by Emma Chase
Fuck me.
I think of all the times Granny's lectured me about my responsibilities, about duty and honor and the importance of following through with my commitments.
Christ, this sucks.
But I want to do the right thing. I don't want to be that stupid boy anymore--the one who ditches and makes excuses and mucks it all up.
Honor means something different to me now. Something more. Because Sarah deserves a good man, an honorable man. Steady and reliable and true.
And I want to be that man for her.
"But, I'm bound to two more weeks of filming. I've given them my word and I speak for the House of Pembrook."
I feel her nod. "That's not a small thing."
I look into her eyes. "I don't want to keep filming. You know that, don't you?"
Sarah sighs, and her expression is so open, so damn trusting. It humbles me.
"I do, yes."
"If I could, I'd stay right here in this bed with you. Do you believe that?"
"Yes. But you can't."
"No. I can't."
What a shit-show. And it's all my own stupid doing.
Where the fuck is that mace?
"The other girls, Henry . . . you won't touch them?" she stiffens against me. "Not like this. I won't put up with that."
"No, of course not. I'll barely look at them, I swear. All my touches--my hands, my lips, my cock--they all belong to you now, sweet Sarah."
She grins. "That's good to know."
But then her eyes narrow. "Have you touched them? Like this?"
I chuckle at the thread of jealousy in her tone.
"No. I'm practically a monk. It seems fate has been conspiring from the very beginning for us to end up right here."
"Good."
Wanting to make sure we're clear, so there are no misunderstandings, I reiterate, "So I'll do what I have to do, go through the motions, honor my commitment for the next two weeks. But we'll have this, here in this room; we'll be together. Yeah?"
She gives me a nod and I want to sigh with relief.
"Yes."
Now that that's out of the way, I lean forward and kiss her again, sliding my tongue against hers. She presses back eagerly, honest and so damn perfect. My lips trail up her jaw to her ear and she shivers against me.
"I want to make you come again, Sarah."
She nips at my earlobe. "Yes, please."
And I laugh. "So polite."
Then there's no more talking. There's only moaning, and gasping and writhing and coming. Until, much later, exhausted and spent, we both fall asleep.
THE NEXT MORNING, I wake with my nose buried in the soft skin of a fragrant neck and strands of hair tickling my face. I give Sarah a squeeze and nip at her shoulder, but she just moans sleepily.
Poor thing--I kept her up very late, doing very, very bad things.
And I can't stop bloody smiling about it.
I slip out from under the covers, shower and get dressed. It's a location shot today; Laura and I will be hiking all day. Before I leave, I kneel beside the bed and brush back Sarah's hair, then run my hand up and down her arm, until eventually her long lashes blink and her eyes open.
She inhales. "Henry? What time is it?"
"Early. You can go back to sleep. I just didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. How are you feeling, sweets?"
I've never been with a virgin. And while last night wasn't the big "first time" for Sarah, it was a lot of little firsts. As the experienced one, I want to make sure she's all right with that.
She stretches and the sheet falls down, exposing her elegant neck and perfect tits--my mouth goes dry and my head goes blank.
"I feel . . . hungover," she says. "Drained." And then she smiles naughtily. "And randy. I think you've created a monster, Your Highness."
My head drops to the bed with a thud. Why am I leaving this room again? Oh, that's right, my dick reminds me--because I'm a double damned fool.
"Hold that thought." I kiss her, quick and playful. "And don't move from this spot. We'll pick up right here when I get back to you tonight."
IT'S A GLORIOUSLY INDULGENT DAY. After Henry leaves, I fall right back to sleep and don't wake until noon. Penny comes to check on me, to makes sure I'm all right after last night. She explains that Lancaster was tossed out after Henry beat him to a bloody pulp. I'm not usually a vengeful person but in this case, I'll make an exception.
Penelope also says that Elizabeth is leaving with Sam this morning. She wanted to stay, to go through the motions, like Henry said--for the sake of the show--but Sam put his foot down.
"Good for them," Penny says, and I agree.
After she leaves, I shower and dress and grab a quick bite at the food service table and then head straight back upstairs, to be lazy. I lie in the nook and read, resting my forehead against the cool glass of the windowpane, but my mind keeps wandering from the story back to what Henry and I did last night.
Now I see what all the fuss is about.
I'm not completely clueless. I know what an orgasm is and have been happily giving them to myself for years. But getting one from Henry . . . just wow.
He's bold and confident; I think that's my favorite part. The way he moves, how he touches me and himself--how he's sure of just what to do. And he knows it. It's beautiful and thrilling at the same time. And I like that we talked afterward, cleared the air. It'll make it easier. He's the Crown Prince, the star of the show; I can't very well expect him to quit like Elizabeth. I need to be understanding. And I am. Truly.
Plus it's only two more weeks. It'll be like no time at all.
It's after six and already dark when the bedroom door opens. Henry leans back against it, watching me. His eyes shine with an intense, almost dangerous light. Everything about him is tight and coiled--his jaw, his shoulders, his clenched hands.
A shiver ripples under my skin as he stalks forward, like a jaguar or lion--all smooth grace and lethal power. He grips the back of his shirt as he goes, sliding it up and off, revealing the tight, sinewy muscles of his arms and abdomen. Lounge pants hang low on his hips, displaying a dusting of golden hair that trails a path beneath the waistband. And the image of rubbing my cheek, my lips, against that hair springs to mind. Will it be soft? Wiry? Would Henry moan if I blew on it or would he grip my hair and move my mouth to more interesting places?
When he reaches the bed, he wraps his hand around my ankle and jerks me down to the edge. "I've been thinking about this all day."
It's only when I speak that I realize I'm breathless. "About what?"
And the man who will be my king sinks to his knees before me.
"About tasting you. I'm going to lick you until my tongue gives out. Any objections?"
Oh God . . .
His lips slide into an adorably crooked half-smile. "Speechless, love? Was it something I said?"
His hands slide up my skirt, grasping my panties and skimming them off my hips and down my legs. His movements are sure and confident.
Then he looks at the beige silk material in his hand, almost curiously. "How do you do that? Make something so plain look so hot I could come in just two pumps?"
Then he presses my panties to his face and inhales--his eyes sliding blissfully closed.
Oh my God . . .
He doesn't remove my skirt, but pushes it up to my waist--exposing me to the cool air and his simmering gaze. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, not swift and erratic, but in a deep, hard, steady rhythm.
Henry kisses my calf, then behind my knee. "I need your words, sweet Sarah. Do you want me to lick you?"
"Yes," I whisper so softly I can barely hear myself.
"Say it. Say, 'Put your mouth on me, Henry. Taste me, kiss me, fuck me with your tongue.'"
I'm going to die. He's going to kill me with words and excitement and need.
"Yes, all of it." I swallow and try to give him what he wants. "Taste me, Henry. Fuck me w--"
I don't finish--because with a deep groan,
he's on me. Mouth sucking and licking, hungry--starving. And it's amazing. Dizzyingly divine. My skin feels electrified and warm, wet, pulsing pleasure pumps through my veins. I let my head drop back to the bed because I can't hold it up, and my legs spread wider, hips writhing. Wanting him, wanting this, wanting to let him do anything and everything just so long as he never stops touching me.
"It's so good . . . so good . . . Henry."
My words are incoherent like my thoughts and I don't really know what I'm saying.
He cups my bottom and holds me up to his mouth. I feel his teeth against my soft lips, his tongue lapping up and down, tracing firm circles around my clitoris again and again.
But then he shifts his mouth, nibbling the tender skin of my upper thigh. "Give me your hands," Henry says, his breath hot against me.
I lift my arms and offer my hands. He puts them right where he wants them--between my legs, fingers holding me open to him, my thumbs at my cleft, exposing my most sensitive flesh.
"Stay just like that," Henry rasps. "Fuck, look at you." He licks me with the very tip of his tongue. "Such a pretty, pink, tight pussy."
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod . . .
"You like those words, don't you?" His finger drags across my slick opening, slowly circling and circling. "They make you wet."
"It's so . . . dirty," I pant, but I don't feel at all embarrassed.
"That's why it's fun." He presses a kiss to my clit and I moan so loud. "Because you're so fucking sweet."
Then Henry lifts his eyes to mine. "Now, Sarah . . . watch."
Slowly, he licks me from bottom to top. On the second pass, he stops at my opening and presses inside. He thrusts in and out, deep and hard, fucking me just like he said . . . with his tongue. I whimper and he moans. And it builds inside me, cresting--the intensity--the pleasure. I try to keep watching, because that's what Henry wants, but it's just all too much.
My legs tremble on his back, thighs squeezing. I writhe and I beg.
"Please, please, please, oh please . . ."
So close.
So . . . close.
His tongue is replaced with fingers, long and thick. And when his lips close over my clit, sucking gently, my muscles clamp down on those fingers and my mind goes white as shattering pleasure wracks through my body. Wave after wave makes my back bow and my mouth scream.
After a time, when the grip of my orgasm wanes to languid contentment, Henry kisses his way up to my lips. His kiss is hard and dominating, with teeth and tongue.
And yes, I taste myself on his lips--just like in the books.
But there's no shame or disgust. It's arousing, erotic, and perfect--because everything with Henry is perfect. And I feel so incredibly tender toward him. I wrap my arms around his neck and back, anywhere I can reach.
"That was . . . amazing," I say.
Henry's lips nuzzle my neck and a chuckle rumbles in his chest.
"That . . . was only the beginning." He leans away just long enough to pull my shirt over my head and push my skirt off to the floor. Then he rolls onto his back, hooking me under the arms and effortlessly lifting until I'm straddling his chest.
I should be embarrassed--I mean, my crotch is practically in his face. And it seems Henry wants to go from practically to literally.
He crooks his finger, looking carefree and young and heartbreakingly happy. "Hold onto the headboard and bring that sweet pussy up here."
And I laugh, because who says that?
"Are you sure?"
"My tongue isn't even close to tired. And I need more of you, Sarah."
He's so damn comfortable, so sure and confident in his own skin. And he makes me feel that way too. Beautiful and bold. Brave. Like I could do anything--say anything--be anything.
But at the moment, all I want to be is his. So I wiggle forward and follow my prince's command.
IN SECONDARY SCHOOL, my friends and I made up a drinking game called "The Way I'd Go." The idea was to think of the grandest, best way to die--like drowning in a vat of ale or blowing up the chem lab for the betterment of all student-kind. I've just discovered the ultimate, most sublime way to die: with Sarah Titebottum sitting on my face.
That's the way I'd go--hell yeah.
Her pussy is perfect. She smells like fucking roses and tastes like sunshine. In the last hour and a half, she's come three times. I think I've sprained my tongue.
Totally worth it.
Sarah sighs contentedly, snuggling up against my side, her pretty eyes closed.
I stare at the ceiling and try not to think about how painfully hard I am or the throbbing weight of my heavy balls. It's possible my cock could actually burst--which hurts to even think about--that's how hard I am.
Sarah's palm slides along my chest.
"Henry?" she says, soft and sweet.
"Mmm?"
"I want to do that to you."
My eyes spring open. And I actually get harder. But I have to be sure she's saying what I think she's saying--I'm in no state to be messed with.
"Do what?"
She leans up on her arm, looking down at me with cheeks flushed. And there's a new directness in her eyes, an audacity that I don't think was there yesterday. It makes her even sexier.
"I want to put my mouth on you." She glances down to where my briefs are tented so high it should be funny. I purposely kept them on so I wouldn't get carried away. Sarah naked is one thing--both of us naked and rubbing on each other is entirely too dangerous.
I should ask her if she's sure. I should tell her she doesn't have to.
But what I actually say is, "Fuck me, Christ, yes please."
She giggles and I feel it in my aching cock. Then she dips her head and starts peppering kisses across my collarbone. Soft, whispery brushes of warm lips. She flicks her tongue over one sensitive nipple, pulling a moan from me.
"I feel drunk, Henry. Wild. And I want to make you feel every bit as good as you made me feel. I want so much to give you that."
I lift up again, pulling her to me, kissing her wet and deep. "You do, Sarah. Christ, everything you do--feels incredible."
She moves lower, and I start to pant. Her tongue licks at my abs and swirls around my navel and I have to fist my hands in the sheets to keep from grabbing her head and fucking her mouth. And when that wet, pink tongue dips below the waistband on my briefs, I almost lose it.
I need a distraction. So I ask stupid questions that I already know the answers to.
"Have you ever done this before?"
She giggles against my skin. "No."
And I bask in hearing it out loud. In the knowledge of being her first.
Her only.
It feels so greedy, so fucking possessive--mine, mine, every inch of her is mine. If she could read my thoughts she'd probably call me sexist--maybe misogynistic--but I don't care.
It's awesome. And if thinking that makes me a pig, well . . . oink, oink.
"But I've read about it. Some romance scenes are very . . . detailed."
When she tugs on the waistband, I lift my hips--she skims off my briefs in one swoop and my freed cock taps against my stomach.
"Detailed how?" I grind out, trying not to lose my fucking mind.
She gets comfy on her elbows, adjusts her glasses, and gazes at my dick like it's something to be figured out. It enjoys the notice, thickening and twitching, attention whore that it is. Sarah grips me at the base and brings her mouth closer--close enough that I can feel her warm breath on me.
"Well, the books say this is the most sensitive part, especially this little ridge here."
She swirls her tongue around the tip, then licks at the ridge in question. My skull digs into the pillow and it's so good it's almost painful.
"That's true," I moan.
Then she kisses up and down the shaft, talking as she goes.
"And, they always mention massaging the testicles, how that makes it better." Her voice turns teasing. "Should I test that theory?"
Cheeky girl
All I can do is nod. And then I whimper when she cups my sack in her hand, causing hot, weighted pleasure to light every nerve in my body.
"What do they call it?" I wonder. I have no idea why. "Can't see Jane Austen writing the word cock."
It's possible I just want to hear the word from Sarah's lips.
"Depends on the book," she says, licking me from base to tip, swirling around the full, aching head, before licking her way back down with her hot, wet tongue. And then she does it again.
"Not Austen, but some books call a cock, a cock."
So bloody good
"Others call it a rod or a sword . . . and the woman is the sheath."
"Sounds painful."
Sarah giggles, and then slips the head of my dick into the wet cavern of her mouth and I groan.
She removes her mouth, stroking me slowly.
"And this," she brushes her thumb across the tip, rubbing at the pre-cum, "is sometimes called the 'pearl of desire,' and they always say it tastes sweet or salty." And then she fucking licks me. "Mmm . . . it is a bit salty."
And I'm gone.
"Take me in your mouth, Sarah. All the way. Suck it hard. And fast. Now."
And she does just that. Envelops me in her tight, wet mouth, sucking and laving--wrapping her little hand around what she can't take, pumping hard.
"That's good, so good, love."
Gently, I cup the back of her head, holding her steady, and then I thrust up between her full, hot lips. "Fuck, fuck, fuck . . ."
When the pleasure hits, intense and quick, I pull out of Sarah's mouth. Then I cover her hand with mine, showing her how to stroke fast and tight in the end. And with a guttural groan, I come and come on Sarah's hand and my stomach, thick and hot.
When I can, I lift my hand and motion her closer. I kiss her lips then, soft and tender.
Then she leans back, smiling proudly. "I think blow jobs are fantastic."
And it would be adorable . . . if it weren't so hot.
"I can't tell you how happy I am to hear it." I choke out.
She dabs her finger in the come on my stomach, rubbing it between her thumb and her forefinger. And it makes me think of all the places I want to come on her.
"Next time, I'd like to try swallowing, Henry."
Next time, she's probably going to kill me.
And there's another way I'd definitely go.
MY AND HENRY'S RELATIONSHIP GOES wonderfully . . . for three days. That's when I make a mistake, a crucial error in judgment: I leave my room. While he's filming. While he's filming with other women, including my sister.