His Sword

by Holly Hart

  On our huge bed.

  I shiver as he starts kissing my neck, then down to my shoulders, then my belly, and finally to my mound. Ripples of ecstasy ride up from my groin into my core as his tongue makes contact with my clit.

  My legs open wider to receive him. His motions are slow, deliberate, building my enjoyment with each pass. It’s not the urgent, driving passion of the plane. This is slower, more loving. He’s taking his time. And I’m glad, because I would feel this way every moment for the rest of my life, if it were possible.

  “Dante,” I sigh, stroking his hair. “This is heaven.”

  After an eon of easy pleasure, he starts to gain momentum, pressing harder. My hips respond of their own accord, listing in time with his movements, until suddenly all I can think of is feeling him inside me. My walls are already slick – I don’t want to wait any more.

  “I’m ready,” I whisper.

  I bite back a whimper as he gives my pussy one last, loving kiss before lifting himself back up towards me. My heart is doing triple duty – passion and fear mingled together – as I think about what comes next.

  Dante positions himself between my legs, kneeling back on his haunches. I think of the time in the gardens, where just the tip of his cock against me was enough to send my in spasms. The thought of what the whole shaft can do makes me tremble.

  Out of nowhere, he says: “I’ve never done this before. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Don’t worry,” I soothe. “Just let it happen. I’m ready for it.”

  He starts with the tip, and it feels like heaven, just like in the garden: the softness, the feel of his skin on mine, back and forth, front to back. I can feel myself getting wetter with each stroke.

  Finally, a stroke becomes a gentle thrust inside my opening, and I gasp. The pain is more than I imagined. He’s so big… the sensation of tearing makes my gut hitch. I reach up and pull myself to his cannonball of a shoulder, biting down gently on the flesh there to keep from crying out.

  Then he’s through. The pain is still there, but now it’s mixed with the pleasure, as his cock slides deeper and deeper inside me.

  “It’s good,” I whisper in his ear. “Keep going.”

  A whole new world of sensations opens up to me as he inches farther in. The feeling of having him inside me is so natural, so right. Like we’re becoming one.

  Dante’s breathing is steady as he begins his first, slow withdrawal. With his next thrust, he adds a little more power, and pulls out a little faster. Each stroke is an explosion of sensations, a journey through heaven and hell.

  “I’ve wanted to be inside you since the moment we met,” he breathes.

  I grab his head in my hands and cover his mouth with mine, tasting myself on his lips and not caring. Dante times his thrusts with each kiss until I can’t breathe anymore and have to break contact.

  “Oh God,” I gasp in his ear.

  He keeps his strokes gentle as my walls stretch to accommodate his girth. But I want him to lose control. I want him to be the animal I know he really is.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper. “Fuck me hard.”

  He reacts like a tiger being let off of a chain. Suddenly his strokes become faster, more powerful. I wrap my legs around his waist, bucking upwards with each thrust, holding on for dear life.

  His lips find mine again and we twine our tongues together as he gets closer to climax. I can hear his breathing rasp, feel the tension in his muscles as his moment of release nears.

  “That’s it, baby,” I say. “That’s it. Let go.”

  His passion doubles, then doubles again until he finally wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck. My legs cling to his hips as I feel the power of his explosion deep inside me, the feeling of his force in a place where, until tonight, I’d never felt anything before.

  It seems to last forever, our bodies working as one, his muscles tensing like steel cables under his skin.

  Finally, his grip softens and he exhales heavily in my ear. I breathe in the air from his lungs as if it could sustain me on its own.

  “That was unbelievable,” I pant. “I never dreamed it would be like that.”

  His eyes meet mine, and we simply stare into each other for several long moments. I’d give anything to know what was going on in his mind.

  “I want it to be good for you,” he says.

  “It was,” I say. “It really was incredible.”

  “I want to make it even more incredible.”

  He slides out of me, dropping to his side next to me. I take his head in my hands and place it on my shoulder, stroking it gently as his fingertip traces figure eights along my belly.

  “There’s alcohol out in the parlor,” he says after a while. “Would you like some?”

  “I would,” I say. “But that would mean you’d have to get up, and that would mean you wouldn’t be next to me. You can see the problem there.”

  He grins. “What if you wrapped yourself around me and I carried you out there?”

  My eyes widen at the idea. That could be interesting.

  Dante planks himself over top of me and I wrap my arms and legs around him. With a powerful grunt, he straightens up and slides off the bed.

  He’s actually carrying me like an oversized baby. I can’t help but giggle.

  “What’s so funny about a man carrying his wife around?” he says. “There’s booze to be drunk. As your John Wayne once said, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

  He lifts the silver bucket from its perch on the coffee table and brings it back into the bedroom with us. As he reaches the edge of the bed, I let go, dropping spread-eagle onto my back.

  Dante pours us each a flute of champagne and hands me one.

  “I’m really starting to get a taste for this,” I say after a long sip.

  “You’ll never believe this,” he says. “But I’m beginning to develop a taste for Budweiser.”

  We both giggle. The conversation is so easy now that we both know we’ll be spending the whole night together with nothing else to do but drink and make love.

  “Is there a shower in this tomb?” I ask.

  “You’re speaking of your bedroom, my lady. Show some respect.”

  “I’ll show you some swatches, is what I’ll do. This cave needs a woman’s touch. It looks like Dracula’s castle.”

  He shakes his head. “You make a woman a princess and this is what happens.”

  “Answer the question,” I say. “Shower?”

  “Yes. See that door there?”

  I stand up and put my flute on the night table, then take his hand.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

  “Are we going somewhere?” he asks, looking a bit uneasy.

  “No,” I say with a leer. “But we’ve got a looonng night ahead of us, and I want to try everything before the sun comes up.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  40. INTERLUDE

  The portable lanterns are still burning strong at midnight. Hundreds of people continue to mill around the gardens, unwilling to let go of the festivities, even though Sir Elton has long since landed back in London.

  Emilio sits at the table with his head propped in his hand next to an empty bottle of tequila.

  A hand reaches out and grabs the bottle, pitching it into a nearby garbage can.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Isabella snaps.

  “I’m drunk, Mother,” he mutters, not opening his eyes. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “You need to stop this right now. Did anyone important see you like this?”

  “Anyone important left hours ago. The only people left here are commoners who can’t get enough free booze.”

  She slaps his hand out from under his chin. He manages to catch himself before his head hits the table.

  “Listen to me, Emilio,” she says, taking the seat across from him. “From this moment on, you need to straighten up. Remember, you’re the sens
ible alternative to Dante. When he goes down, you have to be the obvious choice to replace him. So start acting like it!”

  Emilio sighs. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

  “I mean it! Things are going to start happening quickly now that we have those photos. I told Huber’s underling tonight that I have what the chancellor has been looking for. He said he’d arrange a meeting as soon as possible.”

  “The woman in that photo knows who I am,” he says. “You’d better hope she was as drunk as she seemed, because if she wasn’t, your whole plan will be sunk.”

  “Her face has been blanked out,” says Isabella. “Even if she does remember what happened, she won’t actually be named in the scandal. And if she says anything, I’ll pay her to keep her mouth shut.”

  He leans back in his chair and runs his hands down his face.

  “I’ve got another idea,” he says. “What if we just let Dante and Amanda live their lives, and we can do the same, and everyone is happy? Would that be so terrible?”

  Isabella levels a cool glare at her son.

  “I haven’t worked this long, this hard, to have things fall apart just because you don’t have the stomach to do what needs to be done,” she says. “And never forget what happens if you decide to back out of this.”

  “I can’t forget it, Mother!” he snarls. “You’ve made sure of that! Why the hell do you think I’ve been drinking the way I have?”

  “Then just do as you’re told and you won’t have to worry about it any longer,” she says, standing up. “Now get some sleep. You need to be ready for the days ahead.”

  Emilio scowls as she walks away from the table towards the path to the palace. When she’s out of sight, he pulls a flask from his jacket pocket and takes a long pull, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  He sees his reflection staring back at him in the polished silver of the flask.

  “Long live the new prince,” he says miserably.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  41. DANTE

  “Does this happen every day?”

  “Does what happen every day?” I ask through a mouthful of croissant.

  “You get up in the morning and there’s breakfast waiting for you in the parlor?”

  I smile. “Amanda, what have I been telling you for the past week and a half?”

  “I know, I know – better get used to it,” she chuckles. “Sorry, it might take me awhile.”

  The staff has laid out a selection of pastries, fresh fruit from the palace orchard, and, of course, coffee. It never occurred to me until then that Amanda might want to start her days with something else.

  “If there’s anything else you’d like, you need only to let the kitchen staff know.”

  “Even steak and eggs?”

  I frown. “Steak? And eggs? For breakfast?”

  “I know, you Morovan types think breakfast is a sugar bomb and a tiny cup of espresso,” she says with mock consternation. “But I’m from cattle country. Breakfast is supposed to tide us over until lunch. There aren’t any cafes to stop in for a bite at ten o’clock out in the fields.”

  I pop the last bite of my croissant in my mouth. “How do you keep such an amazing figure eating like that?”

  “Good genes and hard work. How do you keep your Jason Statham body when you load up on carbs in the morning?”

  “There’s a magical potion that only princes know about that melts away fat with a single sip,” I say.

  “Best not spill any on your head, then,” she says with a giggle.

  I shoot back my espresso. “Alas, no such potion exists, meaning I must spend two hours a day in the gym.”

  “Which you just happen to have time for.”

  “What can I say? It’s good to be the prince.”

  I stand behind her chair and slide my hands along her trapezius muscles, gently kneading the soft flesh.

  “It’s good to be the princess, if I can expect this every day,” she moans.

  “This and more,” I say, leaning down to kiss her neck. Underneath her thin robe, her nipples begin to stiffen.

  “What if we had been… occupied with something when your staff brought in the breakfast?”

  “Our staff,” I correct her, moving up to her earlobe. “I suppose we’ll just have to make sure we’re not occupied at that time of the morning.”

  “Except what if I want to be occupied all day, every day?” she says. “After last night, I think I need to catch up on everything I’ve been missing.”

  “Then perhaps we need to start as soon as possible.”

  She turns her face to mine and we kiss. But just as things get interesting, she pulls away.

  “Oh, no,” she breathes. “I can’t believe it.”

  “What?” I ask, alarmed.

  “Today is your birthday! In the craziness of the wedding, I totally forgot!”

  She’s not the only one. My birthday has been the last thing on my mind the past two weeks. In fact, no one even mentioned it during the wedding yesterday.

  “I did, too,” I say. “I imagine most of the country did. They were all focused on you, as it should be.”

  “But I want you to have something special,” she says, biting her lip.

  “Amanda, I have everything a man could ever possibly want or need, so there’s no need to give me a present.”

  She stands to face me, breathtaking in her morning clothes.

  “I feel like the little drummer boy,” she says. “I have no gift to bring that’s fit to give a king.”

  With a few deft moves of her hands, her clothes fall to the floor, leaving her naked in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

  “All I have to offer is me,” she says. Her eyes are wide, angelic.

  I sweep her off the floor and carry her towards the bedroom.

  “That’s all I ever want,” I whisper in her ear.

  Our lovemaking is slow and luxurious at first, savoring every stroke like a sip of fine wine. Then we both seem to reach a new level of urgency at the same time, kissing harder, plunging deeper, faster, until we reach the heights of pleasure at the same time and collapse, trembling, onto the bed in each other’s arms.

  “See what I mean?” she sighs. “All day, every day.”

  “The wedding is still plastered all over the TV and online,” Amanda calls from the parlor as I dress. “It’s insane.”

  “Nothing about my birthday?” I joke as I emerge from the bedroom.

  “Very funny,” she says, flipping through the various channels on my streaming box.

  Headlines of videos scroll past: Party of the Century; Real-Life Fairy Tale; Amanda Is Europe’s Latest Obsession; Dante Finally Finds Happiness.

  “We’re a hit,” she says with a shy smile as she continues to flip.

  I hold up a hand as a familiar face appears on the screen.

  “Stop here, please,” I say. “We should see this.”

  Chancellor Huber is stuffed into an armchair on the set of Morova Morning, the early show on the country’s only national television station. Across from him is Lorenzo Ricci, the stodgy co-host and a staunch anti-monarchist.

  “Would you call the wedding a spectacle, then?” he asks. “Or was it more of a travesty?”

  I roll my eyes. Journalism at its finest.

  “It was quite simply a slap in the face to the Morovan people,” Huber says.

  “Half the Morovan people were there, you jackass!” Amanda barks. “You couldn’t be bothered to show up!”

  Sometimes I see so much of Ike in her, it’s scary. But I love it.

  “It was so far beneath the dignity of a monarch as to be laughable,” Huber continues. “But then, what else would we expect from Dante?”

  “That’s Prince Dante to you, you toad! You talk about dignity and you don’t even follow royal etiquette!”

  “Darling,” I say, putting a finger to my lips. “Please.”

  She’s still fuming, but she does as I ask.

  “He ce
rtainly has a reputation,” says host Ricci. “And really, two weeks’ notice? We’re expected to believe they met and fell in love in such a short period of time?”

  “Baby rumor coming in three, two, one…” she mutters.

  “Obviously, one has to wonder whether she’s pregnant,” Huber says. “But that’s beside the point. To have madding crowds at a royal wedding reception is unheard of. It’s a solemn event, not a Garth Brooks concert.”

  “Garth Brooks would kick your lily-white ass…”

  “Amanda.”

  “Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all.

  “So what do we do now?” asks Ricci. “Are we stuck with the playboy prince and his American commoner bride? Is this what we pay our taxes for, so the two of them can live their lavish lifestyle on the backs of Morovans?”

  “The national revenues and the Trentini fortune are inextricably linked,” I say. “My money supplements the economy of Morova!”

  “Dante, please,” she says, finger to her lips.

  I cock an eyebrow at her. She sticks her tongue out at me, making me laugh in spite of myself.

  “There are ways to work around the monarchy,” Huber says cryptically. “The Crown Council and National Council have grave concerns about its future, and we’ll be discussing it at length in the days to come.”

  Ricci looks into the camera. “There you have it,” he says. “Straight from the chancellor. Is the era of the Trentini family coming to a close? Only time will tell.”

  I click off the screen. The glorious afterglow of our lovemaking is gone now.

  Amanda comes to me and takes my hand.

  “I thought our wedding closed the loophole for government to take control of your fortune,” she says.

  “It did,” I say. “But the councils have the right, in theory, to call a referendum on the monarchy any time they choose. We may have blocked any legal challenge, but they still have the option of taking it to the people.”

  She circles her arms around my neck. “Then we’re fine,” she says. “Because the people obviously love us.”

  “Correction,” I say with a grin. “They love you. They tolerate me.”

  She gives me a long, leisurely kiss that’s almost enough to take my mind of off Huber’s bullshit.