His Princess (A Royal Romance)

by Abigail Graham

  The bailiff steps out and drones, “All rise,” in a bored voice, and everybody stands up. Quentin is the last to his feet, a contemptuous look on his face. My lawyer gives him a dirty look.

  The judge comes in and ascends the bench. My stomach does a back flip. I knew this was coming, but I know this guy. He was a friend of Russ, and was a professor when I was in college the first time. Fifteen years later he’s still the same sour-looking, rail-thin man he was then. Judge Linkletter, his name is. First name is Frank.

  He motions for everybody to sit down, and I sink to my chair and clutch Karen’s hand. This is not good. Russ has a smug look on his face, the little snake. Russ’s lawyer is friends with the both of them, too. This is a farce. It’s not fair.

  My lawyer says I can stop them taking the girls with an appeal, but it’ll be a complicated and expensive process.

  The judge shuffles in his chair and looks right at Quentin.

  Quentin gives him a little finger wave.

  Oh good God.

  Linkletter clears his throat. “I see no reason to waste the people’s time. Having reviewed the evidence presented by the complaining party, I’ve decided to dismiss this custody claim with prejudice.”

  Russ sits up. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  I look at Quentin.

  He looks at me and winks.

  The rest of it is a blur. I swear we were in the courtroom for less than half an hour before I walked out holding my kids’ hands.

  “This isn’t the end of this,” Russ hisses, appearing in front of me. His wife scowls at us.

  “Yeah it is,” Quentin says amiably. He grabs Russ’s shoulder and squeezes, hard. “It is the end of it, Russel.”

  Russ shakes loose. “I’m not scared of you.”

  Quentin laughs. “Right. Come on, ladies. Let’s go home.”

  Kelly cheers and runs in circles once we’re outside, walking down the sidewalk to the parking lot. Karen is walking on air, almost skipping.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” Quentin announces loudly.

  He had Kelly at “eat”; I’m hungry and I’m sure Karen is, too. We all climb in the Impala and Quentin drives to a little diner not far from the college. I’ve driven by it my whole life but never eaten there, oddly enough.

  The waitress seems to know him. We get a booth in the corner. Kelly gets a ridiculous breakfast meal with eggs, sausage, bacon, French toast, pancakes, and a waffle. It takes up two plates. Quentin orders a burger and Kelly and I just have what he’s having.

  He eats one-handed, keeping the other resting on my shoulders.

  “Did you say something to the judge?” I ask him, keeping my voice low.

  “I said several things. You might say I filed a friend-of-the-court brief. He found my arguments pointed and weighty.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do things like that.”

  He laughs and swipes at his chin with a napkin. “No you don’t.”

  “So when is it?” Karen demands. “When are you getting married?”

  I never pictured myself wearing a wedding dress again. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I can’t believe I’m looking at my own image. I had my hair done last night at the finest salon in Castlebrook, Kate’s Coiffure. I went to a boutique in Philadelphia for this dress, a creamy lace number that feels too revealing. I opted to show some cleavage and I’m regretting it.

  I can’t wait to see the look on Quentin’s face, though. Especially when he sees what I’m wearing under it.

  Karen is my maid of honor and Kelly will be the flower girl. They both look adorable in their matching dresses. I invited everyone I could think of to this thing: classmates, professors, I even invited Russ just to rub his nose in it. Hopefully he won’t make an ass out of himself during the ceremony.

  We’re having a Catholic wedding. I haven’t been to church in years and years but my mother and father are serious about it and insisted. My mother almost lost it when I suggested I might have a judge perform the ceremony.

  My last wedding was grandiose. This will be a bit smaller. Just a ceremony, a reception at the fire hall, and then the girls are spending the next week with Grandma and Grandpa in Ohio while Quentin and I take our honeymoon.

  I’ve never been so nervous in my life. The church is packed; I asked a few people to fill out the groom’s side. I don’t think Quentin even has anybody to invite.

  This is actually happening. The organist is playing the wedding march. Karen gives me a little push when I don’t start moving right away and I almost stumble out between the pews and start walking.

  Quentin’s face lights up when he sees me. He stares openly and hungrily as my father walks me down the aisle and steps aside as I move up to Quentin.

  “You look magnificent,” he whispers.

  I feel a flutter in my stomach. He cuts a fine figure himself. My throat is dry as a bone. I hope I can manage to squeak out the words.

  It’s a long ceremony. Karen almost looks annoyed that it’s taking so much time. Finally we get to the vows. Quentin slips the ring on my finger and I bite my lip, forcing back the tears welling in my eyes. I stopped wearing my old wedding band after I learned about Russ’s infidelity. It feels strange to have a new one on my finger. I make a fist, as if I’m afraid it’ll slip off, and Quentin clutches my hand.

  When it’s my turn I croak out an, “I do,” and he grabs me and kisses me hard, passionately, and when he finally lets go of me I’m red as a beet and turn redder when I see the look on Karen’s face.

  The reception is a blur. Toasts are made, cake is eaten, dances are had. I feel silly in my ridiculous dress, and it itches. I can’t wait to get out of it, mostly for other reasons.

  Kelly is a little annoyed that she has to go home with her grandparents, but Karen mostly seems amused.

  “Are you guys going to be okay without me?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Quentin says, smirking. “Go on.”

  The limo is ready to pick us up. We’ll be spending the night at the Hilton in Philadelphia before catching a flight to Hawaii. I can’t believe I’m actually going. None of this feels real.

  Once we’re in the limo, Quentin raises the privacy screen without saying a word and pulls me to him.

  “Ever since I saw you in that dress I wanted to rip it off you,” he growls in my ear.

  “You’d better not,” I say, playfully thumping his chest. “It wasn’t cheap.”

  He laughs. “Are you wearing anything under it?”

  “Yes,” I say, smirking. I slip my hands inside his jacket and hug him. I love how warm he feels.

  “Why are you always so cold?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We get a few stares checking into the hotel. I’m still in full bridal gear, after all. I can feel Quentin’s tensions rising as we ride up in the elevator. Once we reach the room he chases me inside and slams the door, and I’m on the bed on my stomach in seconds.

  Quentin yanks the zipper down the back of my dress and spreads it open, slipping it over my shoulders. I wriggle out of it and it pools on the floor. I sigh a breath of relief, as I didn’t hear any ripping fabric or popping seams.

  I crawl up onto the bed and turn over. Quentin looks me over and licks his lips. White stockings and gloves, a white thong, and a white lacy bra that doesn’t give me much coverage greet him.

  He slips off my shoes and starts to undress. I watch hungrily, shaking with anticipation. His jacket comes off first; he tosses it on a side chair and peels off his shirt next. I wince when I see the fresh scars from the wounds he took fighting Santiago, cutting jagged marks across his tattoos.

  I slip back onto the bed and he pushes out of his pants and moves over me on his hands and knees. He wasn’t wearing anything else. He shudders when I wrap my gloved fingers around his cock, but grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away. He pins both wrists to the bed and kisses me, hard.

  He lets go of my arms and puts his hands on my shoulders then sli
ps them under me and squeezes me against him, unhooking my bra in the process.

  For a long time he just lies there, breathing on my throat, and then I feel his lips and a hint of teeth that makes me quiver with excitement. I slip my fingers into his hair and scratch at his scalp. It makes his legs jerk.

  “You like that,” I whisper.

  He rises up and pulls my bra away then ducks down and touches his lips to my collarbone, hugging his arms tightly around me. I rest my hands on his back and relax, closing my eyes to savor the sensations.

  Quentin shifts and pins my arms to my sides, squeezing my breasts together. His stubble tickles me as he works his way down, his lips and tongue leaving a hot trail on my skin. I wrap my legs around him and squeeze as he rests his head on my chest.

  “Your breath tickles.”

  He looks up at me and takes my nipple in his mouth, and I gasp and scratch at his scalp, tracing my nails over his shoulder with my other hand. I wince when I feel a scar rough under my nails. He sucks hard and my whole body jerks as I let out a squeak.

  Quentin draws back and kneels, tugging on my underwear. I lean back into the bed, lift my legs, and watch the way his eyes roam hungrily over my curves as he tugs my panties down and pulls them free of my feet. I bend my legs and stretch them out on the bed, and Quentin lunges at me, kissing me hard as his finger slips inside me.

  “Somebody’s horny,” he says, stroking inside me. “You’re sopping wet.”

  I take his cock in my hand and feel the heat soaking through my glove. I start to pull the other glove off with my teeth.

  “Leave those on,” he says, tugging it back into place. “I like them.”

  He slides his finger out of my body and rolls on top of me, pinning me down. His cock throbs against my stomach, hot and hard. I run my hands up his sides, feeling the ridged scars.

  I kiss his neck. “My poor baby. You got hurt.”

  I slip my legs around him. Quentin shifts, thrusts, and enters me. I gasp as his hardness fills me.

  “You can make some noise,” he growls in my ear. “Moan for me.”

  As he fills me to the root, I let out a long, low sound of pleasure, pushed out of my body by his cock as he drives against me, hard, shuddering. I hug him with my legs and slide my hands on his back as he thrusts, feeling the muscles of his body flex as he drives inside me.

  All at once he rolls over, pulling me on top of him. I lie on him and wriggle my hips, watching his face as his body tenses from the sensation. Quentin slips his hands under my arms and pushes me until I’m sitting up. I grab his hands and lace his fingers through mine and lean on him, my head hanging as I roll my hips forward and back, faster and faster as my pleasure builds. Quentin moves in time with my rhythm, rising up from the bed to meet me as I ride him.

  I lean back and let go of his hands, lift my legs, and turn on top of him, slowly working my way around. The noise he makes is inhuman as my body turns around him. I stop, shuddering, overwhelmed by the unusual sensation.

  Turned around, I get my knees under me and lean forward, resting my hands on his legs, and ride. When I find just the right angle I start shaking. I can barely stand it.

  Then he spanks me and I jerk upright and almost fall backward. My ass stings from his hand. He pushes me forward and does it again, slapping the other cheek. It only makes me grind on him harder and faster, looking over my shoulder.

  Suddenly he sits up, grabs my arms, and pulls me against him. Quentin yanks me back and rolls on top of me, pinning me facedown, and fucks me hard, until I can’t stop moaning and whimpering from his cock thrusting inside me. Harder, faster. He pins my arms to the bed and uses his weight to push me down. My legs curl and jerk as the pleasure mounts, spiraling out of my middle, filling me, until I feel like I’m going to burst.

  The heat seeps through my skin, the cold rolls down my legs in shocks. I explode under him, thrashing, shoving myself against him to hold him inside me while I climax. Quentin hugs me and drives deep, his body as hard as stone as he spills his seed inside me.

  He relaxes but doesn’t pull away from me. I spread out on the bed and lie there, trying to catch my breath. Quentin holds on to me like I’ll vanish if he lets go. I finally wriggle out from underneath him and lie on my side, panting. I’m covered in swear and I feel like I’ve run a marathon.

  He grabs my arm and pulls me toward him.

  “Lay on your back and spread your legs. It’s time for round two.”

  I do as he says as he climbs on top of me. God, he’s still hard.

  “I have something to tell you,” I say, scratching at his neck.

  He thrusts inside me and kisses me. “Can’t it wait?” he murmurs against my lips.

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurt out.

  He draws back and stares at me. I can’t believe I just dropped it on him like that. He leans down and kisses my forehead.

  “Should we, um, stop?”

  “Oh, hell no.” I smack his ass. “What are you waiting for?”

  Thank You For Reading

  Thank you for reading Bad Boy Next Door!

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  Also by Abigail Graham

  * * *

  Broken Wings

  Bad Boy Next Door

  Hawk

  Paradise Falls

  Mockingbird

  Blackbird

  Thrall

  His Princess Copyright 2016 © Abigail Graham

  Bad Boy Next Door Copyright 2015 © Abigail Graham

  Edited by Faith Van Horne

  Cover by Kevin McGrath, photograph by Allan Spiers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

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  The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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