by Artemis Hunt
“Look at this.” She waves her hand around the beach. “We need more tourists, more hotels, more casinos, more land. Moldavia can be twice as rich as it is. We’ll surpass Singapore.”
The press would caption us as ‘The Princess and her future Queen?’ So even if we have not leaked out news of our (informal) engagement, the world is already speculating that Alex and I would marry in place of Alex and Tatiana. Poor Tatiana. She’s completely out of the picture at this stage. But this is not a pity party. I’ll do anything to be with Alex but I’ll do it the correct way – without guile or stabbing anyone in the back.
Already they are calling Alex ‘the most eligible bachelor in the world’. It’s true. He’s a new King. Handsome as the gods themselves. Hunky, delectable, rich beyond most people’s wildest imaginings. And single.
Still.
I should be so lucky. And I am, but not because Alex is the most eligible bachelor alive. But because he’s Alex, and he loves me.
Alex is genuinely happy that at least one member of his family doesn’t think I’m pond scum.
“I’m glad you’re seeing her,” he remarks.
“You make it sound like I’m having an affair,” I complain.
His eyes sparkle dangerously. “Do you know what I would do if I ever caught you having an affair?”
I breathe. Alex still has the ability to make me runny in all my most erotic spots.
“No,” I whisper, “what will you do?”
He moves closer to me. So close that we are breasts to chest, so close that if he tips his head just two inches towards me, his lips will seize mine.
He says, “I would put you over my knee, hogtie your wrists behind you and spank you.”
A delicious goose bump trail simmers down my body.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I tease.
“Oh? Try me.” He grins, that dangerous stare still mesmerizing me. I can look at Alex forever. No King has ever been so fine.
“Kiss me,” I beg.
“No.”
“But why?”
It’s ten at night, and we are alone in the East Wing parlor.
“Because I want to show you something.”
My gaze dips down to his very obvious erection. He wears jeans, but the bulge is very prominent. The denim practically strains to burst forth, contained only by three stretched buttons.
“I’ve seen it before, Your Majesty,” I say in a husky voice. It seems strange to be calling him that. It was only something I reserved for his father.
“Well, I want to show it you someplace else.”
Oooooo. The plot thickens.
“Where?”
“If I tell you now, it won’t be a surprise.”
“But you continue to surprise me every day, Your Majesty.”
“Not like this.”
He moves to an antique half-moon table and pulls out a drawer. He retrieves a red silk scarf and holds it up.
“Turn around,” he says. No . . . orders. His tone is all at once commanding.
He has never been like this before. I shiver, and I can’t decide if it’s out of pleasure or fear at this new Alex. Has his sudden elevation to kinghood changed him?
My lips moisten and part as I obey him. I turn my back to him, my skin prickling in anticipation. His shadow moves towards me. The scarf comes around my eyes and he wraps it tightly around my head.
“Don’t peek,” he whispers. His breath is hot and sweet against my ear.
As I stand there, trembling, wondering if he has been changed for good, he runs his palms across my breasts and belly. My nipples tense at his fluttery touch. Oh, how he knows every inch and every pore of me. He knows exactly how to excite me and leave me wanting more.
My breathing quickens.
His hands roam down to massage my buttocks. He avoids my sex, already moistening at the anticipation of pleasure. My clit clenches in its throbbing need. My pussy muscles tighten, already imagining the heat of his hard, pulsing cock.
Oh Alex, Alex. I want to kiss and roam my lips over every inch of you.
With one hand, he pulls up my shoal of dark hair and holds it aloft. His lips flit to the back of my neck, kissing my skin, grazing me with his teeth as though to claim me. He nibbles and sucks at my earlobes. My senses are more primed than if I had sight. His subtle touch is simultaneously tantalizing and ticklish.
He places a wet suction pressure upon the side of my neck.
“Ohhh,” I gasp. “You’re not giving me a love bite.”
“Why not?”
“Because it will show up in photos!”
See how my life has changed? Three months ago, such a thing wouldn’t have bothered me because no one would have wanted to photograph me. But three months ago, I wouldn’t have had been receiving love bites from the most eligible bachelor in the world because I wouldn’t have believed myself capable of attracting anyone, let alone such a man.
I can’t see, but I can feel him grinning as he applies the love bite on my neck anyway, as though to claim me: You are mine, mine, mine.
He murmurs, “I’m going to lead you by the hand. Don’t trip, OK?”
I try not to as I follow him. I’m trusting in him completely not to let me fall.
He leads me through a maze of turns. I swear I will never be able to find my way back blindfolded. A tiny frisson of uncertainty fleets through me. Has Alex really changed? Or has he always been this way and he’s showing his true self to me for the first time? I don’t doubt that we love each other, but I’ve always wondered about Alex’s dominant side. The side he showed when he took me and slammed me against the bathroom wall for the very first time when we met.
Later, as we became lovers, we became more giving to each other. More solicitous of each other’s needs. More loving. But I’ve always wondered about the side of him he showed me that day. I’ve thought about it often. Even fantasized about him taking me in a very public place once again.
Ooooh.
I’m a little nervous.
He is, after all, the King, and he can do whatever he wants. I am only his damsel in mock distress.
OK, I will be distressed if he doesn’t throw me on some bed and take me soon.
We finally stop. My shoes are perched upon deep, lush carpeting. I have no idea where I am.
“Where are we?”
“No peeking or I’ll have to tie you up,” he chastises. “Just enjoy the ride, sweetheart, wherever I’m taking you. Now keep very, very still. And don’t peek.”
I recall what he said about the hogtying and spanking, and a shudder passes through my groin. Alex has never tried the bondage and domination route before. At least not with me. An excited tingle flushes through my body as I envision being bent over his knee and spanked.
Oh! I don’t think I would mind being spanked by Alex at all!
I’m a statue as he starts to unbutton my blouse. My Moldavian designer blouse, the one with the gold Chanel-like buttons, only they are shaped like roses. The cool air caresses my skin as he peels my blouse off oh-so-slowly. I’m hyperaware of every sensation, every nuance in the charged air particles around us. I suck in my breath and hold it. My diaphragm beneath my ribs is tensed and ready.
He unsheathes my blouse, dragging the inverted sleeves off my hands. I’m wearing a pretty brassiere underneath with matching panties. La Perla. The only non-Moldavian pieces of clothing I have allowed myself since this whole Public Relations image-grooming thing started.
He rubs his thumb pads across my collarbones. His touch is so warm, so sensuous that a fresh gush of cream spills forth from my pussy. He reaches behind me to unhook my brassiere. He’s purposefully prolonging this. Teasing me so that I will experience everything in magnification. I hear the plop of my brassiere as he drops it on the carpet. His warm thumbs and fingers latch on to my nipples, already as hard as stones, and compresses my ultra-sensitive tips.
He scissors my nipple tips in between his fingers and thumbs, rubbing them back and forth. The s
ensations these movements evoke are exquisite and toe curling. Hell, they are clit curling. I moan with the erotic pleasure.
He takes this for a sign that I want more. (Damn right I do.) Next, I feel his tongue making increasingly moist circles around my right nipple and areola – laving the entire puckered flesh there, eliciting goose bumps around the area.
“Oh, Alex,” I cry.
My hands fly up to his shoulders, or where I think his shoulders are. My clit is throbbing and my nipples are so, so hard.
He sucks at my right nipple so expansively that I can feel the blood under the surface pooling towards him. My toes flex and unflex. I grip his shoulders, which are at the level of my midriff, and his muscled arms. I picture him crouching or being slightly bent at the knees as he tortures my nipples. His tongue becomes a wicked, probing tool of pleasure, slathering my nerve endings with almost unbearable stimulation.
Oh, oh, oh, oh!
He does this to my left nipple as well, seizing the protuberant tip with his mouth savagely. My fingers thread through his hair – his thick, luscious mane that falls so wonderfully from his scalp. I clasp his head to my breast as he suckles. I don’t want him to ever stop. Except that my crotch is soaking my panties and there’s a very hollow ache within – an empty vessel that must be invaded, occupied, swarmed and pounded in every crevice.
I desperately want (need) to feel Alex’s cock in me once again.
His hands fumble at the waist of my skirt. It falls in a crumple, joining my blouse and brassiere. Then he rips my panties off in haste. His urgency mounts. Before I can beg him to fuck me, he grabs my back and thighs, upending me in his arms.
I cry out in surprise. It’s such a masculine gesture. I claim you for myself, it seems to say.
He walks with me in his arms, as though he’s crossing a threshold. The air shimmies around me and cools my copiously wet pussy. I’m dripping with my own juices. I’m afraid of leaving dewdrop stains on the rich carpet as Alex carries me to goodness knows where.
I expect to be flung on some bed. The King’s chamber, perhaps. Alex has still not officially occupied it.
“No time to transfer my stuff,” he said. Though I suspect he still harbors residual guilt where his father is concerned.
We ascend some steps. Just four or five, from the way my body is being jangled. He puts me down again upon my heels. My stance is unsteady. It’s amazing how much we rely on our sight for balance. Being deprived of it is a major shock to the senses. I hold out my hands, trying to feel for Alex or something I can grasp onto.
My ears pick up the plops of soft things being shed onto the carpet. The chink of a belt buckle. He’s taking off his clothes. My own wet heat rises. I wait for his hands to settle upon me once again and I am not disappointed. They dive straight for my breasts.
He tugs at them. Tugs at my hard, hard, ultra-sensitive nipples.
His voice is breathy. “I need you, Liz.”
My nipples are burning as I allow myself to be led this way towards to wherever he wants me to be. My triangle is wet, so wet that I can feel my creams cascading onto my inner thighs. Oh, I’m such a wanton slut. My mother would turn in her bed if she knew I had descended into this.
Alex stops. His hands slide to my waist. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but he pulls my hands to him this time. My legs take one step forward, only to be met by the solid resistance of his knees. He is seated, I believe.
“Mount me, Liz. I don’t think I can wait a moment longer. I need you. I need to be inside you.” His voice is so hoarse now that I can scarcely hear it.
His cock. Oh, his cock. I picture it – as hard as hard can be. His thick veined shaft rising from his pubic thatch, capped by his circular mushroom head, his balls pulled tight. That very cock which has been inside me for oh so many times until I’ve lost count.
His sure hands guide me to straddle him. He is indeed seated. I spread my thighs, leveraging myself on his shoulders, as he pushes his throbbing member into my ready pussy. My greedy little mouth, so wet and enticing, encircles his girth.
I moan as he thrusts into me with one swift movement. His cock stabs deep – so deep that I can feel its tip at the secret mouth of womb. Gravity ensures that I stay there, pinioned to him as he steadies my hips.
I’m so stretched. So, so stretched.
Ooooooo.
He seems bigger than usual. Harder. As if an iron rod wedges inside me – plump and decisive and dangerous.
My thighs and legs claw for purchase, and my knees scrape against something . . . firm. Something cushioned. The armrests of a chair.
“Hook your legs around them, baby,” he says.
Once again, he helps me. My knees are bent, and I encircle the armrests carefully with my legs. I am in an ‘M’ position. I hope Alex has locked the door to this room, wherever it is, because whoever walks in on us is going to have a very awkward sight of my buttocks and splayed legs.
He ascertains that I’m comfortable. Well, as comfortable as I can be in that position and with his huge penis impaling me. I’m filled as only he can fill me. I’m filled in both my body and soul . . . with a satisfaction that only he can give me.
“Grind yourself on me, baby,” he whispers.
I know what he likes.
I oscillate my hips, grinding onto his cock as though he’s a pestle and I am his mortar. It is as though he is molding my canal, shaping it into the funnel of his desires. His rigid flesh cores me in all the right secret places, pressing and rubbing my moist pleasure points. His penile head massages the hollow in my vagina at the back, right below my cervix . . . the left nook in my lower passage. Oh, he knows every part of me intimately, and he knows how to wriggle and maximize the narrow space afforded to him and its angles.
My clit prods against his pubic hair. His groin rubs and strokes it so pleasurably that my mind almost blacks out at the ecstasy.
“Oh, Alex, what you do to me.”
“Don’t stop,” he begs me.
I grind and roll my hips. I grip my shoulders and use my thighs as anchors as I begin to pump him. My buttocks begin their rhythmic dance as I slide myself up and down on his shaft. It’s as though my hips are possessed of their own kinetic energy, their own subconscious reflexes. Alex’s organ pounds and kneads and thrusts into me. My walls are so slick that I can hear the squish of our wet flesh rubbing against each other.
My breathing intensifies. My breasts must be bouncing as I fuck Alex. His hands grip my waist, and then my hips, and then everywhere else, as though he’s very close to orgasm. As am I. His cock repeatedly pummels my G-spot even as his groin digs into my sweet, tremulous clit. I’m being assaulted on two erotic fronts. I’m going to crest, I know it. I’m going to the edge, and I’m going to take him along with me.
His semen explodes within me – hot, sensuous stuff that wriggles into my every crevice and fills me with a deep, deep satisfaction of being possessed. At the same time, I let myself tip over the precarious edge. One moment, I’m sane. The next – I’ve tripped over to a whitewashed world of spiraling bliss. Bliss that is intensified tenfold because of my lack of sight.
I shudder, my muscles spasming everywhere. I scream. I arch my back and almost fall off, had he not possessed enough presence of mind to grab my arms. My blood roars in my ears and my pelvis clenches, and squeezes his cock, as though intent to milk every last drop from him.
Oh, I can do this forever.
Oh Alex, Alex.
I love you. I will always love you.
One of his hands goes up to my face and pries the scarf away from my eyes.
Light descends onto my sudden vision. Alex’s beautiful face is contorted in a rictus of desire. His green eyes are almost black, almost all pupil. He is seated upon a fine chair.
A very, very fine chair.
Brocaded and gilded and ornately carved. A chair that is so exquisite that I can see the miniature details on it – of leaves and azaleas and stalks.
Oh my God.
/> We just had passionate sex on the royal throne of Moldavia.
3
I can believe that no one caught us in the throne room.
“Hey, it’s my chair. I can do what I want on it,” Alex clips.
I think I’m mortified beyond measure. It’s something I’m not likely to tell our kids. “Did you know your Mom and Dad had sex on the royal throne of Moldavia? Yes, your Dad blindfolded and tricked me.” That is one piece of trivia those Moldavian historians won’t be writing in their annals, you can bet on that.
“Relax,” Alex says, grinning. We are having breakfast on one of the East Wing balconies, overlooking the royal gardens. “It’s not as if it’s going to appear on ‘News of the World’.”
You never know. My face is on permanent (and very natural) blusher. What if they had spy cameras hidden inside?
“I erased them on the security videos,” Alex says with a straight face.
I gasp. “You mean there are security cameras in there?” You mean we were being watched by palace security? Oh my God, I think I’m going to pass out.
“I persuaded them to go for an extended smoking break during our . . . uh, rendezvous.” Alex throws his head back and laughs. “Oh come on, Liz. I never took you for a prude.”
Yes, I know we made love naked on the Indonesian beach. We made love in an archeological cave. But this is different! This is the throne of Moldavia!
I know I’m not going to let myself live this down.
Jasper enters the balcony, and I immediately turn my expression into one of utmost solemnity. (Are solemn people red-faced?) From the smug look on Jasper’s face, I think he knows what happened last night. He probably has photo evidence. He’s going to spread them on Facebook, Twitter and every single new Google app.
I cringe in my seat. I don’t think I have even taken a bite of my eggs Benedict.
“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Jasper nods to Alex. He turns to me. “Good morning, Ms. Turner.”