A Wicked Truth

by M. S. Parker

  “My family owns all three cars,” I said, looking across the top of the Spyder at her.

  She cast a grin over her shoulder as she walked over to the Aston Martin and bent over the hood, giving me an even better view of her ass.

  “What are you doing?” The question was stupid. It was obvious what she was doing.

  “Je veux que tu me baises ici,” she said, wiggling her ass at me.

  I wasn't going to turn that down. I walked over to her, taking the time to admire the view. As I reached her, however, I couldn't stop another image flashing across my mind. Nami in the same position, her hard nipples brushing against the cool metal, back arched in obvious invitation.

  I frowned, pushing thoughts of Nami out of my head. I needed to focus on...shit. I couldn't remember her name. Now that I thought about it, had I even gotten her name? Oh well. It wasn't like I was planning some sort of relationship with her. Ma chérie would work just fine. There were three things people always needed to know how to say in other languages: Where is the bathroom? Do you speak English? And at least one endearment.

  Thanks to her attention in the car, my cock was hard and ready, and as I slid my hand down her ass and between her legs, I found her soaking wet. I slid a finger inside her, then a second, earning a small moan. She pushed back against my fingers as I pumped them into her a couple times before pulling them out. She made a sound of protest, but I ignored it as I reached into my pocket and pulled out a condom. I'd make this one quick and then we could head inside and find out how long it'd take her to get me hard again. I doubted any of the things she'd talked about before were illegal here.

  I opened my pants, pushing them down just low enough to get my cock free and rolled on the condom.

  “Ready, ma chérie?” I asked as I pulled aside the flimsy fabric of her panties, exposing her bare skin.

  “Oui.” She spread her legs even further apart. “Fuck me. Se il vous plaît.”

  I rubbed the tip of my cock across her entrance, then pushed inside. She let out a string of French obscenities as I stretched her wide. I might've only been on the high end of average when it came to length, but I was thick and it always took a bit of work to get inside. By the time I was balls deep, her breath was coming in pants mixed with sounds of pleasure.

  I slid my hands up from her hips, across her ribs and then around to cup her breasts. My hands covered them completely and I couldn't help but remember what Nami's had felt like, the weight of them. My grip tightened for a moment and then I began to move.

  I started with a few shallow thrusts, letting my partner get used to the feel of me as I played with her nipples. The tips were long, perfect for me to tease, but they didn't feel quite right between my fingers. A flare of anger went through me. Anger at Nami for leaving. Anger at myself for not being able to forget.

  I straightened, grabbing on to the girl's hips. The first time I slammed into her, she let out a surprised squeal. The second stroke was just as hard as the first and she swore, pushing back against me, wordlessly asking for more. All of the pent-up frustration from the last two weeks exploded and I began to pound into her, taking her as fast and hard as I dared.

  She dropped to the hood of the car, working one of her hands beneath her to rub her clit. Her bare flesh squeaked against the metal, mixing with the moans falling from her lips. I barely registered any of it. All I could think about was the wet heat of her, the way she was tight around me. I needed to come, to lose myself in the oblivion that only an orgasm could give me.

  I didn't last long. I felt her start to come, her muscles tightening around me, milking me and I exploded. I groaned, biting back the name I wanted to call out. I closed my eyes, wanting to see only darkness, but it was Nami's face I saw. I opened my eyes as I took a step back, panting heavily.

  I didn't look at her as I pulled off the condom and tossed it into the nearby garbage can. I heard the click of her heels as she walked over to me and I forced myself to smile at her. Her fair skin was flushed, her nipples swollen. She was beautiful, but not enough to completely distract me. I needed something more than just a quickie.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I asked as I tucked myself back into my pants. I didn't bother doing up the zipper or buttons, however. I wasn't planning on wearing them much longer. Either she'd be leaving and I'd head to bed, or we'd be fucking again. Neither option required pants.

  “Champagne?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I think there's a bottle or two somewhere in the kitchen.”

  She smiled as she moved closer. Her hand slid down the front of my pants and I sucked in a breath as she cupped my sensitive flesh. She leaned forward and took my bottom lip between her teeth, lightly biting down before running her tongue across it to soothe away the sting.

  “We fuck again, yes?” she asked as she took a step back, breaking our contact.

  There was one decision made. “Yes,” I said. “As many times as we can.” I gave her a more genuine smile.

  She smiled back and licked her bottom lip. “Good. I want to suck your dick next.”

  In spite of – or perhaps because of – her crude words, my cock gave an interested twitch as I thought of what it would feel like to slide into her mouth. Unbidden, the memory came to me of Nami on her knees in a storage room.

  “This way.” I reached out and took her hand.

  A plan quickly formed in my head. The kitchen had counters that would be a perfect height for me to get my mouth on her. Then we'd head to the living room where she could return the favor while I sat on the couch. We could fuck there too. If I thought I could get it up again, we'd go to the bedroom.

  As we walked into the kitchen, she spoke, “En passant, mon nom est Cosette.”

  Cosette, I thought. Nice name, but I doubted I'd remember it. She was just another fuck, after all.

  Chapter 2

  Reed

  The body next to mine snuggled closer to me, her arm flung across my chest, breasts pressed against my side. As I headed towards wakefulness, I kept my eyes closed, trying to cling to the fantasy that it was Nami stretched out next to me. The closer I got to being fully conscious, however, the more my brain registered all of the things that were wrong.

  The woman at my side was too tall. Her head was at my shoulder, her feet even with mine. And she was too thin. I could feel her ribs under my palm as it slid across her side. Her breasts and hips were smaller, her hair shorter and not curly.

  Right. The blond from the club in Marseille. What was her name again? I know she'd told me after we'd fucked in the garage, but by the time she'd had her mouth around my cock, I'd forgotten it. She hadn't seemed to notice though. She'd definitely been an enthusiastic lover. By the time we'd passed out, I'd lost count the number of times we'd come and the number of places we'd fucked.

  I should've been able to get what I'd wanted: a couple hours where I wasn't thinking about Nami. Instead, no matter what we'd done, I'd kept comparing her to Nami. How the two of them felt different. The sounds they'd both made.

  I'd loved listening to Nami when we'd had sex. The moans. The little exclamations in her native language. How she'd cried out my name.

  The blonde hadn't done that. She'd said things in French, but I'd understood the language almost as much as I did my own. Her cries of pleasure had been sharp, shrill. She'd said my name, but the accent hadn't been the same. She'd been adventurous and had clearly enjoyed the things I'd done to her, but I hadn't felt the responsiveness I'd gotten from Nami.

  Claudia? I thought as I finally opened my eyes and looked down at her. No, it was something from a movie. Wait, not a movie, a play. A book? All three. Cosette. I'd had to take a couple shareholders to the theater once and we'd seen Les Misérables. I hadn't really cared for it, but I wasn't a big fan of musicals. The girl who'd played Cosette had been cute though.

  I carefully extricated myself from under Cosette's arm and pulled the covers over her before heading across the hall to the bathroom. I turned on
the shower and then, after a momentary internal debate, locked the bathroom door. I didn't want Cosette waking up when she heard the shower and deciding to join me. I didn't want to sound cold, but I was done with her. We'd had our fun and I'd let her use the shower when I was done if she wanted. I'd pay for her cab ride home and tell her I'd enjoyed our night together, but I didn't want her to think there was anything more to it than last night. The thought of her wet, naked body didn't turn me on now. It just made me tired.

  I washed quickly even though I would've preferred to linger. I wasn't going to be an ass though and leave Cosette sitting in my room alone, wondering what she was supposed to do next. And I certainly wasn't going to make her think she had to call her own cab and pay her way home. I might not have been interested in her anymore, but I wasn't a complete cad.

  I wrapped my towel tightly around my waist and wished I would've thought to bring clothes with me. I hadn't though, which meant I had to go back into my bedroom to find something to wear. Cosette was awake and smiled when I came in. She was still under the covers, and didn't seem like she was trying to seduce me, so that was good.

  I spoke before she could say or do anything that would make this a whole lot more complicated. “The bathroom's free. Towels are in the little cabinet next to the shower.”

  Her smile wavered a bit, but she didn't get angry, so I kept going.

  “I'll call a cab while you're cleaning up.”

  I saw a flash of anger in her eyes, and then it was gone. Without a word, she climbed out from under the covers and walked out. I breathed a sigh of relief that there hadn't been a fight. That was one of the reasons I usually didn't let my partners spend the night. Leaving right after sex was a lot less awkward than a morning-after conversation. I supposed it was something about the intimacy of literally sleeping together that made some women assume that there was more between us than sex.

  I dressed quickly, unsure how long Cosette would be. She might take her time, hoping I'd change my mind, or she might be so pissed that she didn't want to be around me any longer than she had to. As soon as I pulled my shirt over my head, I called information for the number of the closest cab company.

  Fortunately for me, the car arrived in record time and when Cosette came out of the bedroom, again dressed in her little handkerchief of a dress, I was able to escort her right out to the car. The driver gave me a knowing wink, but didn't say a word as Cosette climbed into the backseat, deliberately opening her legs so that I could see she wasn't wearing her thong. I really hoped she hadn't left it in my room, thinking she'd call about it later. I hated women who tried sneaky things like that.

  I'd made no promises to her, no indication that I wanted a relationship. In fact, I'd specifically told her that all I wanted was a hook up. If she'd read anything else into it, it was on her. If she had left her panties in my room, they were going straight into the trash. As good as the sex had been last night – and considering how many times we'd done it, I couldn't really describe it as less than that – I was starting to have regrets.

  As I watched the cab drive away, I ran my hand through my still-wet hair, sending droplets of water raining down on my shoulders. It was longer than I usually let it get. It was nearly impossible to tame unless I kept it short and, in those last couple weeks back home, it had been my private rebellion. Now it was a combination of that and just being lazy.

  I went back inside. My stomach growled as I walked into the kitchen, but I couldn't find anything appetizing enough to eat. Finally, I grabbed a box of cereal and headed into the living room, fully intending to eat directly from the box and watch tv until I figured out what I was going to do now.

  I thought I'd been lost before, drifting from one party to the next, one woman to the next. I'd had no direction, no idea of what the future held. That feeling had increased tenfold since I'd watched Nami walk out of my hotel room. I'd been living in the moment with her, but it somehow hadn't felt like that. If I was honest with myself, I'd felt more myself than I had...ever.

  There'd been no plan, no schedule, but I'd taken charge, deciding what we were going to do, where we'd go. When we'd talked, I'd felt like I could share everything with her. She could have helped me figure out my path, I thought. She would've listened when I'd given her a list of ideas of what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, and she would've given an honest opinion. She would have supported whatever decision I made.

  I leaned my head on the back of the couch and closed my eyes. For the first time since she'd left, I gave myself permission to call up the image of her face. Dark brown curls, cropped short. Just long enough to bury my fingers in the silky strands. Dusky skin. High cheekbones and a straight nose. Cyan eyes contributed to her exotic beauty. Only…it was more than her appearance. It was the way her full lips had curved into a smile. The blue-green sparkle of her eyes when she laughed.

  A pang of longing went through me, so sharp that it was an almost physical hurt. I missed her, I finally allowed myself to admit. I missed her body, her scent. The intelligence of her conversation. The way I'd kept making a fool of myself in front of her.

  I opened my eyes and looked around. The villa was just as beautiful as it had always been, every piece of furniture and decoration carefully chosen by a well-paid interior designer to show off the proper mixture of wealth and taste. I'd never really cared about any of that before, but it had been more of a not caring brought about by being used to it. Now, I saw things differently.

  What was the point of all this, I asked myself. Why have all this money if all I was ever going to be was miserable? I didn't know if my parents were happy with their lives, but I doubted it. I knew Rebecca wasn't. She'd always pretended to be, but no one that nasty could be anything less than miserable with themselves. And then there was me. I'd never really thought about happiness before. It was all duty and loyalty. I'd tried to be happy with Piper, but even that hadn't done it.

  I was tired of this, I realized suddenly. All of it. Not only tired of traveling around Europe without any purpose, fucking whoever I got into bed, and then moving on to the next party. I was sick of being a Stirling, of the responsibilities my last name put on my shoulders. Or, more accurately, the responsibilities my parents thought being a Stirling meant. I was tired of being told what to do, who to love and how I should behave.

  I wanted more out of life than one party after another, one faceless woman. More than the power and money that came with being in charge of the Stirling businesses. I wanted my own life, but not because I wanted to rebel against my parents. I wanted it because I actually wanted to be happy.

  And I was sure I needed Nami for that. My time with her had been the best I'd had for as long as I could remember. Even when I'd talked about my parents and my life back in Philadelphia, it hadn't seemed as important as it had before. When I was with her, I wanted to be a better man, not to impress anyone or make my parents proud. I wanted to deserve her. And not because she was a princess, but because of the amazing person I knew her to be. She deserved every happiness, and I wanted to give that to her.

  I just didn't know if I was part of the equation. For all I knew, she was happy back in her home country, preparing for her upcoming wedding, ready to take on the mantle of crown princess. Despite her assertion that she'd always remember me, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd already faded from her mind. The thought hurt more than I cared to admit.

  Chapter 3

  Nami

  I'd lied.

  I'd told my parents that I'd submit to their will when I returned from Italy, but that promise had lasted all of two days before I'd given up.

  It wasn't that I didn't love Saja. My island home was just far enough into the ocean that we didn't have to worry much about people from the mainland disturbing our peace. Every once in a while, we had visitors, but we weren't a country that thrived on tourism. Actually, we mostly kept to ourselves. While we imported goods, we weren't reliant on any one country, which allowed us to stay out of political issu
es. The beaches were beautiful, some rocky, some sandy. Our capital was more of a town than a city, but it was the closest thing to a metropolitan area we had. All of our businesses were there. Banks, police department, all of that. And, of course, the courthouse. We were a monarchy, but we used a justice system similar to America and the United Kingdom. The king or queen – whichever happened to be the ruling monarch at the time – did have the final say, but appeals rarely went that high. Our crime rate was low, our economy flourishing, and everything was perfect.

  Everything except my life. Saja was my home. I loved it, just like I loved my family. King Raj and Queen Mara. My family had been ruling Saja for several generations, the crown past down from oldest child to oldest child, regardless of gender. And now it was my turn.

  I was only twenty-two years-old, out of college for only a couple weeks, and my life was over. I opened my eyes, squinting against the early afternoon light. My head was pounding and my mouth was dry. There was a stale, nasty taste that told me, as much as the headache, that I'd drunk too much last night. Again.

  When I'd left Princeton with my political science degree, I'd known what was coming next. An arranged marriage to a man of my parents' choice. Additional lessons in various foreign languages as well as ongoing updates on the political and economic situations in major world powers. Invitations to parties I didn't want to attend, mingling with people I didn't want to know. Basically, all the shit that came with me being the heir to the throne.

  I hadn't been happy about it, but I'd accepted it as being just the way it was. I'd been thrilled with my parents' graduation gift of a European trip, but even that had been all about politics. Being in the right place at the right time. And, of course, behaving myself. I'd done my little bit of rebellion, though. Cut my hair...and lost my virginity. The first, everyone could see and my parents could brush under the table as some sort of fashion statement. The second had to be kept a secret.