Royal Affair

by Marquita Valentine

  Sinking my fingernails into his shoulders, I suck on his neck, then his ear. “Come for me, Brooks,” I whisper right before I trace the shell of his ear with my tongue. I make my inner muscles clamp down on him. “Please come inside of me. Please.”

  “Fuck me.” He holds himself still, then lets out a low groan, replete with curses as his body shakes with his orgasm. His head falls to my shoulder, his mouth pressing wet kisses to my skin.

  For long moments he says nothing, and I can feel him jerk and move inside me as he continues to come.

  He lifts his head, staring at me in awe. “I didn’t know it would be this good…with someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?”

  “Yeah.” His brows scrunch together, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “If I’d known how hot you’d get me, how hard you’d made me come…I would have crashed one of your charity balls a hell of a lot sooner.”

  I burst out laughing. “I think I’m going to enjoy our affair.”

  Brooks pulls out of me, disposing of the condom before he grabs my arm and pulls me into the bathroom. “Clearly I have my work cut out for me.”

  “Clear to everyone but me.” Confused, I watch as he turns on the shower. Water explodes from the multiple showerheads and steam begins to waft to the high ceiling.

  “Get in the shower.”

  Hot water hits my sensitive skin as I step inside, Brooks right behind me. His hands come to rest on my waist, then he spins me around.

  “How’s the temperature?” he asks.

  I tip up my chin, gazing at him through lashes dripping with water. He’s broad chested, his abs lightly dusted with golden hair that ultimately leads to a happy trail pointing the way to his magnificent cock.

  “I approve.”

  He smiles and drops to his knees, presses me against the wall and lifts my leg, resting my foot on one of his perfectly sculpted broad shoulders.

  My eyes nearly drop out of my head.

  “What are you—?” My question ends in a moan and it’s all because the man kneeling at my feet is tonguing me to another orgasm.

  Chapter 4

  Brooks

  We’re sitting in the middle of the floor, in front of the fireplace in her suite, eating from a variety of dishes that room service brought up about ten minutes ago. Her hair is wrapped in a towel and the lush curves of her body are concealed by a thick bathrobe.

  I’m wearing a matching one because I don’t feel like getting dressed yet. While I don’t plan on staying much longer, I don’t want to break the mood. Or for her to feel like I’m using her.

  Something I shouldn’t concern myself with since she’s the one calling, the one to instigate all of this, but my conscience likes to remind me that she’s not as worldly as she seems.

  Sex was…fucking amazing. She was so honest and vulnerable, so responsive, and damn, when she started talking, started to order me to come…I don’t think I’ve ever orgasmed so hard in my life.

  Whether or not my response was because I haven’t had sex in months or that she’s forbidden, I’m not sure. The only true test will be another rendezvous with her.

  However, this time I’ll be the one to say when and where. Although to a certain extent, I did call the shots on when.

  Strangely enough, I would have preferred us to have met at my place, a location that I don’t ever take the women I hook up with. Their place or hotels do just fine, but meeting Charlotte in a hotel, even a swanky one like this, won’t do.

  It feels cheap. Meaningless.

  I inwardly grimace. What’s wrong with me? Of course it’s meaningless. It’s pure fucking on terms we agreed to. Mutual orgasms at our mutual convenience. What else can a guy ask for?

  “When Imogen and I were little our favorite treat was chocolate gravy and biscuits, like the kind Tressie—that’s Della’s stepmother—makes for us at breakfast,” she says, popping a grape into her mouth and pulling me out of my head. “I wasn’t allowed to have it very often, though, because Nanny said it was bad for my figure.”

  Bad for her figure? What about her sister’s? “How old were you?”

  She tips her head to one side, glancing up at the ceiling. “Seven, I think.”

  “Seven. Don’t you think that’s a little young to start worrying about your figure?”

  “Yes, I do, but Nanny Brownstone was in charge of us and we had to listen.” She stacks a piece of cheese and salami on a cracker. “Once we moved to America, however, all that was over because she refused to go into exile with us. So, I got to indulge in my sweet tooth as often as Colin allowed.”

  “Do you ever get to make your own decisions?”

  “I was twelve, Brooks. If I had things my way, I would have eaten it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” Her smile grows. “I was so glad to be rid of Nanny. She wasn’t very…nice to me, I mean us.”

  “What about your parents…was it hard for you to adjust?”

  “I really didn’t know them that well. By the time Gen and I were born, they were very busy and we had our own duties to see to as the heirs to the throne.” Her smile falls away, as does her gaze. “To be honest, I’ve always thought of Colin and Theo as my parents, along with Della as my mother. I guess you could say my brothers raised me as best they could and, when I allowed it, Della helped as well.”

  “You resented her?”

  She shakes her head, towel slipping to the floor as her long dark hair spills over her shoulders. “No, I adore her.” Wiping her hands on a cloth napkin, she looks at me and asks, “What about your family?”

  “Like you, I’m a twin, but unlike you and Imogen…Briggs and I are identical.”

  “Are you close?”

  I haven’t talked to him in months, but I don’t share that with her. She never asked me to be completely honest with her. “He doesn’t approve of my career choice.”

  She raises a brow. “Why?”

  “Because he’s decided to go into politics and believes I’ll sell him out for the right advertisement revenue.”

  “And your parents?” she asks, once again surprising me by not asking if I would do that. Maybe she thinks the same thing Briggs does. But would she be so vulnerable with a man who would do that?

  I shrug. “They disapprove in a way only parents can. My brother Hayden is the only one who’s proud of me, but he’s biased.”

  “Biased how?”

  “I helped him protect his wife and his job by hacking into a senator’s server.”

  Her eyes widen. “Don’t people go to jail for that?”

  “If they get caught, but I don’t do that kind of thing anymore. My sources are legit.” Mostly. How my sources get their information is anyone’s guess and I don’t ask. I only verify, then hit publish.

  “I could tell, you know.”

  I smile at her faux-threat. “But you won’t.”

  She returns my smile. “No, I won’t…but only because you did it to help your family.”

  —

  Despite my intentions to not stay much longer, I’m inside Charlotte for the third time tonight, moving in slow thrusts that make her gasp and clench my arms. I savor each breath she takes, the way it hitches and flows from her into me as we kiss.

  We’ve spent a lot of time talking, too much in my opinion, because it’s a distraction from fucking her, from staying at a distance…staying completely detached.

  So when I discovered that I’d shoved three condoms instead of just two in my pocket, I seduced her again. Not that it was a chore or hard, for that matter.

  Charlotte wants to be seduced.

  Her legs wrap around my hips and I sink deeper into her warmth. Our skin is hot and slick. She’s soft and firm. So sweetly giving as she writhes under me, as she reaches for the orgasm I’m teasing her with.

  I fist a hand into her thick hair, leaning up slightly to look at her. Charlotte’s cheeks are flushed, her lips are swollen, and her eyes are glazed with passion.

  Those beautiful eyes of
hers flutter closed as her mouth parts on a moan and she shudders around me. I can feel her milking my cock, forcing my orgasm before I’m ready.

  I’m the one in control, not her, but as my hips shoot forward and my balls draw tight, I know without a doubt that she’s the one turning the tables on me.

  —

  Around five thirty A.M., I reluctantly untangle my body from Charlotte’s. She doesn’t wake up, only murmurs something and snuggles deeper under the covers. We slept for about five hours, an amount of time not unheard of for me to function on. When I first started up Walker Media, I got by on less.

  “Sweetheart, I’m leaving now,” I whisper and drop a kiss on her forehead.

  “Are you sure? It’s so early and we stayed up so late,” she mumbles in an adorable sleep-filled voice. Apparently, the princess isn’t used to keeping late hours and early mornings.

  “I have to work. Go back to sleep.”

  “All right.”

  While her breathing evens out again, letting me know she’s asleep, I get dressed.

  Instead of going home right away, I walk to my favorite bagel shop and grab a bite to eat. The dough is fresh and the coffee is hot. It wakes me up and gets my mind spinning in a hundred directions.

  One of the things I like most about the city is that no one gets personal with you. They leave you alone because they have somewhere to be. It’s not rude and it’s not necessarily indifferent because this place, when the need arises, comes together like no other.

  However, there are too many times when I miss North Carolina, miss the sound of the waves hitting the shore and the brine of the ocean. I miss hot biscuits and sweet tea served by women with thick, accents. Lazy, front-porch swinging with a woman, taking my boat into the sound and then into the ocean. Surfing and fishing…pig pickin’s and oyster roasts. Basically everything that has anything to do with family.

  But that life isn’t for me.

  Or it’s not anymore.

  I made the choice to distance myself from my family, especially my twin. That cuts the deepest and I don’t know if our relationship can ever be repaired.

  I hail a cab to take me home. I need to shower and shave before heading to the office. There’s a staff meeting at ten that I can’t miss because I don’t allow anyone else to miss it unless they’re sick or on vacation. I’m not that much of a hardass.

  When I arrive, I don’t waste time getting down to business, and as soon as I ask for new projects or ideas, Drea wastes no time ratting me out.

  “How was last night with Princess Charlotte?” she asks, and all eyes turn to me.

  “Fine.”

  “That’s it?”

  I nod. “Yeah. That’s it.” Drea gives me a look, but I ignore it. “When I have information to share I will, but until then, my personal life stays out of Walker Media’s posts, just like each one of yours. That’s all for now.”

  In small groups of twos and threes, my staff leaves until only Drea is left.

  “I call bullshit,” she says, standing and grabbing her tablet. “This isn’t about your personal life. It’s about the fact that you’re not satisfied with what you’ve uncovered about the Sinclairs over the years…or was that just an excuse to fuck a princess you’ve been obsessing over?”

  “I’m obsessed with the truth.”

  Drea cocks a brow. “Prove it.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything.” I glance at the door meaningfully. “Don’t you have a deadline to meet for the Beijing exposé—or did you only want to travel there for shits and giggles?”

  She looks as though she wants to say more, but she keeps her mouth shut and pivots, leaving me alone. I gather my things and stalk to my office, using the interconnecting doors between it and the conference room because I’m not in the mood for small talk with my personal secretary, Janice.

  And she doesn’t deserve to deal with my cranky ass, anyway.

  “Damn it.” I shouldn’t have been so short or such a smartass with Drea.

  Yeah, I’ve followed Charlotte since I first became aware of her interest in what I publish and post online. At first it was only because I thought she might inadvertently slip and give me some insider information. Later, well later, I kept up with her because I was bored and her cheerful little observations amused me.

  But I’m not fucking obsessed with her.

  Last night, I revealed way more than I intended by talking about my family, and while I do trust Charlotte to keep quiet, I don’t trust my reaction to her.

  I need distance and time before we hook up again.

  Which is why it makes complete sense for me to text her as soon as I sit down at my desk.

  Me: Good morning. How are you feeling?

  Charlotte: Amazing! You?

  Her reply has me feeling on top of the world, like I’ve just broken a story no one else had a chance in hell of doing.

  Me: The same. I’m giving a talk this evening at The Booth Club. Private club near Gramercy Park. Starts at 7.

  Charlotte: Are you asking me out on a date?

  Me: I’m asking you to be my guest.

  Charlotte: As a friend, then.

  Me: Call it what you want, Princess. I thought you’d enjoy the discussion.

  Charlotte: I’d be honored.

  Me: I’ll pick you up at 6:30.

  Fine. I might be slightly obsessed with her, but I’m like that when I’m after a story. I won’t let go, won’t focus on anything but what I need until I get the truth, publish it, and move on.

  Which is exactly what I’ll do when I get what I need from Charlotte.

  Chapter 5

  Charlotte

  I didn’t know exactly what to expect when Brooks and I arrived at The Booth Club. It’s something straight out of a film I watched once that starred my favorite classic movie stars. They were in a speakeasy—the kind with lots of warm-colored wood and leather.

  Everyone I’ve met is charming and friendly. They don’t seem to care about my title or who my family is. Honestly, why would they while they discuss politics and art, literature and films?

  If I could be part of every conversation in the room, I would, if only as a bystander.

  “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” Brooks says, his hand on my lower back as he guides me to a table reserved for us at the front.

  “Thank you. A girl can’t go wrong in a little black dress.”

  He laughs low in his throat, looking every bit the rogue in his tailored suit and shirt that’s unbuttoned at the throat. I want to kiss him there again, pop open a few more buttons so I can lick his chest, just like I did in the car on the way here, and make him groan.

  Yes, it was not only naughty of me but rather mean since I wouldn’t allow him to return the favor and lick my chest.

  “Stop looking at me like that, Princess, or I’ll be forced to cancel my talk and take you upstairs to one of the private rooms,” he warns, his blue eyes gleaming wickedly.

  “You wouldn’t,” I say. “This is too important to you.”

  He raises his brows. “How would you know?”

  “Because you’ve only posted about it fifty times in the past four days,” I say breezily. “Ten times a day seems a little excessive.”

  “A little excess never hurt anyone.” He pulls out my chair and his hand slips down to grab my bum. His head dips down, his lips touching my ear. “If you’re very good, I’ll take you upstairs and fuck you before we leave.”

  My nipples tighten and my thighs clench. “I shall be the epitome of bad behavior.”

  “You couldn’t, even if you tried.” His hand comes around my neck, fingers sliding up until he can tip up my chin. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

  He wouldn’t? Warmth fills me, twining with desire.

  “Brooks, you are as luscious as ever, but who is this delightful creature?” A woman in her early sixties sits down next me, her makeup heavy and her smile bright. She’s wearing diamonds on her fingers, her wrists
, and her ears. There’s even a diamond stud in her nose. But that’s not the most wonderful thing about her, not at all. It’s her hair, a vibrant shade of orange that makes me think of the sun rising over the ocean.

  “My date,” he says, lifting his head and sitting in the chair beside me. “She’s new, so be nice. Better yet, be someone else.”

  “Like me, for instance.” A new voice chimes in and Brooks rolls his eyes. “I’m Shea and you are so lucky to be a guest at my table, darling.”

  I grin, taking in his severe black suit and equally severe black hair. It’s swept back in a pompadour style with touches of gray…although, I suspect, he’d say it was silver at the temples. “Thank you for having me.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Charlotte S—”

  “No last name needed, dear,” sunset-haired lady admonishes me. “We know exactly who you are, Princess.”

  “Hattie, you’re going to scare her away,” Brooks says, angling himself so that he’s practically pushing me into a corner and obscuring my view.

  I tap his shoulder and then push him slightly so I can see again. “Hattie is more than welcome to try, but I’m too thrilled to be here, so it won’t work.”

  “Should we bow, honey?” Shea says with a wink.

  “Oh no,” I say in a rush. “I’m not…That is, you’re not my…” Their faces fall in unison, like I’ve just failed a very important test.

  Bollocks.

  I can’t embarrass Brooks in front of his friends.

  What should I say? I’ve never been very good at this sort of thing. My best retorts come hours later, when I’m completely alone. Oh dear. I’m royally screwing this up.

  Brooks rests his arm on my shoulders, giving me courage to blurt out the first thing to come to mind.

  “A curtsey will do just fine,” I finally say in the haughtiest voice ever. “Or jewels. I adore expensive gifts.”

  Hattie and Shea glance at each other, then at me, smiles appearing.

  Sitting up a bit taller, I say, “I’m waiting.”

  A sly smile curves Hattie’s mouth. “Does Brooks get on his knees for you, to pay homage, of course. He’s such a gentleman—and a southern one at that, so I’m sure he knows how to give you exactly what you want.”