A Princess in Theory

by Alyssa Cole

  “Ooookay,” she said, her voice going breathy. “You might kill me before my embarrassment does. That works, too.”

  Her hands went to his jeans, tugged at the button fly until she had enough room to work her hand inside and grip him. Thabiso paused midnibble as the heat of her hand registered, and then the clumsy stroke as she tried to work over the length of him in such a restricted space.

  He leaned back and pulled his shirt over his head, stood and shucked his jeans, moving with efficient motions that meant his mouth and his hands wouldn’t be away from her for long. On the bed, she was pulling off her pajama pants, revealing underwear that were a different color and material from her bra but hugged her curves and accented her hips so perfectly he wondered at the appeal of matching sets.

  “You’re gorgeous.” He dropped back down into the bed, pinning the hot, soft length of her beneath him. She giggled, but looked away.

  “Naledi, you have no idea . . .” He didn’t think it respectful to compare her to other women, or other women to her. She was beautiful, just as other women he’d been with had been beautiful, but they hadn’t made him feel like this. “You are lovely, yes, but you make me feel . . . you make me feel like I can be anything.”

  And it was true. Everyone else had been taught to treat him like a future king, but Ledi released him from that confinement, showed him that he was more than the Moshoeshoe lineage he’d been born into.

  She smiled and her arms went around him, banding him in something that felt like much more than lust. “And you make me feel like I’m already something.”

  He kissed her then, and all the words left them. Her hands rubbed over his back, sending tiny, electric thrills coursing through him. He worked his hand between them, to the juncture between her thighs where she was wet and hot. His fingers teased along her slit, and then rubbed hard, and when he could see she preferred his touch rough he kept at it, kissing her all the while.

  “Oh god, yes.” She writhed under him, her soft body going stiff as the climax claimed her, bit by bit. First her toes pointing, then her legs pressing into him, and then she arched up and broke with a cry that almost dragged him along with her. She was suddenly pliant beneath him, breathing heavily.

  “Do you have condoms?” he asked.

  “I’m a public health student,” she replied with a sharp look. She pulled off the top of a small footstool beside her bed and fished lazily around, until she came up with a catch—a silvery sleeve of condoms.

  He took it, carefully tore open a packet and sheathed himself before resettling himself between her legs and slowly pushing his way in. Her muscles clenched at him, immediately, and the squeeze of her against his cock was excruciating.

  “Ledi,” he whispered, and then prayed she didn’t respond with a name that wasn’t his. He paused, reality creeping in at the edges of his pleasure.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, misunderstanding. “Better than fine.”

  She pulled his mouth to hers and thrust her hips toward him, taking him into her completely. Thabiso couldn’t say what happened then. He went up onto his elbows so he could look at her as he thrust like a madman, performing acrobatics with his hips that most certainly could only have been the result of possession. He was fit, he knew that, and he put every ounce of his musculature to work with the single goal of giving her pleasure. And when her eyes went wide with shocked arousal, when her head pressed back into the futon and her hands grasped his hips and the sheets and anything that could provide purchase, he slid his hand between them again and pressed at her clit.

  She let out a short, sharp cry as the orgasm crashed into her, but he’d already felt it coming from deep within. Her inner walls squeezed him tightly, again and again, and he let go a hoarse cry of his own as his senses shorted out from pleasure.

  He collapsed on top of her and she swatted weakly at him, so he used his last ounce of strength to roll onto his side and take her with him. He inhaled, taking in the scent of her hair oils, her sweat, her soap.

  “Are you sniffing me?” she asked, snuggling closer to him. Her kinky curls pressed into his arm, and her breath tickled his chest hairs.

  “Maybe.” He grabbed some tissues from the box next to the bed and disposed of the condom. He heard scuttling across the room and turned to find two sets of beady eyes focused on him.

  “Your mice were watching us,” he said as he pulled her back into his embrace. “Voyeuristic vermin. That’s a first.”

  “I knew those two were freaky.” She giggled, truly carefree for perhaps the first time since he’d known her. His heart constricted painfully as he looked at her. Being watched by rodents wasn’t the only first for him that night. He didn’t want to investigate whatever it was he was feeling for her—not when everything he hadn’t said came crashing back down, sucking all of the amazing after-sex feeling from him and leaving him with the realization that she still thought he was Jamal. Just Jamal.

  She still didn’t know about him, or her parents, or her homeland, and she shouldn’t have known what he felt like pushing inside of her before any one of those things.

  His body went cold, his hold on her slackened.

  “Ledi. Look, we really need to talk.” He pinched his nose as he sorted just exactly how he was going to explain himself, especially while sitting naked as a mangy hyena.

  She stopped laughing and leaned back, away from him. Just like that, the openness was gone. “Hey, don’t go getting weird now. It was just sex.”

  She hopped out of the bed and headed for the bathroom.

  He sat up, and stared after her, her words dashing away even his own self-loathing. “Pardon? Just sex? That was not just sex.”

  “It definitely was. Exhibit A, I’m going to pee now so I don’t get a urinary tract infection. Something you do after just having sex.” She shrugged and went into the bathroom; she didn’t slam the door.

  “Ledi, there is a misunderstanding underway right now.” Thabiso paused, and then dropped his head in his hands. “There are actually several misunderstandings going on. How about we clear up this fairly simple one. That wasn’t ‘just sex’ for me. I like you a lot and nothing has changed.”

  The toilet flushed. Water ran, and he heard her humming the happy birthday song, and then the water stopped.

  He pulled on his boxers and jeans and shirt and finally she stepped out, now wearing a pink bathrobe that would have been cute if her gaze hadn’t been so wary.

  “Okay. It was pretty good just sex,” she said with a shrug that he supposed was meant to indicate she was indifferent. But she sat down beside him anyway, folding her legs beneath her and exposing a smooth brown stretch of thigh. He traced his knuckle down her knee and over the sensitive skin, then stopped and took her hand.

  “Look—”

  Just then, there was a pounding at the door. Ledi squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, hopping out of bed as a second barrage of knocks sounded in the quiet.

  “Portia, I’m sorry but this really isn’t a good time,” she said as she swung the door open. “Oh.”

  She looked back over her shoulder at him. “It’s for you.”

  Dread gathered in his stomach, but he rose and faced Likotsi’s stern glare anyway.

  “Jamal.”

  The single word was rife with accusation and disgust.

  “Erm. Hello.” He didn’t know how to explain her presence to Naledi. “This is my friend.”

  “Pleasure to meet you again,” Likotsi said with a sweet smile for Naledi, but her dour expression returned when she faced him. “There is a problem. I’ve received news from your family and, before you ask, no, it cannot wait. I’m sorry to interrupt your fun, but this is extremely important.”

  “Well,” Ledi said, obviously uncomfortable, “we can talk tomorrow about the trust fund stuff. Wait, you’re not like, a rich serial killer or an investment banker or anything, right?”

  Thabiso huffed. “I already told you I’m not a serial killer.”

 
“So you’re a banker?” she asked with mock horror. Thabiso couldn’t help but laugh. She could pull that out of him, even though he was neck deep in shit.

  “I have to study all day,” Ledi said, and her gaze darted toward the door across the hall. She sighed and he knew what she was thinking. Mrs. Garcia would be back soon—Likotsi had received the online check-in info for her flight in an email. Thabiso didn’t want to think of going back to his real life.

  “Do you have plans tomorrow night?” he asked.

  “You have plans tomorrow night,” Likotsi interjected.

  “I do,” Ledi said, gaze darting between them. “Maybe I can make time for you afterward.”

  Thabiso knew her well enough to understand many men probably hadn’t received that grace from her. He was tempted to have Likotsi tell Ledi the truth right then so it could be done—wasn’t that part of her duties as a royal assistant?—but he owed Ledi more than that.

  Likotsi cleared her throat. Thabiso squeezed Ledi’s hand, and then stepped out the door and crossed the hall with his enraged assistant.

  As soon they got into the apartment, she whirled on him. “You silly, self-important, rhinoceros-skulled man! What are you thinking? How could you toy with her like this?”

  He noticed the tears standing in Likotsi’s eyes then, but she quickly dashed them away. “Oh never mind. Some people enjoy playing games with others’ emotions, it seems. I’m tired of being your conscience. You’ll have to develop your own.”

  Thabiso was unsure of how to proceed. Earlier in the evening, she’d been walking on cloud nine as she headed off for a date with her mystery woman. “Do you want to talk? Did something happen with the woman you’re seeing? Is that why you fetched me?”

  Likotsi sucked her teeth. “I would never be so unprofessional as to burst into a room and demand you listen to my problems. That’s your job.”

  Thabiso couldn’t argue with that.

  She sighed. “I’m not seeing her anymore, so there’s nothing to talk about.” Her eyes glistened but she kept her face expressionless. “You, on the other hand, have a problem.”

  “I was trying to solve that problem by telling Naledi the truth when you interrupted us,” Thabiso gritted out. Why was everyone making this so bloody difficult?

  “No, actually there’s a new problem,” Likotsi said as she pulled her handy tablet out and tapped and dragged. “An email from your parents, Your Highness.”

  She handed the tablet over.

  Subject: Your Fiancée Has Been Selected.

  Thabiso glanced up at Likotsi, whose expression was perfectly blank.

  “What am I supposed to do now?” he asked, scraping a hand through his beard. He still smelled of Ledi.

  Likotsi shrugged. “I’ve offered you romantic advice several times over this trip, to no avail. Figure it out yourself. Sire.”

  With that, she clicked the heels of her spats and wandered into the bathroom, one of the few places in the apartment where she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  Thabiso dropped down onto the couch. Perhaps he could be Thesolo’s first bachelor king? At this rate, his love life was more complicated than keeping a small nation thriving.

  Chapter 18

  Ledi spent the following day at the lab and then studying with Trishna, despite the temptation to cancel, leave her door open, and spread herself out suggestively on her bed. But even Jamal and his amazing body couldn’t make her forgo her studies. She’d worked too hard and had too much still stacked against her to let her infatuation get that deep.

  Still, her attention span wasn’t up to her usual high standards. Her brain was more interested in replaying brief snippets of the most amazing sex of her life than reading case studies. When she could push thoughts of Jamal away, and thoughts about having so many thoughts about Jamal, her nervousness about her introduction to Dr. Okri that evening was already lined up and ready to tag in for Team Distracto.

  When Trishna had finally demanded to know why she was acting so strange, Ledi had hedged, but then she remembered Jamal telling her to delegate. That she didn’t have to do everything herself. She’d explained her dilemma, and Trishna had gone into action, emailing her network of friends for help in finding a new practicum for Ledi in case Dr. Okri didn’t work out.

  Ledi wondered at the strange burning behind her eyes as she watched her classmate’s fingers fly over her laptop keyboard. First Portia, and now Trishna, who she’d shielded herself from all of these months.

  It’s almost as if people will help you out if you let them in, a not so subtly sarcastic part of her mind chimed in. It’s almost like it’s okay to need that sometimes.

  After parting from Trishna with a hug, Ledi returned home, fed the Grams, and hurriedly got dressed for the fundraiser. She chose a purple knee-length sheath dress that hugged and enhanced her curves, paired with a black shawl and her fanciest heels. She moisturized her hair and fluffed it so it framed her face and dabbed on simple but elegant makeup. As she prepared herself, she couldn’t stop hoping that Jamal would knock on the door with a Yellow Spatula box and a smile. Maybe nothing else. Even if she’d have to turn down an offer of dinner, there was always the possibility of dessert when she returned.

  But that brief fantasy was doused by the reality that even if she saw him later in the night, by next week he’d be another notch on her bedpost. That was all he could be, especially given the fact that he was apparently some rich kid and she was decidedly not. Her stomach flipped, but she focused on blotting her lipstick instead.

  Her phone buzzed, letting her know that Portia was outside. She grabbed her purse and rushed out, hopping over a small box that had been left outside her door. She turned her key in the lock and picked up the package as she hurried out of the apartment; her street was narrow and she hated the honking and cursing that ensued when a car double-parked.

  Still, she couldn’t wait until she got downstairs to know what was inside. She unwrapped it and pulled off the top as she ran down the stairs—she’d waitressed in heels and was fairly sure she could run at least a 5k in them while balancing trays. Opening a box was nothing.

  A small slip of rich, heavy paper rested inside; for a moment she had the ridiculous fear that it would say “Greetings from Thesolo,” but the smooth, beautiful cursive apparently belonged to Jamal.

  Ledi,

  I apologize for the way last night ended—worrisome news from home awaited me, and more arrived this morning. I’ve spent the day attempting to put out fires (figurative ones—I learned my lesson, oh Ledi, goddess of fire extinguishers). I don’t have much time left in New York, and it’s imperative that I see you tonight. There is something we must discuss, and it is of the utmost importance, but besides that, I want to see you. I should be focused on my work, but I’ve spent every free moment thinking of you. You’ve become rather important to me, it seems. Here is something to bring you luck.

  Your neighbor, Jamal (for now)

  When she moved the paper aside, she saw a small glass vial encased in ornate metalwork nestled into the cotton lining the box. A silver chain was connected to the vial, meaning it could also be worn. She lifted it by the delicate metallic links and flipped back the small cork at the top. A strange warmth spiraled in her chest as the scent of the eng oil hit her, one that wasn’t caused by the squeeze of her push-up bra. Why did he have this effect on her? How could a guy she’d only known for a few days and met under the strangest circumstances leave her feeling breathless?

  She dabbed a drop of oil onto her wrist, then secured the cork and slid the necklace around her neck. She hurried to the giant SUV waiting at the curb and was reaching for the door handle when a giant of a man stepped around the car and pulled it open for her.

  Well.

  “What’s up with the fancy car and driver?” she asked Portia as she slid onto the buttery leather seat. Her friend looked at her, uncomprehending, and she realized that this was part of the life Portia protected as much as Ledi did her own privacy
. Ledi had gone to fancy clubs and fancy restaurants with Portia, had joined her and her artsy acquaintances for a winter weekend at her parents’ ski chalet and a Fourth of July cookout at the Sag Harbor summer bungalow. Those had seemed like rare, wondrous treats for Ledi, but for Portia, multiple homes and drivers who could take on a defensive line were normal.

  “You smell good. And you look amazing,” Portia said, ignoring the awkward question with a refinement borne of years of charm school. “That color just pops, and you’re glowing! And that necklace is exquisite.”

  Ledi ran a finger over the metal vines encasing the glass vial. “Well, I’m guessing Dr. Okri won’t be that interested in my looks, but every little bit counts.”

  “You bet your ass it does,” Portia said, eyes narrowing. She opened a small cooler compartment and pulled out a can.

  “Soda?” Ledi asked. Her public health side was already tsk-tsking at the high sugar levels in the drink, but Portia laughed and shook her head.

  “Champagne. In a can! I think my dad is an investor in the company or something.”

  “No thanks.” Ledi shook her head. “I can’t be slurring my words while begging for a practicum.”

  Portia chattered away as the car moved through the Friday night traffic. She’d signed up for yet another art internship, after deciding she didn’t like her current gallery. She was taking a metalworking class, in addition to the social engineering course, and was thinking about getting into social media management. She presented these new possibilities with the unvarnished optimism that she always had for new endeavors at the beginning; Ledi hoped one of the projects would hold the key to making her friend happy.

  “What kind of fund-raiser is this?” Ledi asked abruptly, realizing she had no idea what she was walking into.

  Portia pulled out a compact and reapplied her lipstick. “It’s an annual charity event for a pan-African organization. I usually just go for the Jollof rice, but they actually do really important work. Vaccinations, microloans, PTSD counseling in countries recovering from strife, etc. And everyone always looks stunning. I’ve made some great connections with artists and educators here, too.”