Double Team: A Menage Romance

by Sabrina Paige

  “Oh my God.” Alexandra takes my arm. “You got stuck with Christine. She’s the worst of the PR robots. Do you want to make an escape?”

  I giggle, the absurdity of all of this suddenly hitting me. “She’s awful,” I whisper.

  “You have to medicate to get through it,” Alex says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I totally like you, Belle. Have I told you that? You’re not terrible. I expected you to be terrible, like one of those really smug bitches, the kind who think they’re God’s gift to the earth just because they go around saving people and stuff.”

  “You’re obviously well-medicated,” I say, laughing.

  “I took some X,” she says. “Wow. Has anyone ever told you that your hair is really brown? Like, not poop brown, either. It’s pretty brown. Do you want some X? I have some, right in my clutch.”

  “I’ll pass,” I say. As if I need to take anything that would increase the sensitivity of my body in any way, shape, or form.

  “Quick,” she says. “Two o’clock. Sir Richard Benton. He’s hot, right? We should talk to him.”

  "What? Who?" I ask absently. I catch a glimpse of Albie across the room as the crowd parts. He's standing next to a blonde – tall, long-legged, thin, and gorgeous. She puts her hand on his forearm, the gesture at once possessive and familiar.

  "Richard Benton," Alex says. "Come on. Please tell me you've heard of him, at least. He's been in movies in the States. He was knighted in England. I can't remember why. Probably for being hot as hell."

  I can't think of Richard whoever-the-hell-he-is, not when I'm looking at Albie on the other side of the room, with some girl hanging all over him.

  Alexandra follows my gaze. "Ugh," she says. "That bitch."

  "What bitch?" I ask. I find it unreasonably difficult to pry my gaze away from the two of them. The girl laughs – I can't hear it, but I just know she has one of those perfect little musical laughs, a tinkling sound – and touches his forearm again.

  "Erika. She's the worst," Alex whispers, though not quietly enough. It's more like a stage whisper, which is wholly inappropriate for this setting. If it weren't for the fact that I'm completely distracted by Albie on the other side of the room, the entire thing would be laughable. I have a princess hanging on my arm, high as a kite and airing her opinions too loudly, and a vibrator inside me, my royal stepbrother at the controls.

  And all of it, at my mother's engagement party, surrounded by the crème de la crème of Protrovian society.

  "Why is she the worst?" I ask absently. Albie pats the bitch on the arm, then looks up. I avert my eyes, but not quickly enough. He makes eye contact with me from across the room.

  "She's terrible," Alex says. "Manipulative and shallow. They were together years ago. I don’t know what he ever saw in her. She cheated on him a lot. Albie won't ever say it, but I think he was in love with her. And she broke his heart."

  I swallow hard the lump that's beginning to form in my throat. What if he still has feelings for his ex? I definitely don’t want to do to someone what Derek did to me. Suddenly, everything about what I'm doing with Albie feels even more wrong. "Excuse me," I say to Alex. "I need to run to the restroom."

  But before I can make my stealthy exit, Christine catches my arm. "I'll need you to take your seat, Miss Kensington and Princess Alexandra," she says. Then, looking up, "Ah, Prince Albert, you as well. You'll join the King and Queen at the head table."

  "Wait, I –" I begin to protest, but I'm ushered along. Behind me, Albie steps too close for a split second, his breath warm on my neck. I tell myself to focus on something else, anything else, because walking this way through the ballroom, with my nipples erect underneath my dress, is the worst possible thing that could happen.

  "You weren't about to sneak out of here, were you?" Albie whispers, and I feel the vibrator start up again, the rumble low and steady. But instead of being turned on, the way I was before, I just find myself irritated. I'd tell him to turn it off, but I know he'll just turn it up a million times more. So I just grit my teeth and promise myself there's no way he's making me come. I won't let it happen.

  Willpower, I tell myself. Think of something else. Something un-sexy.

  Like the image of Albie with that blonde's hand on his arm, giggling like an idiot because he said something that was most likely inappropriate.

  "No," I say curtly. "I'm headed to the table to sit with my new siblings."

  He turns up the vibration higher and I involuntarily yelp, a sound I quickly cover with a cough. “Behave,” he whispers.

  “Apparently that’s something you need to learn,” I say, my words coming out breathier than I intended.

  “Oh, you’re jealous,” he whispers. Then he shuts off the vibrator, leaving my muscles pulsing around it.

  Of course he’s seated next to me at dinner. I’m seated between Alex on my right, and Albie on my left, probably a strategic move by the public relations team to make sure everyone is reminded how integral a part of the family I am. Mercifully, Albie leaves me alone during most of dinner.

  My legs crossed, sitting in a chair, I almost manage to forget the vibrator is inside me. And, deliberately ignoring Albie, I’m almost able to forget about him and the ex-girlfriend.

  21

  Albie

  “I saw you talking with Erika earlier,” Sofia says, sipping from a glass of champagne. “Will she be joining us at the summer house? I’ve heard so many lovely things about her.”

  On the other side of Belle, Alex snorts, her inhibitions lowered by whatever she took to get her through tonight’s events. I glance at my empty scotch glass, downing a glass of champagne as a poor substitute. “Lovely,” Alex scoffs. “I’ve never heard her called that before.”

  “She won’t be joining us at the summer house, Sofia,” I say, my voice firm. At least that shuts her up. I’m not sure whether she’s manipulative or simply unobservant, but it’s obvious to everyone else that Erika and I are nothing.

  “No?” Belle asks, her voice innocent. “You should invite her.”

  I flick on the vibrator in response, and watch as a flush runs up Belle’s neck, then down the front of her chest. She crosses her legs, and re-crosses them as I increase the vibration a little more.

  I was having fun with this whole thing earlier, the thrill of turning the vibrator on and off at inopportune times. But now, I’m not. I’m not going to wait any longer. I want to watch Belle come, sitting right here at this table.

  “Are you okay, Belle?” I ask, cutting a piece of filet and popping it into my mouth. “You look a little feverish.”

  “I’m…fine,” she says, looking straight ahead as she takes a sip of wine from her glass. No one else notices, but I can see her eyes close for just a moment too long.

  The thought of her sitting at this table beside me, her pussy wet because she’s on the verge of coming, makes me hard as a rock, and I have to adjust the napkin that covers my lap.

  When she finally looks over, her gaze falls to my lap, then up to my eyes again. I know she saw how hard I am. She looks away as quickly as she turned. “Prince Albert,” she says. “You should stand and make a toast, don’t you think?”

  I cough to hide my laugh. Clever girl.

  I flick the setting on the vibrator up higher, trying not to think of what that’s doing to her. I run quickly through mental images of anything that might deflate my raging erection.

  “Oh, that would be lovely, Albert,” my grandmother says.

  “Perhaps it would be more appropriate to save a toast for a less public event,” my father says, interrupting and saving me from having to reveal my massive hard-on for Belle.

  “Yes,” I say. “Some things are better left for private, don’t you agree, Belle?”

  She tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, then adjusts a few more strands with trembling hands, before running her hand along her brow. Her chest rises and falls, hardly apparent to anyone else, I’m sure, but I know what that means. “Certain t
hings shouldn’t be done in public,” she says, her voice breathy.

  “Are you all right?” Alex asks. “Seriously, you look like you’re not feeling well.”

  “Isabella, are you having an episode?” Sofia asks. “She gets anxious during public events sometimes – or, she used to, anyway.”

  “I’m…fine,” Belle says. The gravelly tone in her voice makes me even harder, and I turn up the vibrator again. She clutches the sides of her chair, her fingers white at the knuckles where she holds it tightly.

  I wonder how long she can hold out. But mostly, I wonder what she’ll look like when she comes.

  “Isabella,” my father says. “You do look flushed. Alex, why don’t you walk Isabella back to her room. Perhaps you should lie down.”

  I turn the vibrator on the highest setting, determined to make Belle come before she leaves. She closes her eyes lightly, gripping the chair tightly, the wrinkle on her forehead the only other outward sign of anything happening. “Yes, Belle,” I say, “Why don’t you lie down. It looks like you’re tense. Perhaps you need a little relief.”

  “Yes,” she gasps, far too loudly, then inhales immediately. It’s one word, and she says it in a way that’s so unmistakably erotic that it has to be the most inappropriate response ever given at a royal dinner. And I know by the flush that rises to her cheeks that she just came, right here at my father's engagement party.

  This is definitely one for the history books.

  The table is silent, and my grandmother’s eyes go wide as she glances uncomfortably at Belle before gulping her water. “Well,” my grandmother says. “I guess that’s a yes, then.”

  Belle clears her throat. “Yes,” she says, this time more measured, but still breathy, as I turn down the vibration. “Excuse me.”

  She stands to leave, her hand on the back of the chair to steady herself, and she looks down for a moment at me. “I’m fine by myself.”

  “Oh, no, I’ll go with you!” Alex jumps up quickly, obviously eager to get the hell out of here, taking Belle by the elbow before anyone can object.

  I wait a whole five minutes before I make a bullshit excuse to get up from the table to follow them. On the way out, I see Erika walking toward me, no doubt trying to chase me down and throw herself at me, the way she did earlier tonight. I make a mental note to let security know she’s off my approved list, regardless of whatever idiot sends her an invite to a palace event in the future.

  Outside of the ballroom, Alex is talking to Finn Asher, laughing as she opens her purse to show him something. Several feet away, her bodyguard Max stands in a suit, his arms crossed, glaring at the two of them. He looks like he’s two seconds away from throwing Alex over his shoulder again, the way he did at the summerhouse.

  “Where did Belle go?” I ask, my tone accusatory.

  “She said she wanted some air,” Alex says. “Don’t be a nag.”

  When I walk outside, I see Belle standing on the edge of the granite deck, her forearms resting on the railing. When I reach her, she doesn’t look at me. “You shouldn’t have followed me out here.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  That gets a rise out of her. She turns to face me, her eyes icy. “No,” she says, and I can tell she’s trying hard to keep her voice measured, restrained. “That is not what I wanted.”

  A couple walks past us carrying glasses of champagne, and I turn my head. The last thing I want is to talk to a nosy, irritating socialite and her husband.

  In fact, the last thing I want to do is talk to anyone right now.

  “You’re awfully cranky for someone who just had an earth-shattering orgasm,” I say quietly, watching her face turn scarlet.

  She looks around before speaking. “I did not have an earth-shattering anything,” she says.

  “Liar,” I say, turning on the vibrator again.

  She flinches. “Stop it, Albie.”

  “Too much?” I ask. “If you like, I can reach up there and retrieve it.”

  “Thanks but no thanks.” She turns, walking down the stairs from the deck to the lawn that stretches for acres behind the palace, trimmed on the edges with large trees to hide the massive walls that secure the palace grounds.

  “You’re angry,” I say, following her across the lawn. She walks faster, trying to get rid of me, and I let her, until she reaches the side of the glass enclosure that surrounds the swimming pool.

  “I’m not angry,” she says, turning to face me. “Besides, someone is going to see us out here. You should get back to your girlfriend.”

  I flick on the remote to the vibrator. “Don’t lie, luv,” I say. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Stop doing that.” She glares at me, then glances toward the deck.

  “She’s an ex.”

  “I didn’t ask who she was,” she says. “Will you turn that thing off now?”

  “I’ll turn it off once you admit you’re just being cranky because you’re jealous.”

  “I’ll admit no such thing,” she says, as she marches toward the pool house and yanks open the door. I follow her inside, flicking the vibrator up all the way, just for added effect.

  “Oh God,” Belle says. She faces the wall, leaning with one hand over her head, and lets out an exasperated groan. But I don’t turn the vibrator off; I only turn it down. I’m not a monster, after all.

  Walking up behind her, I take her other hand and put it against the wall. She stands with both palms flat against the wall and her ass sticking out, and I run my hands along those curvy hips.

  “You’re not done yet, luv,” I tell her.

  She lets out a moan, long and low under her breath, her fingertips pressing against the wall. “It’s too much, Albie,” she says. “I’m so sensitive.”

  “Just come for me, Belle,” I whisper. “That’s twice now that you’ve come and I didn’t get to hear it. I want to hear you moan.”

  “I…oh God,” she groans. “Screw you, Albie.”

  “Not yet, luv,” I say, letting my hands graze the length of her evening gown, squatting as I follow it down to where it falls on the ground. I pull the entire thing up around her waist, draping it across her bare ass. “But soon.”

  “Oh God,” she says again, arching up her back as she presses her hands firmly against the wall. The movement has the added effect of pushing back her perfect ass at me, and I run my palms over her smooth skin.

  “Oh, Albie,” I tell her, one hand caressing her ass cheek. “That’s what I want to hear you say. That, and please. Please make me come, Albie.”

  “I’m not begging you,” she says, her voice strained. Then, “That feels so good.”

  Running my palm over her ass, I draw my hand back and bring it down hard, the crack reverberating through the room.

  “Damn it, Albie,” she says, then moans. And she doesn’t move. She shakes her hair, tossing her head back, and I realize something.

  She likes it.

  “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” I ask. “You’re so close to coming, and you liked my hand on your ass, spanking you.”

  “Maybe,” she whispers, looking at me over her shoulder.

  I reach between her legs, my fingertips brushing along the length of her pussy lips. “You’re drenched,” I say. “Soaked. You fucking love this. Say it. You want me to make you come.”

  “I’m not saying it,” she says. “I won’t beg.”

  I bring my hand down on the opposite cheek, and she flinches. But she doesn’t stand up and walk away. She arches her ass out more. I caress the red mark that’s rapidly spreading across the expanse of her skin, while she moans low under her breath.

  “Say it, luv,” I tell her, reaching between her legs from behind until I find her clit with my fingertip. But I don't move my finger. I just press it gently on her clit. “Tell me how much you want me. You want me inside you. You want to feel me, coming inside you.”

  “Albie,” she says, groaning loudly, her frustration evident.

  "Belle."<
br />
  "What?" her eyes are closed, her forehead wrinkled, and I know how much she wants to let go.

  "You're the only one I want to make come. Not Erika, not anyone else. Do you understand? Now say what I want to hear."

  “Yes." She whispers the word so softly that I barely hear it.

  I don’t move. I know she’s close. I know she’s on the edge, so close to coming, and I want to send her hurtling over the edge. “Yes, what, luv?”

  She groans again. “Yes, I want you inside me. Yes, I want you to make me come.”

  “Not enthusiastic enough,” I tell her. But I finally move my finger on her clit. “You want to come. You want release. All you have to do is tell me how much you want it.”

  “Oh my God, Albie,” she whispers. “Please.”

  The please is what gets me. It’s the please, coming from Little Miss Do-Gooder, Miss Propriety, that kills me.

  But I can’t stand not seeing it on her face. I want to see the expression on her face when she comes.

  When I take my fingers away from her clit, she practically cries, until I spin her around and push her roughly against the wall. Yanking the piles of fabric of her dress up, I thrust my fingers between her legs, returning them where they were on her clit, and she practically melts against me.

  It takes all the willpower I have not to crush her mouth under mine, but I want to see her face as I roll my fingers over her clit, faster now. “Come for me, luv,” I tell her. “I want to hear you say my name.”

  “Fuck,” she says, clutching at my wrist, pressing my hand against her pussy as she jerks involuntarily, a full-body spasm. “Albie. Oh my…holy shit, Albie.”

  The expression when she comes is the hottest thing I've ever seen. Her eyes are closed and her face is angled up toward mine, her lips barely parted. I savor it for all of a split second before flicking off the vibrator.

  I don't wait for her to finish. Instead, I slide my fingers along her pussy lips until I reach her entrance. I find the vibrating egg easily. Her slickness makes sliding it from her the simplest thing in the world. I toss it on the floor with the remote, not caring if they shatter into a million pieces.