, and she took advantage of it.
“So tell me the truth, Alex. You're a world-renowned international spy, aren't you? Do you have a license to kill? Or are you a skilled art thief? Or the illegitimate son of some reclusive billionaire?” Paris teased him, but she was serious about wanting answers. “You can't really just work for the government? Can you?”
Alex smiled softly as he refilled Paris' wine glass. He didn't want to lie to her, but it was getting more and more difficult to remain vague.
“I swear, Paris. I am just government official. My position just comes with certain... perks.”
Paris looked around the kitchen, glancing through to the beautiful living room, and taking in the magnificent views from the kitchen windows.
“Perks? An upgrade to Economy Plus on international flights is a 'perk.' This... this is heaven, Alex. I’m expecting 72 virgins to arrive next.”
Alex's warm laugh filled the room as he leaned over to pull the roast chicken out of the oven. The smell of it was so overwhelming, Paris felt all of her curiosity melting away, and giving way to pure hunger. Alex set the chicken on the counter, filling plates with sautéed vegetables, chicken, and thick French bread. As he set the plates down on the bar, he handed Paris a fork and grinned.
“I promise I am not lying to you.” He was looking at her very seriously, looking into her eyes. “I do work for the government, and this house belongs to another government official, but I am allowed to use it. Now, do you want to talk about my incredibly boring job all night or do you want to eat?”
Paris believed he was telling her the truth—but she also sensed it wasn’t the whole truth. He was still hiding something from her, but she could be patient… she would get the answers from him eventually, some way or another.
* * *
Once the table was cleared, the dishes were washed and put away, and the last of the wine had been drunk, Paris stretched her arms out wide, yawning so big it enveloped her. Alex reached out and tousled her hair, and Paris playfully slapped him away, but she found herself yawning again.
Full of delicious dinner, her head swimming with wine, suddenly, Paris could barely keep her eyes open. Alex kissed her softly on the head before he swooped her up from the bar stool, wrapping her arms around his neck and tucking his hand under knees. She sleepily let her head rest on Alex's shoulder as he walked toward the stairs leading to the tower room.
“I thought the prince was supposed to rescue the princess from the tower... Not take her there,” Paris muttered sleepily, still awake enough to tease him.
Alex felt a pang of guilt at Paris' choice of words. If only she knew... he thought.
“Not this time, princess. The tower is the only place fit for a beautiful princess like you.”
When they reached the top of the stairs and Alex used his foot to open the door, Paris saw what he meant. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the room in front of them. She had never seen anything like it in her life.
Situated on the edge of a peninsula, the bedroom had a 360 degree panoramic view of the ocean and the nature preserve surrounding them. Floor-to-ceiling windows, as well as a pair of French doors leading out to a balcony, filled every space.
The bedroom looked as if it had been lit with pure starlight, so bright was the moon over the ocean, beams streaming in from the skylights above. A king-sized bed backed up to one set of windows, giving the illusion that it was almost floating in midair. The bed was covered in thick purple blankets and quilts, with dozens of pillows piled high against the cool glass. Set on gold nightstands were gently flickering candles, which filled the room with the scent of night-blooming jasmine.
As the moonlight and jasmine filled her senses, Paris became acutely aware...
No one would be sleeping tonight.
He laid her gently on the bed, as if he was laying a goddess upon an altar. Alex's hands were magic on her body as they caressed the contours of her shoulders and traced the length of her spine.
He slowly, worshipfully, began removing her clothing. She moved to help him, and he stopped her.
“Shhh…” He placed one finger gently on her full lips as she moved to protest. “Let me have the pleasure. I want to see you—every inch of you. I want to unwrap you, like a present.”
Paris let herself be maneuvered, this way and that, as he gently undressed her. He rained kisses on each limb he exposed, and then made his way to her belly, loving every inch of her full hips and curves.
Alex began his similar ministrations to her breasts, and his dancing fingers lingered over the curve of her stomach, and then delved deeper. Paris was almost certain she'd died and gone to heaven.
Alex lowered himself to his knees, hands skirting the outside of her hips. She almost begged him to touch that most secret, sacred space–the tender nub between her thighs.
“You’re wet.” Alex smiled. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Society told her that she should feel ashamed of exposing herself this way, of allowing her less-than-perfect body to be seen in all its glory, and yet here she was sprawled shamelessly and enticingly, an open invitation to the stranger who had claimed her as his own.
“You are so fucking beautiful, do you know that?” Alex whispered softly, his husky voice filled with longing. His hands were still slipping between her thighs, and Paris' knees begin to tremble.
Paris reached for him as he straddled her, finding his cock swollen inside his trousers. She leaned back, Alex's strong arms encircling her, and she turned her head to him. Alex's mouth descended on hers and she groaned softly as he claimed her tongue.
His hand trailed down, softly playing with her left nipple so that the little bud hardened in pleasure.
“Oh, God," she whispered into his ear.
Alex looked down at her, smiling devilishly as he lowered himself once more to play with the soft curls at the entrance to her pussy.
Paris placed her hands lightly on his head as he leaned forward to put his mouth against the swollen clit and her delicate petals. She gripped his hair with her fingers, gasping for air as she said, “Oh please yes, just like that."
She arched her back and he played with her, torturing her with pleasure. She took in deep, rattling breaths, and let out a little air as his hands reached up and wrapped around her breasts.
She spread her legs shamelessly to allow Alex greater access. His tongue flicked over her little bud, her cleft an open invitation to him. Paris jerked against him, her movements causing hi
s cock to grow ever harder.
Alex slid two fingers up her pussy. It was so tight and she could feel the tremors starting low in her belly as he gently played with her channel. Paris bucked wildly against him, her grip never leaving his hair as she moaned her pleasure at his onslaught. Alex's tongue was a delight on her soft flesh as he explored every crevice.
He flicked his tongue back and forth as fast as he could, and Paris began to squirm as Alex placed his hands beneath her ass and lifted her up to devour her more completely. His entire mouth was on her and she gasped.
Her orgasm overtook her, surprising her with its strength, and she raised her head as she moaned. She cried out with her release as his tongue worked feverishly over her engorged clit. Alex's fingers were teasing her pussy as he thrust first one then another finger in her slit. And then when she thought she could take no more he thrust another digit deep into her soaking wet pussy and she thrust her hips back and forth against his questing hand.
Paris cried out in joy and her body bucked beneath him.
What happened next was nothing that she expected. She was coming down from her orgasm but he didn’t allow her any respite. Alex lifted himself over Paris, and she looked at him, wide-eyed with hunger, begging him to fill her completely.
He positioned her hips so that they lined up with his, and with a sure thrust his spear found its sheath. She gasped again, marveling at the breadth and width of him. She had never felt so filled and so stretched, his cock filling every inch of her pussy as if she had been made specifically for him.
Alex lowered his head and gave one of her nipples a quick lick, as her full breasts swayed tantalizingly below him like ripe cherries waiting to be plucked. The thrusting jolts of his hips took on an even rhythm that shook her to her core, and Paris was shocked to find herself shuddering again in an unexpected orgasm, almost as she was coming off the waves of her previous one.
Alex looked deep in her eyes and his hand went to her face, drawing her chin up so that she could stare into his eyes. His cock continued its even thrusting deep within her pussy. “I have never wanted anyone the way I want you.“ He looked at her seriously making sure that she understood what he was saying. “I don’t think I could ever stop wanting you.“
Paris seemed to have lost her voice, but she smiled shyly, surprised that she could still feel shyness as exposed as she was spread-eagled underneath one of the most handsome men she had ever met.
Alex resumed playing with her breasts as he thrust hard into her, moving from one to the other, drawing gently on the tight little buds. She moaned, low and heavy, her breath coming in staccato gasps as she felt the thick head of Alex's cock pushing against her over and over again.
As their bodies moved in unison, Paris shuddered and gasped as he thrust with more urgency. Alex lowered himself onto her, his hot breath against the nape of her neck.
They moved as one, and they moved against each other, grasping for one another. The two were gasping for breath as their climaxes were near. Alex quickened his pace in direct response to Paris' wild hip movements, and Alex grunted as he plowed deep into her pussy.
"Oh, yes, oh!"
"Yes, yes, oh God!"
“Ahhhh!”
Paris bucked against him in wild abandon, as she felt his cock pulse within her. She shook and convulsed, feeling sensations the likes of which she had never known. He continued thrusting within her as he came, pulling her close to him, enveloping her completely.
They collapsed into a heap against each other, fully sated, and let sleep overtake them as they clung to each other in wanton satisfaction.
16
Paris woke as the warmth of the morning sun crept gently up her body, from her toes to her flickering eyes. She smiled happily as she reached out to pull Alex in for a cuddle, but her hands found nothing when they touched the other side of the bed. She felt a brief pang of fear, but then she remembered... He's an early riser, that man.
Paris sat up in the bed and took in the view, marveling at the pristine beauty all around her. She could already make out a few sailboats idling lazily in the harbor, and she made a note to ask Alex if a boat was one of his “perks.”
Paris grabbed for a robe that was sitting out on a plush white chair, and wrapped herself in its fluffy warmth. The wood floor was cool under her bare feet as she padded across the room and down the stairs from the tower, following the distinct smell of breakfast cooking away in the kitchen. Paris poked her head around the corner and caught sight of Alex, standing in front of the kitchen bar and making fresh-squeezed orange juice. He had on a snug white t-shirt that clung to every muscle, and red plaid pajama pants. Edith Piaf hummed away in the corner of the room, as Alex sang along, his voice clear and strong.
As she watched him, hidden from his sight, her heart clenched at the realization that she was in over her head. This was supposed to be a fun fling—something frivolous and out of character before she settled down to the serious business of medical school. But as she watched Alex, Paris knew she was falling in love with him, and there was nothing she could do to stop herself now.
Moreover, she wasn’t sure she would have wanted to stop herself, even if she could have.
She didn't know how long she'd been standing in the stairwell, watching him work, bathed in sunlight, when he finally looked up and saw her there.
“Good morning, beautiful! Juice or coffee?”
Paris tilted her head sideways as she contemplated the question, really just using it as an excuse to stare at Alex a little longer. Would she ever get tired of his masculine beauty? Probably not.
“Coffee, please! How long have you been up?”
Alex smiled as he poured Paris a cup of steaming, fresh-pressed coffee.
“A while. I was actually getting the boat cleaned up. I thought that we could go out sailing today. Maybe for a swim? If you're not in a rush to get back, that is.”
“I didn’t bring a suit.” Paris gave him a laughing smile.
He winked at her. “Neither did I.”
Paris inhaled the rich aroma of the coffee. She surveyed the gorgeous ocean landscape. She smiled at the sweet anticipation on Alex's face.
No, she thought, no rush to get back at all.
* * *
As the wheels of the plane touched down in Estia, Whitney felt her rage boiling over like a teapot left on the stove far too long.
She'd been trying to call her parents for the entirety of the flight, but nobody was answering at the main house, and neither of her parent's assistants were picking up their phones either. This meant one of two things: one, Leonard and Penelope were in a drunken stupor and their assistants had used the opportunity to take the day off or; two, everyone at the palace in Estia knew exactly why she was calling and they were avoiding her.
Right now, Whitney would put her money on option two.
Twenty-four hours ago, she was stomping her way back to her hotel after the disaster that was her premiere, intending to drown her sorrows in a bottle of bourbon at the hotel bar. But then, something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. A newsstand on the opposite side of the street was selling copies of newspapers in French and English, and people were gathering around the stand like it was the 1940s and they didn't have smartphones. Had war been declared?
It was just enough to draw Whitney the extra twenty feet across the road, which was no small feat in her stiletto Louboutins.
Conflicting reports from bystanders were hazy, but these were the facts as they were known. At 3:30pm Central European time, a young woman, impeccably dressed and who looked suspiciously like the Duchess of Estia, approached a crowd in the middle of Paris. The woman then grabbed a newspaper from the hand of a businessman standing at the back of crowd.
This is where reports begin to diverge, but everyone can agree that the sound of the newspaper tearing in half was followed by rack after rack of magazines and papers being tossed to the ground.
When the owner of the stand rushed out to t
ry and stop the madwoman from destroying his livelihood, she punched him square in the jaw.
She didn't slap him.
She didn't shove him.
She punched him with the blinding left hook of a seasoned boxer. It was then that the street went deadly quiet, and the woman ran off, still clutching half of a newspaper in her fist.
Whitney was fairly confident she had broken a bone in her hand when she punched that peasant gum peddler, but the pain was giving her purpose on the flight from Paris to Estia. In between attempting calls to her parents, she'd absorbed every bit of information she could find on Alexander and this tramp he'd picked up while she was pouring out her heart and soul on the runway. There wasn't much information, but it seemed every news site and every gossip blog could agree on one thing...
Prince Alexander of Dalvana had found a new woman and things were looking pretty grim for his engagement to Whitney Bishop-St.Claire of Estia.
Whitney seethed as her assistant in Estia rushed across the runway to meet her. Someone was going to give her some answers, and she didn't care what bones she had to break to get them.
Or who she had to destroy in the process.
17
Even wrapped in the silk scarf she had pilfered from a drawer in the bedroom, the salty sea air whipped through Paris' hair in a way that she knew would be hell to deal with later, but in the moment she didn’t care.
The sailboat bounced up and down across the gentle waves as the seagulls swooped wildly in the air. Paris had never been on a boat in her life, and she had worried that she might get seasick, but she'd taken to the water much better than she'd ever dreamed.
Perhaps her mind was just so distracted with the beauty of Southern France, her body didn't have time to register the onslaught of new sensations. Even with the absolutely stunning image that was Alex at the helm of the boat, Paris found herself enamored with the image of sky meeting the water, and how they were almost exactly the same color. It was as if there were no beginning and no end.