“Ohmygod,” I moaned into his mouth as I clenched around his fingers and arched into his touch. Electricity crackled up my spine, and my toes curled against the seat as I flew apart, each of my muscles tensing and melting at the same time. I was soaring and yet I clung to him like he was the only thing tethering me to this world.
He kept up the touches, slowly decreasing the pressure as I found my way back to myself, back to him. There was nothing condescending about the smile on his face or the longing look in his eyes as he gently slid his fingers out.
He looked...awestruck.
I glanced at him through hooded, lust-filled eyes. “More,” I demanded, my hands going for the zipper on his pants, which were tight from what was rock hard inside.
He captured my hands in his own, shifting one around my back until he’d righted us to a sitting position in the car, me on his lap. I tilted my head at the way he shook his.
“The first time I’m inside you will not be in the backseat of a car,” he said, kissing my lips before pushing my wild hair back with his free hand. “I may feel like a teenager again, but when I sink inside you so deep you won’t remember anything outside my name, it will be in my bed.”
I trembled in his lap, my body reacting to the promise in his words. Fingering the back of his hair, I gripped it hard enough to tilt his head back. “Then why aren’t we there right now?” I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth.
He chuckled against my assault, gripping my hips with a hiss. “Damn, Charlie.” He held me with his eyes, those churning, deep eyes. “You will ruin me.”
My heart sank; a cold bucket of ice water dousing the flames that licked my skin.
He was right. Despite what I’d said. Despite the no love, no relationship bargain.
What we were doing, what we’d started…it could ruin us all.
But now I was hooked, and I would do anything for another chance to feel alive.
Jameson
“You know, I love surprises,” I said to Oliver as we neared the formal dining room.
“I know, Sir.”
“Presents? Awesome. Vacation on the fly? Superb. Gorgeous brunette in my arms? Perfect. But surprise formal dinners? Not so much.” Especially when they were with the entire Royal Family, political big wigs, and the final two contestants in the I-Want-To-Marry-Jameson shitshow.
“Yes, Sir.”
I stopped, forcing him to turn around and look at me. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe a little.” His finger came up in a pinching motion.
“You’re fired,” I muttered.
“Yeah, you can’t do that. I’m assigned to the Crown by the head of Palace security. But of course, if you’d like to request a transfer, I’d be happy to see if Robert would like to take my place.”
“That geriatric piece of history?”
“He’s an excellent guard,” Oliver said, a smirk playing over his face.
Asshole.
“Sure, to my mother, who’s most exciting trips include Garden Club and the Children’s Hospital.”
“So you’ll keep me. That’s what you’re saying.” He folded his arms across his chest. Damn the guy was big. I was in shape, but I really needed to get on Oliver’s workout regimen.
“Are you going to force me into that dinner?” All I wanted to do was take Charlotte back to my room and spend my night devouring her. I’d barely seen her today, and now we were stuck in this dinner for God only knew how long.
“I could carry you over my shoulder, but it wouldn’t be very dignified.” There was more than a twinkle of amusement going through his eyes.
“No way. I could take you.”
“No offense, Sir, but no. You couldn’t.” He shook his head.
“He’s right, you couldn’t,” Sophie said as she came down the hall to stand next to me. Her dress was simple and all the more beautiful for it. Dark purple with a high neckline and a flowing chiffon skirt from the raised waist. As she turned toward Oliver, I saw that the back of her dress dipped down her back. Way down her back.
She’s a grown woman. I reminded myself. Hell, she was older than Brie who wore way less, but Sophie was still my baby sister.
“Your Royal Highness,” Oliver said with a bow of his head.
“Oliver, how are you tonight?” she asked, her voice all wispy and shit.
God, I loved my sister, and I hated this for her. The way she felt about Oliver was all over her face, in her eyes, and it was never going to be returned. Not because he didn’t look at her every time he didn’t think anyone was looking, but because he had a really anachronistic sense of class structure.
“I’m well, ma’am. Where is your security? Isn’t Claire with you?” He scanned the hallway behind her.
“Oh, it’s her mom’s birthday, so I sent her home.”
“You what?” I damn-near-shouted. With the anti-monarchist threat, the last thing I wanted was my sister unprotected.
“Relax,” she said gently, her hand touching my arm. “I’m in the Palace, not out at the club. I don’t really need protection behind these walls.”
“You think you’re the exception?” I asked, trying my damndest to keep a level head. “Do you not see Oliver on my case twenty-four-seven?”
“I think I’m not the Crown Prince, the future King, or anything that anyone needs to worry about. I’m not as important as you are. Now, I’m going to dinner, would you like to join me, or would you like to stay out here and argue in the hallway a bit more?” She tilted her head, her hands on her hips, and the look she gave me reassured me that as soft as she was, she’d never let anyone run her over.
“I’ll be right there.”
She nodded, and then looked at Oliver. “Oliver,” she said softly, but the end tilted up as if she were asking a question.
His jaw locked momentarily, but he bowed his head. “Your Royal Highness.”
She sighed and headed into the dining room.
“She’s just as important as you are,” Oliver growled when she was out of earshot.
“She’s more than I am,” I replied. “She’s kind, and smart, and thinks of everyone else first. She’s far more capable of leading Elleston.”
“You’re not thinking of abdicating, are you?” He asked me quietly.
“No. This is my country, and I’m her King. And I would never put that responsibility on Sophie, or the hell I’m going through right now. She’ll wed whomever she damn-well pleases with no thought to treaties or aristocracy. She’ll be free.”
“Ah, Jameson. You’re here. Would you mind escorting me in?” Mom asked, appearing with Robert behind her.
I held out my arm. “It would be my honor.”
“Excellent,” she placed her hand in the corner of my bent arm. “I wanted to tell you; I’ll be going to America tomorrow.”
I stopped so fast I almost tripped Mom. “I’m sorry? Right now? Not that I mind you going, but usually you’re...involved. Especially given what’s going on.”
She cupped my face with a gloved hand.
“Your candidates are all acceptable. I know you’ll make the right choice. And honestly, after the way things went with Xander, I can’t risk you over my tendency to overstep. And I’d like to mend the fences I may have broken with Willa, especially with their child on the way.”
“So I’m on my own.”
“You have Charlotte, dear. You’re never alone.”
I kept her words in mind as we entered the dining room and were announced. I sat my mother at the end of the table and took my place in the center. Normally I’d be at the foot of the table, but with circumstances being what they were, I needed the opportunity to talk to both Katherine and Ophelia, and their parents.” Fuck my life, was this really happening?
I came to my seat and nearly collapsed in relief. They’d placed Charlotte on my right, Sophie on my left, and the two Ladies across from me. Brie was further down, looking uncharacteristically formal. I shot her a WTF look, and she just shrugged. Guess M
om had gotten to her, too.
Holy shit, Charlotte looked good. Her hair was on top of her head in loose curls and coils, the emeralds at her throat matched her eyes, and her light green dress hugged her curves while being the epitome of class. As she turned to curtsy as the formal nature of our dinner dictated, I saw a slit in the flowy fabric along her left leg. This dinner was going to be torture.
The footman seated Sophie, and I pulled out Charlotte’s chair for her to sit.
“I’ve got it,” I told the staff member.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said softly as I seated her. No, it wasn’t right or proper, but she was mine, and I’d make sure she felt like it.
“Your Highness,” Ophelia addressed me with a smile.
“Lady Ophelia,” I replied. She was a lovely woman, absolutely suitable for Queen. She’d be what my mother called a “good match.” But she wasn’t Charlotte.
“Your Highness,” Katherine said from the other side of Ophelia.
“Lady Katherine,” I replied with a nod.
At once, this whole charade seemed cruel. Katherine had no desire to marry me, and yet she was duty-bound to say yes if I offered. Ophelia was more than willing to marry me, and now having made it this far in the process believed she had a fifty percent choice.
But the only woman I’d willingly marry sat on my right, laughing at something our Master of the Treasury said.
“Well, this is...interesting,” Damian said, taking the seat between the ladies.
God, I’d been so preoccupied that I hadn’t even noticed that our Prime Minister was directly across from me.
“If this gets to be too much, just say the word,” Charlotte said softly, leaning in.
I turned my head and immediately regretted it. It didn’t matter where we were or how formal our occasion. All I saw was Charlotte under me in the Range Rover. I saw her neck and remembered my mouth on the tender skin. She parted her lips, and all I could think about was my tongue in her mouth, her moans in my ear, the sound of my name as she came. My fists clenched, my fingers desperate to feel the soft, slippery center of her pussy.
God, the way she’d clenched around my fingers—
“Jameson?” she asked.
I swallowed.
“Sorry, I was...distracted.”
“Well, less...distraction, and more conversing with your future Queen.” Her smile was formal, but I knew the sparkle in those eyes, the one that led to her saying yes.
“Working on it,” I answered truthfully.
“Katherine and Ophelia, Jaime.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
First course passed with small talk, which Damian helped supply. It was good to see how both of the women interacted with the Prime Minister. Of course, Charlotte charmed and challenged him without effort.
As the second course was being served, I leaned over. “I need you,” I whispered. “Tonight. I can’t wait any longer.”
“We’re at the table,” she chastised, but I knew that if anyone looked over, it would seem we were discussing the most mundane details. Charlotte was good like that.
My hand slid onto her thigh, and she sucked in her breath slightly. “And?”
“And you need to eat.”
“Oh, I’m going to. All. Night. Long.” Finding the slit, my hand met bare thigh. No stocking. No garters. Just Charlotte.
She cleared her throat and asked Ophelia a question.
Ophelia answered, and I nodded, but my attention was on Charlotte’s skin, the way she sat up a little straighter. Her pulse fluttered in her throat as I slid my hand further up her dress, meeting the lace of her panties.
I fucking loved lace. It tore so neatly in my teeth.
“Don’t you think, Sir?” Ophelia asked, her language absolutely formal.
Such a contrast to the informal way my hand lingered at the apex of Charlotte’s legs. My brain ran through the conversation, trying to remember what she’d asked.
Trade. Sanctions.
“I do think that sanctions are a good way to chastise a foreign government. Far better than war. But it also hurts our trade, so that always has to be taken into account.”
“Sanctions are in place to let them know that what they’re doing is wrong,” Charlotte said, her voice in absolute control.
I stroked over the top of her cleft with my pinky.
“But what if they have goods...let’s say humanitarian needs that have to be met. Is it better to place sanctions...or let the goods in?”
“I think that’s a moral quandary,” Ophelia answered, but the sound was distant.
“What if they’re really needed?” I asked Charlotte. “What if people are dying?”
“Then you have to provide,” she answered.
Her thighs relaxed, parting ever-so slightly.
Fucking victory.
My hand slid firmly between her legs, and my fingers skirted the outside of her panties, rubbing over her clit.
Charlotte’s stomach muscles flexed, and her breaths came faster, but not so fast that anyone else would notice.
The third course was served, and I thanked God that we Europeans used our left hand for our fork, because my other one wasn’t budging.
The conversation swirled around us, and I kept my fingers stroking over the lace of her panties, the rhythm light, teasing, and just enough to keep her on edge without sending her into meltdown.
I eventually had to remove my hand, but it always went back, and she always let me in.
“Tonight,” I ordered her as dessert arrived.
Her cheeks flushed, and she took another sip of her wine as if the alcohol was the cause.
“Dinner,” she reminded me.
“You’re going to give in.”
Her eyes locked on mine. “Will I?”
Bananas foster sat in front of me—my favorite dessert.
“You did this?” I asked her softly.
“It’s your favorite,” Charlotte answered.
“Thank you.”
The women in front of me started their lists of favorite desserts while I fingered mine. I moved her panties to the side and swept my fingers up her cleft.
My cock swelled until I was harder than the table. Fuck, she was wet. What a woman she was—an elegant, composed exterior, and a fiery temptress underneath.
I slipped one finger, then two inside her tight pussy until I felt the barrier of her virginity. That tiny little membrane was one of the reasons I’d wanted her in a bed. I needed to make her come, and more than once, before I took her, claimed her, made sure she understood that I was made for her, and her alone.
Her head bowed for a second, and she sucked in a full breath.
Her walls clenched around me, a flood of warmth coating my fingers.
“Switzerland,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry?”
“Switzerland!” she snapped.
Half the eyes at the table snapped to her.
While my fingers were inside her under the table, fucking her.
Yeah, this was the most reckless and most erotic moment of my life.
“I’d asked where her favorite chocolates come from,” I said loud enough to appease the onlookers.
Mutters of appreciation and agreement came from all around the table as a debate broke out across from us about the merits of Swiss chocolates versus Belgian ones.
“Switzerland,” I agreed, slipping my fingers free of her.
“Tonight,” she agreed quietly.
Having successfully taken a bite of my dessert, I popped my middle finger in my mouth—still saturated with her juices—and licked it clean.
“So sweet.”
Her lips parted, and her hand reached over to my lap, cupping my dick through the fabric of my tux. “This works both ways.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I told her, careful to keep my voice quiet. “I’m always at your mercy.”
“So,” she turned her attention to Ophelia. “Tell me about your charities.”
She was all business as she questioned the women.
But her hand stayed right on my dick.
The clock rang out at midnight as I slipped into Charlotte’s room. Thank God for the secret tunnels that ran through the palace, or I could never have made it without the gossip mill attacking her. I’d been hard since dinner, and I doubt any of the night staff needed to see me prowling the halls with an erection.
There were definite benefits to a medieval palace.
“Jaime?” Charlotte called out from the oversized reading chair she was curled up in.
“It’s me.”
I stalked across the room, consumed by the scent of her in the room, the sight of her silk robe that parted gently to reveal her shapely legs as they shifted. Without giving her a moment to pause, to think, to stop the inevitability of us, I kissed her.
Squeezing her jaw lightly, my tongue sank inside her, tasting the peppermint of her tea, and the sweetness of her desire. I angled her head taking her deeper, stroking her tongue with mine and letting her know exactly what was on my mind without the words. Only when she groaned, and her hands dropped the book to tunnel through my hair, did I let up.
“Say yes,” I asked against her lips.
She whimpered.
“You have to say, it, Charlie. I know what you’re giving me, and I need to hear that you want it, that you won’t regret it.”
I’d never asked a woman for her body. I’d never had to. They’d always come willingly, enthusiastically, pursued me.
But for Charlotte, I would go to war, fight bloody battles worse than anything I’d seen in my two years of mandatory service. I would beg.
My hands skimmed down the silk of her robe, stroking over her curves. Fuck me, she was naked underneath. I was one belt-pull away from my wildest fantasy.
“Please, Charlotte. My Charlie. Say yes. Let me love you.” I finished my plea with a kiss, deep and thorough.
“Yes.” Her whisper was the sweetest word I’d ever heard. “I want you, Jaime.”
I wanted to be slow, to build her fire with care and reverence.
But I wanted her too damn badly. She was the one I’d always loved—always wanted, the one I’d never been allowed to have. And now she was mine. I just had to prove it to her.
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