“I already told you, luv. My dad has a thing about cameras. They’re only in the public spaces,” I say. “This wing isn’t considered public.”
I wave my key card over the door and the green light flashes when it unlocks. “Come on,” I say. “Don’t be a scared kitten.”
“A scared kitten?”
“Isn’t that the American phrase?”
“You mean scaredy-cat,” she says, laughing. The door closes with a heavy thud, and I step close to her.
I shrug. “Exactly.”
“Not quite,” she says. She takes the edge of her lip between her teeth.
“Scared pussy.”
“That’s definitely not right,” she says, giggling, and I don’t let her keep laughing. I bring my mouth down hard on hers, harder than before. She moans as her tongue wars with mine.
I’ve kissed a lot of girls, but this kiss is something else entirely. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you need more, and I’m not used to needing anything.
“So you’re saying that your pussy isn’t nervous at all, then?” I ask when I pull away.
“I’m not saying anything about my pussy.”
“It didn’t seem nervous to me a few minutes ago,” I say. “I should refresh my memory, though.”
I reach for her, and she backs away from my grasp, nearly catching her foot on the hem of her dress. When she doesn’t fall she just laughs. I reach for her again, and she runs, giggling, across the wooden floor of the throne room and down the purple carpet that leads up the stairs to the thrones.
She stops short in front of the thrones. “We shouldn’t be in here,” she says. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”
“We aren’t going to get caught,” I tell her. “No one is back this way. The room is locked. It’s not even one of the regular patrol stops for the guards.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been sneaking out of the palace since I was thirteen, luv,” I say. “There’s not a part of this place I don’t know like the back of my hand.”
Belle looks away, touching the edge of the throne gingerly and drawing her hand back like she’s afraid to touch it. “It’s the throne room,” she says. “We should leave. It’s just wrong to be in here.”
“Why?” I ask. “God, you’re such a good girl.”
“I am not a good girl.”
“Says the girl who’d never smoked weed until tonight?” I ask, flopping down onto my father’s throne.
Belle’s eyes go wide. “You can’t just sit there.”
“Says who?” I ask. “Do you know how rarely this room gets used?”
“Well, you can’t just barge in and lounge around on the throne like it’s a recliner,” she says.
“Says who?” I ask, spreading my legs wide and putting my arms behind my head. “I’m a prince. I can do whatever I want, luv.”
“You’re a cocky prick,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“In fact, I’m the Crown Prince of Protrovia. You should be kneeling in front of me,” I say, sitting up.
“You’re hilarious.” She stands in front of me with her hands on her hips, looking so damn uppity that even though I was kidding before, I’m suddenly no longer joking.
I want Belle to kneel in front of me, those lush lips parted, her tongue outstretched.
I want her to kneel at my feet and take my cock in her mouth.
I want to come in that perfect little mouth. Right here in the throne room.
My cock hardens at the thought, and I don’t even bother to try to pretend differently.
“I wasn’t joking,” I say, my voice thick. “On your knees, Belle.”
Her eyes linger on mine, and then drop lower, down to the obvious erection tenting my tuxedo pants. “Oh,” she says, more of an exhale than an actual coherent word.
“Oh isn’t an answer, Belle,” I say, slowly undoing my pants. “The right answer is Yes, Your Highness.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I’m not ever calling you Your Highness.”
“You need to be taught royal manners.”
“Is that a threat?” she asks. She looks at me with a strange mixture of impish innocence and total deviousness.
“It’s a promise that I’ll be the one to teach you, luv,” I say. “And you’re awfully cavalier, for someone who’s standing before the ruler of a country.”
“You’re not the ruler of a country,” she says. But she steps toward me, her eyes going lower as I slide my pants down, take out my cock, and stroke it lightly, aware of her steady gaze.
“You really are pierced,” she says, inhaling deeply.
“You’re still standing,” I note. “I do believe I asked you to kneel.”
Belle stands there unmoving for a moment, the expression on her face changing as she looks at me with unwavering focus. The lust in her eyes betrays her. “You’re such a dick,” she says.
And she kneels.
She grasps the sides of her dress, pulling it up daintily, and kneels before the throne.
She kneels before my cock.
Her dress billows around her on the floor, her breasts practically spilling out of the tightly fitted top. Her hair pulled off her shoulders and piled on her head, the dress she’s wearing…she looks like she stepped off the pages of a magazine.
She looks like a doll. My own personal, slightly disheveled Cinderella.
Her lips fall open, parting just enough so that I can’t help but picture her mouth wrapped around me.
My dick twitches in response to the very idea.
“And yet, the thought of my cock in your mouth makes you wet, doesn’t it?” I ask. I know it’s true. I know she’s soaked just by the look she gives me when I ask the question. “I know that underneath that dress, you’re throbbing at the thought of tasting me. Tell me.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I want your cock in my mouth.”
I slide forward, the tip of my dick near her face, and her mouth falls open like a reflex, her tongue on the edge of her lips.
But I don’t give her my cock. Not yet. I reach around to the back of her hair, to that ridiculously appropriate updo of hers, and grab a handful before it tumbles over her shoulders. “I want those sweet lips of yours on me, Belle."
Belle directs her dark eyes to me, watching me as she wraps her hand around the base of my cock. Her eyes stay on mine while she licks me slowly, her movements languid as she moves over the head of my cock before she envelopes me in her mouth.
That mouth.
That warm and wet and perfect mouth.
I groan as she takes me in, running my hands through her hair and pulling it away from her face so I can watch her work her mouth over me. She makes little moaning sounds when she sucks me, her eyes closing each time she pulls back on the length of my cock, like she’s savoring the sensation of me in her mouth.
My groan seems to spur her on. She works me over, easing me deeper and deeper into her mouth until she’s practically inhaling me, swallowing me so far that it's all I can do to keep from coming down the back of her throat. I watch her head bob up and down on my length, her tongue working magic for what seems like an eternity until I can’t possibly take it any longer. When she brings me to the edge, I have to grab a handful of hair and wrench her away.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, looking at me with disappointment.
“God, no,” I whisper. “I just don’t want to come like that. I want to come inside you, luv."
24
Belle
I stand there in my designer dress, in front of the throne of Protrovia, as Prince Albert unwraps a condom and rolls it onto his length. I'm mesmerized by his cock. My mouth aches for him, mimicking the throbbing between my legs that is so incredibly insistent.
“You’re staring,” he says.
“You can wear a condom over the piercing?”
“Are you disappointed?” he asks, drawing me to him. His hardness presses up against my belly, and I instantly regret the fac
t that I’m still wearing my dress. I want to rip it off. I want to feel his nakedness against mine, his skin against my skin. "I'll take it off, if you'd like."
I want him inside me, bare.
I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. I want to feel his piercing inside me, pressing up against me.
But I don’t want to tell him that.
I can’t tell him that.
“No,” I say, my voice wavering. “I just…didn’t know you could.”
He doesn’t answer. He just brings his mouth down hard on mine, his kiss punishing in its intensity. My heart beats furiously in my chest as his tongue finds mine, and he kisses me until I feel like I'm drowning. I lose myself in his kiss, until there’s nothing left, no thoughts about anything except the two of us in this room.
“Don’t lie to me,” he whispers. “You were thinking about fucking me without one, weren’t you?”
Yes.
“I was wondering how the piercing would feel,” I admit. “That’s all.”
Liar.
Albie grins. “Don’t worry, luv,” he says. “You’ll still feel it.”
A fresh wave of anxiety courses through me as he looks down at me with those periwinkle-colored eyes. I’m suddenly nervous, despite the fact that this should be the least awkward part of the evening, considering the fact that my soon-to-be-stepsister thought the remote control to my vibrator was a bomb detonator.
Albie senses my hesitation. “Worried?” he asks.
“Never,” I lie.
He pulls at the fabric on the sides of my dress, lifting it up until it bunches around my waist, and slips his fingers between my legs. “Your body definitely isn’t nervous.”
As his fingers slide over my wetness, a whimper escapes my lips, needy and unbidden. “No,” I whisper.
“Even now, you're still saying no?” he asks, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips.
“No, I’m not nervous,” I lie again. I run my hands over this muscular chest, flinching as his muscles twitch underneath my palms, then down his well-defined abs.
Touching him like this, how could I not be a little nervous?
“I haven’t stopped thinking about your pussy since I met you,” he says. “Tasting you, touching you, being inside you…it’s consuming me.”
“I want you inside me,” I whisper.
“Do you?” he asks, sliding his hands under my ass to pick me up. He carries me toward the throne. “Because I seem to recall you saying the words, I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last prince on earth.”
“I don’t remember saying that,” I tease.
I remember exactly what I said.
Don’t make me remember that I said that.
“No?” he asks, setting me down in front of the throne. He spins me around and yanks the fabric of my skirt up before pulling me against him. His hardness presses against my ass and the only thing I can think of is how badly I want to feel him inside me.
“Maybe you misheard me,” I say, my breath hitching in my throat as his hands wander over my ass, his fingers spreading me.
“Yes, I’m sure that's what happened,” he says. His warm breath plays along my neck, and when he sweeps my hair off the nape of my neck, goose bumps sprinkle my arms. “So tell me now, how badly do you want me?”
“Please,” I say, closing my eyes and surrendering to his touch. He plants kisses along the back of my neck that make me whimper.
I could go. I could tell him no, and turn around and walk away.
I could do the appropriate thing.
But I don't. Instead, I say it again. "Please."
He growls, like an animal, a long low sound in his throat. “Get up,” he says. “Kneel, on the throne.”
I don’t even ask why. I don’t object, and I don’t question.
I just do what he tells me to do.
I kneel on the throne, facing away from him, every inch of my body screaming for his touch and my pussy throbbing for sweet release.
“I’m going to take my time with you, Belle,” he says, and I cringe at the thought.
I don’t want him to take his time with me.
I want to be fucked.
“But not today,” he says, kneeling behind me on the throne, as if he can read my mind. “Now, I’m going to fuck you, the way I think you want to be fucked – hard and fast and filthy.”
“Yes.” I barely choke out the word before he’s pressing against my entrance. "Oh God, yes."
Gripping the sides of the throne, I brace myself as he slides inside me without hesitation or mercy. His thick hard cock fills me up fully and completely. My hands find their place on the back of the throne as Albie’s slide over my hips, gripping me tightly.
"Oh hell," he says. “It’s like you were made to fit me.”
I murmur something, suddenly rendered incoherent. I can barely register what he's saying, let alone think rationally, not when he's doing what he's doing with his cock.
He fucks me, his initial thrusts slow and short, but only for a moment before I beg him to fuck me harder.
And he does. Gripping my waist, he fucks me with deep, forceful thrusts, his piercing pressing up against the most sensitive spot inside me.
“That’s how you like it, isn’t it, luv?”
“Yes.”
I can’t speak any other words but that one. Yes.
My head is yanked back as he grips a handful of hair and wraps the length of it around his hand, sending a shock of pain through my body. And instead of being a turn-off, the way that I think it would be, it’s the exact opposite. It intensifies everything.
He fucks me, his grip on my hair, pulling on it like a leash.
I can’t think about anything except his cock.
My whole world right now is his cock.
I accidentally blurt out the word “cock,” because of course I do. And I immediately flush with embarrassment when he laughs, the vibration ricocheting through my body. “What, luv?” he asks. “You were praising my cock?”
God, he’s such an arrogant prick.
I think those words, but they don’t come out of my mouth because I can’t articulate anything except yes.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
Over and over.
I’m reduced to an incoherent, babbling idiot who can only say yes.
He grasps my breasts – not gently or tenderly. He pinches my nipples between his thumb and forefingers as he fucks me. And he talks to me, low in my ear, telling me all the dirty things he wants to do to me. “I’m going to keep fucking you because you’re mine, Belle."
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
I let go, savoring every sensation that washes over me as he brings me closer and closer to the edge – his hands on my breasts as he pulls me back against him, the warmth of his breath against my ear, his tongue flicking over the edge of my earlobe.
And that cock.
“Tell me how much you love me fucking you, Belle,” he says, his voice strained. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Oh God,” I breathe. “Yes, please.”
“Say it.”
“Fuck me.”
He slaps my ass cheek, the crack loud in the stillness of the room. “Say it, Belle.”
“Yes.”
He delivers a second slap hard against my rear. “Fuck, Belle,” he says. “Say it. Say you want me to come inside you.”
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
“Oh God, yes.” It’s all I can say, pleasure rolling over me like a tidal wave, coursing through me from my head to my toes.
He yanks my hair and a shock of pain surges through me. “I want…to hear…the words,” he says, his voice gruff.
Then he pauses. He pauses, completely still inside me. I’m on the verge of coming, and I can’t remember what he wants me to say. My pussy throbs around him, my body pleading with him to thrust inside me again.
So I just say please.
“Fuck.” He lets out a loud groan. “Touch yourself, Belle. Now.”
He thrusts inside me, his movements swift, purposeful. Deep. And with a sense of urgency. The tip of his cock – his piercing – presses against me, sending pulse after pulse of pleasure soaring through me that only intensifies as I move my finger over my clit, faster and faster.
Everything about this is primal. This is not romantic sex, slow and languid and loving.
It’s fucking.
And it's the best thing on this fucking earth.
“Belle,” he says, his voice strained. “Come for me, Belle. Now.”
And I do.
I let go, a loud moan escaping my lips before his hand clamps down over my mouth to mute me. When he thrusts inside me, saying my name as he brings me over the edge, I come, harder than I've ever come before. Harder than I could ever imagine coming. I crash over the edge, blinding white-hot pleasure that obliterates my awareness of everything else.
Afterward, I’m trembling in his arms, my heart racing so fast I think it might explode. Albie slides his arms around my chest, hugging me to him. “You’re shaking,” he whispers.
“I don’t know why,” I say.
Probably because I just had the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life.
He squeezes me tighter against his chest, and puts his lips to the side of my neck. "Because I blew your fucking mind, luv."
"No one's mind was blown," I lie.
Totally mind-blowing.
What's not mind-blowing is the awkward silence that follows, as my lust-addled brain begins to clear, and the realization of where we are and what we've just done sets in.
He shrugs back into his tuxedo, and I fix my dress, arrange my hair back into something vaguely resembling the updo that I came in here with, and steel myself to do the walk of shame right out of this room.
It's my first time doing a walk of shame, and I'm doing one out of the throne room in a freaking palace, after screwing my soon-to-be stepbrother.
Classy, Isabella.
I can picture my mother saying the words, her mouth turned down into a scowl. Actually, no. Scratch that. I can't even begin to imagine how she's react, especially given the fact that she was "devastated" by my broken engagement.
Double Team: A Menage Romance Page 45