by Lana Hartley
“Vincent, I’m sorry, are you worried you simply can’t keep up?” Nathan sneers at Vincent.
I place my wine glass down on the table, softly brushing my thumb over the stem and glancing at both of them sternly, my brow arched disapprovingly. Their ill wills fade from their faces, and I don’t have to say a word. They don’t want to disappoint me. They know they are misbehaving.
“When you’re quite done, we’ll dance… And you’re both done,” I say calmly. I won’t tolerate this behavior. “You two will be civil. In public, in private. Or did you not enter this alliance, the both of you?” I ask, and I keep my voice calm. The truth is that I am terrified that my ignorance of me and my indifference toward them leaves me unprepared. There are only two things in this world I haven’t been trained in.
Men, and actually being a ruler.
Sure, my mother, the queen, had me learn everything else. I never cared for men, and she never cared for sharing the crown or teaching anything of it…
They are each smiling at me. Vincent’s smile has a soft, gentle purity in it that’s barely veiling a hunger in him that I see; I can practically feel it emanating off him in waves. Nathan’s smile is achingly charming, and I know he intends it to be that way. Behind his cocksure glance there’s a warmth, too.
How can one woman be so lucky as to have two men, sworn to marry her and lead by her side that are taken with me and so damned attractive? I mean, of course they hate each other. Something about this whole arrangement had to be less than perfect, or I’m certain the universe would just be out of balance.
“I’ll have the first dance, a show of my willingness to maintain the kind of civility we should have been showing our future queen and wife,” Nathan says. Ever the charmer, I feel the heat he’s put into those words. I know it’s still somewhat pointed at Vincent, the way he’s said this. Yet there’s something… a raw need in the way that he stands and extends his hand to me.
The music is something so delightful that I can forget every care I’ve ever had in the adept hands of Nathan, his arms and body leading me around the dance floor with absolute precision. His body seems to feel the music, at one point I think I see him notice a keystroke that’s off, and I think he seems pleased with it.
“Do you like it, when live music isn’t always perfect?” I ask. It isn’t until the words escape my lips that I realize that I’m almost breathless, my voice sounding whisked away by the air. It’s true, he’s spun and twirled and dipped me about so much that I’m utterly taken in the moments.
“Yes, I do.” Nathan is charming, silent, mysterious, but I feel the admission in his statement.
There’s a low thunder within his soul that I feel roll off him in waves, loudly crashing against my psyche. “I very much look forward to getting to know you,” I offer, and I squeeze his hand in mind so that he can feel the earnestness I hope is clear in my voice.
Before Nathan can say anything— and I don’t know if he even would have—Vincent is there. I feel his presence just seconds before I see him, and I can’t believe the thrill rising in my body at just his appearance now. My hands tingle to feel his touch. I want him. I want Nathan. How can this all have come on me so suddenly? I’m grateful that I’ve had such a strong, pleasant reaction to them both. I want this marriage, this alliance, to work.
“I’d like this dance,” Vincent interjects. I’m thrilled that he says this to me, not to Nathan. I demand they get along, and I also demand that they don’t treat me like anything lesser. After all, I am also a royal. I deserve to be treated as equal and not as the wife they’ve commandeered for political reasons. Even if they couldn’t respect each other without it getting in their craws, at least they are both doing their best to respect me. I can appreciate the effort. We don’t all have to have perfect relations right away. With an arrangement of two people to be betrothed, that would not be expected. So with two people marrying the same woman? Of course, there are going to be some initial bumps in the road to smooth out. We’ll get to that.
Vincent takes my hands and starts to dance with me, a more athletic but less graceful kind of movement. He’s used to being the big, bad man in charge of everything. Vincent takes charge of my body and directs me across the dance floor, and I feel safe when he touches me. There’s a heat between us and we both do our best to enjoy it, despite all of these odd circumstances.
I notice Nathan watching us dance, and I’m surprised to realize that, while it definitely rankles Vincent, I enjoy knowing that he’s watching. I’m being touched by one of my husbands-to-be and watched by another, and I think I’d like that scenario to play out in the bedroom.
Mmm, the thought sends a delicious thrill right to my pussy. My sweet boys will place not on my body and won’t have time to be at each other’s necks. It’s a sweet sort of bedroom diplomacy that I’m so not above engaging in. The idea really turns me on, actually, and I hope that the next song will serve to cool me down some.
“Would you like to walk with me in your palace gardens? I’d… like to see them,” Vincent says. I can tell that he’s looking to be honest with me, despite the fact that he wants to go to the gardens. Perhaps the fierce general is also into romantic strolls?
And I definitely have no problem with that. I take his hand and feel calmer just thinking about it. I want to be able to breathe in the air around us and not feel like everything is so heavy. The dancing calmed my nerves until it built them up again, and I remember Vincent’s nerves at being watched by Nathan.
“I’d like that, yes,” I say, taking Vincent’s hand he’s offering me.
Isadora
I want to go to the garden. It’s such a pleasant night, and I can imagine all the sweet smells of the orange and yellow Gloriosas. They look like fire; they are gorgeous and smell so luscious. And then all the roses. I mean, roses are kind of generic, but they still need to be appreciated.
There’s also the smell of honeysuckle, and wet dirt, and it all combines to build the most heavenly scent. And you can’t just get that indoors.
I’m growing restless thinking about the garden.
I look at Isadora and try and determine what kind of flower she is. She just wants to kiss my lips. She keeps tracing her soft lips over mine, and then she’ll glide her soft lips across my stubble. I haven’t shaved today. I feel I’m having a bit of an off day, but she seems to like it when I don’t shave.
“So manly, my Vincent,” she’ll say, wrapping her arms around me.
Does she like it when Nathan doesn’t shave?
She takes my square jaw into her hand and plants a hungry kiss on my mouth.
“Vincent.” She runs her hand through my hair.
She seems addicted. I won’t kiss her the way I usually kiss women. I’m not sure why. Because she’s a princess, you dimwit.
My tongue won’t plummet into her sweet little mouth even though I know she wants it, too. Her eyes might as well be two signs of lights that spell my name.
“Isadora,” I say her name out loud. I just want to. I love that fact that I’m with her tonight, and saying her name seems to celebrate the fact.
“Your voice is so deep,” she says, admirably. “If it were paint it would be black.”
So she’s comparing me to paint? I’m a little offended. She kisses me like she knows and wants to apologize.
She runs her hand over my knee. I want her to apply it to another part of me. I’m aching. I kiss her neck and breathe her in. She put on perfume today – I’m betting this morning, because it’s not overwhelming. The scent has faded somewhat, the way I want to fade into her.
“Let’s go to the garden, sweetheart,” I say. I stand up. My nice suit has come a bit undone. My shirt’s no longer in my pants. She unbuttoned one cuff around my wrist when she said, “You have such strong wrists.” Her dainty fingers circled them. My sweet Isadora seems to want to explore every part of me but that one part.
I end up having to touch myself, hoping she’ll take note and copy. She
doesn’t.
She just breathes my name into my ear again.
I know my name. I want her to touch my cock.
“Vincent…”
She’s burning for me, and I know then. She is a Gloriosa. A bright orange and yellow one, at least when I’m in the room.
“Baby, let’s go to the garden.”
“Why you want to go to the garden so bad, huh?”
“I…” Because it’s a garden and lovely?
“Vincent…” she sighs my name yet again. She’s quite gentle when it comes to touching me, tracing her finger along my ear and through my hair.
It’s the most pleasant sensation in the world.
But still, I want to take her to the garden.
“Baby, please,” I say.
She stands up and glances at herself in the mirror and runs her hands down her long, lovely white dress.
I want to tell her that she is beautiful and she shouldn’t ever feel like she needs a mirror to confirm the fact.
Maybe she just likes to look at herself, and who can blame her for that?
We go into the garden, which is a ways from the castle. We must walk down a trail of steps that snake around the side of the castle and then there is a swing bridge. There is also the ruins from a castle before, like some old dream that starts to fade no matter how elegant it was—special, sweet surprise in the middle of the night. That dream will soon be gone from memory. It’s gray like cigarette smoke. I’m so afraid of the day I won’t be able to see it anymore.
I don’t know why I’m so emotionally attracted to that ruin of a castle. Maybe I fear the castle I just came from will, one day, end up in the same state.
I want to point the castle out to Isadora and tell her not to take anything for granted—not this night or the big castle or the garden or even the little steps that lead back and forth to such things. I want to tell her everything is precious. But I think she has something on her mind tonight.
This is another reason I want to take her to the garden, to try and find out what it is on her golden little sweetheart mind.
I can’t tell, but I feel like Isadora is annoyed by the long walk. I feel like she’d rather be in the castle, on the big comfy bed where she’d been kissing me, trying to bring out the beast in me.
I almost tell her that this walk will be worth it. That what I’m going to do to her with my mouth will have her collapse over her knees, her insides feel like jelly, and she will sleep straight through the night.
I’ve heard before that when girls have crazy orgasms, they don’t have nightmares when they fall asleep.
I hear it can cure headaches. I hear they sleep untroubled by anything.
I want to unwrap Isadora of any of her burdens, let her sleep that way, like the perfect angel she is. And I want to do it with my mouth.
“Vincent?” she says my name different than she did earlier in the bedroom.
“Yes?” I say.
“This walk is hell.” I can’t believe she just cursed. You’re a princess. I want to scold her. I want to take her by the wrist and slap her on the hand. She should know better.
And this walk is not hell, it’s very pleasant; there are plenty of things to behold. The forest right over there. The water. The deliciously rotting gray stone steps that are about to lead us into the garden, where all the flowers and plants and everything that Mitch or whoever went through the trouble to plant.
“Oh sweetie, look at this night.” I try to point out how beautiful it is. We finally make our way into the garden. It’s so lovely out here. We sit in the gazebo near the pond. How could she not want to be out here?
And then I get it—she’s sexually frustrated. Has Nathan not served her lately? She’s got that I’m starving for cock look all over her face.
And sometimes life dissolves into one cold hard fact: I’ve got the cock.
So she followed me out there to this garden in hopes I’ll feed it to her.
She takes off her shoes and rubs her beautiful feet and moans. Then she eyes me. I think she’s trying to tell me something with just a look. It’s my fault that her feet ache, too, because it was my idea to bring her out here to this garden, down all those hard steps.
I just look at her and wait for her to communicate with actual words, like a princess should. Darling, do I need to teach you a lesson?
Is that what she wants?
There’s a smile on her face I know nothing about, the meaning behind it.
“What?”
“You have cute ears.” Does cute mean funny?
“Thank you,” I just say, assuming it’s a compliment. “You have cute feet.” There, I deliver it back to her, whether it’s a compliment or an insult.
“You charming bastard,” she suddenly says.
I’m Dumbo. I’m a bastard. What exactly is she saying?
“Come here and let me hold you.”
Ding ding ding! Those were the words she wanted to here, I see it all over her perfect little face.
She sort of floats over, in her pretty white dress, and eventually her soft bottom lands exactly where I want it to. My cock wakes up and fills with excited male everything.
I wrap my arms around her and kiss her cheek.
“This garden is the heart of the castle,” I tell her. “Where everything grows, and it looks different at night.” Then I lift my arm and point at those glorious gloriosas. “These flowers remind me of you, they’re like fire.”
She turns and looks at me. Her face is this cute expression of coyness. We start kissing, and I finally give her the kiss I’ve made her wait for. I run my hand along the side of her face and trace my fingers over her neck. She is precious everywhere.
“Lie down,” I tell her, my voice she loves so much is smouldering, falling over her body of pale curves like…black paint, I suppose.
She looks at the bench, which is made out of marvelous stone. Someone spent months getting their hands bloodied to carve it into perfection. I want to see how her body looks over it, under the moonlight.
She eventually complies. I stand up and stare at her, and I’m getting harder—so hard I really need to undo my pants. But this isn’t about me needing pleasure, it’s about her.
I kneel down at the end of the bench where her bare feet are and grip them in my strong fingers, and her body feeds me the most delicious response. I rub her tired feet, and she shuts her eyes. Her back is arched. I want to cradle her, I want to feel every soft spot on and in her body, but for now I’ll focus on her feet and let her grow anxious for friction where she needs it most.
“Vincent.” She moves in an effort to express her need for me.
“Yes?” I say, kissing the bottoms of her feet. She has nice feet; they’re a bit on the small side. Maybe that’s why they seem so overworked. And they are very clean, her toenails are perfectly clipped and shiny; maybe she uses some type of glossy nude gloss. I don’t know, but I love them.
I plan to treat each toe like a diamond.
I place my mouth over her toes and suck like there’s a hole there, and I can suck out her worries and replace it with a mind blowing orgasm.
This is simply practice. Her long legs twist about to show her anxiousness. There’s a fire growing in her prettier and wilder than those Gloriosas.
I place my strong fingers around her ankles and pull her body down the bench. The bench is smooth, so I know it won’t hurt her. I would never do anything to leave one mark on her delicate body.
“Oh, Vincent…”
Her fire will get hotter before it dissolves in my mouth. More Gloriosas will bloom after this, for sure.
I give her kisses on her inner thigh, and she places her hand in my hair. Does she wish I had more hair like Nathan? All thick and kind of shaggy. And careless like him?
I hate wondering these things. I hate comparing myself to another man. This is a constant struggle. But I can give her something tonight that she can compare to him, and trust me, he won’t win this one.
&nb
sp; I place my mouth near her sex. She is beautiful, little, pink. She smells delicious, the best smelling thing in the entire garden. The night comes alive over her, and her nipples are erect from being so aroused. I trace my fingers over them, applying just the right amount of aggression.
“Oh…” her body rises to meet mine.
“Hush,” I say, and cover one breast with my mouth and then the other. I move my way back down.
“Please,” I make her say.
“Please what, baby?” I say.
“Touch me.”
“I am touching you,” I play. She laughs, but there’s a mark of annoyance. She really needs it. Nathan, you have not been keeping up.
I touch her, barely, my finger on her sex. She is wet and ready to go.
“Vincent,” she sighs my name again and puts both hands in my hair.
I flick my tongue across her needy pussy, and her whole body quakes beneath me. I lick her again, this time pressing my mouth against her. She pulls on my hair as I slide a finger inside of her. She is tight, but willing— very willing—to open for me.
She parts her knees, and one is bathed by moonlight. The color of her skin just then is something I won’t soon forgot. Or the sounds she’s making.
“Take me, Vincent, please.”
I slip the tip of my tongue inside of her, and my fingers work to keep her open and she lets out this crazy sigh.
“Oh!” she moans. She is pulling my hair a great deal, but I don’t mind. I know I’m doing an incredible job with her this way.
“Vince…”
I flick my tongue around inside of her, and then I slide my tongue out and over her thigh and place not one but two fingers inside of her.
“Oh!” She kicks her feet up in the air, and I move one finger around in her and slide the other one in and out.