Albie
Belle and I have been sneaking around for a month now. It’s a miracle we haven’t gotten caught. The bodyguards suspect something, I’m sure. Nothing gets past Noah, but he hasn’t said a word. He just nods and gives me a look when I make one of my many excuses before disappearing. He likes Belle, though; I can tell. But he hasn’t said a word.
I’ve gotten lots of crap from Price for avoiding the social scene, the clubs and bullshit and picking up women.
I thought I’d get tired of Belle. When I hooked up with her the first time, I swore to myself it would be a one-time only thing. We’d screw and get it out of our systems, and that would be that. That’s how it’s gone before. Every other time in my life, it’s been that way. I’m fine with bedding a girl and then walking away.
Every time but this time.
Belle is an addiction. She’s a drug I can’t get enough of. I can’t stop fucking her – taking her in the secret passageways that separate our rooms, in the tree house in the woods, up against the wall in the library, or on the sofa in the observatory. I want my mouth on hers, my cock inside her all the time.
But the most unfamiliar feeling of all is that I want her outside of the bedroom. I find myself wanting to know what she wants from life, the things that make her happy.
She likes tea but not coffee. She scrapes the frosting off cake before she eats it. Only eats the top half of a muffin. Snorts when she laughs, then clasps her hand over her mouth to hide it.
She wants to help people. She has opinions about world politics and government policy. She lies on her back in my bed at two in the morning, her head in the crook of my arm, talking about things she wants from life, gesturing animatedly and trying to keep her voice low.
I’ve never laid in bed and listened to anyone talk at two in the morning before. But this girl…I find myself hanging on every word that rolls off her tongue.
As the summer draws to a close, my father and Belle’s mother have been busier with the wedding preparations. The royal wedding is the political-social event of the decade in Protrovia, after all. The retreat to the summerhouse has become less of a retreat than the headquarters for wedding planning central, with Sofia Kensington as the general.
Alexandra is bitter about it. Today, she and I are sitting outside on teak lounge chairs in the middle of the gardens, a sprawling labyrinth of flowers and fountains that spreads out across the lawn behind the house. Belle is at the hospital, reading stories to the children on the pediatric cancer ward.
Belle has been going to the hospital every week for the past month, despite the PR team’s opinion that it was “beneath her” as a princess. She should do charity work, they said, just not volunteer work. Belle rolled her eyes and told the PR team that it was up to them to figure out how best to spin her regular volunteer work, because she was going to continue what she was doing. Whether they liked it or not.
“Albie,” Alexandra says, as she scrolls through social media on her phone. She's slouched in the chair, her feet kicked over the edge. “You know we could just ditch out on the wedding.”
I give her a look. “I don’t think Sofia is that bad,” I say. “Dad really loves her, and we're not going to skip the wedding. That would be terrible, and would hurt our father, and I don’t think you’re that hateful of a person.”
Alex rolls her eyes. “Sofia is stuffy,” she says. “And she’s too interested in politics. Mom was never interested in politics.”
“Don’t you want him to be happy?”
Alex gives me a scathing look. “You mean instead of disappointed with us?”
“Maybe he’s not disappointed.” Belle’s voice cuts through the air. She stands behind us, silhouetted by the sun and looking radiant in a light yellow cotton dress. The dress is perfectly appropriate, chaste-looking even, reaching down below her knees.
And it has the effect of making me totally hard.
Alex laughs. “Yeah, well, no offense, but you’ve only been around this place for like a minute.”
Belle shrugs as she sits down on the edge of one of the teak chairs opposite me, crossing her legs at the ankles. I try to look at her casually, like a disinterested, friendly soon-to-be-sibling, but I'm afraid I'm staring. What I really want to do is pick her up and carry her to my bedroom. Or kick Alex out of here and have my way with Belle right here and now. “And that is why I’m saying something,” she says. “As an outsider. Maybe he just worries about you guys.”
“He hates all of my friends.”
“You mean, like Finn Asher?” I ask. “No offense, but that guy is an idiot.”
“Well, maybe I like him,” Alex huffs.
“We both know that’s not true,” I say, looking at her meaningfully. Her face turns beet red, and she stands up, her expression contorted in anger.
“Whatever, Albie,” she says, picking up her phone and huffing off, without another word.
“What was that about?” Belle asks.
“You haven’t noticed her and Max?” I ask.
“The bodyguard?”
“She totally has a crush on him,” I tell her. “I’m pretty sure it’s mutual.”
“Oh,” Belle says, her eyes going wide. “That’s why he was so upset when she went running off with Finn, the day we came up in the helicopter.”
“Exactly.”
“And she likes him?”
“For a while now.”
“And she can’t date the bodyguard because…” Belle’s voice trails off, and I give her a look.
“For obvious reasons.”
“It’s 2015,” Belle says.
“Says the girl who’s sneaking around with –“
She cuts me off, her hand in the air. “I get what you’re saying.”
A look passes over her face, and something shifts between us, an unspoken truth that hangs heavy in the air.
This will be over soon, and there’s no changing it. We both know we’re playing with fire. I still haven’t gotten the marriage annulled, afraid that if I do, whatever’s happening between us will suddenly change and that everything will end. This time at the summerhouse is a reprieve, an escape from the reality of the outside world and all of its obligations and expectations.
What’s happening between us has an expiration date. We have to stop before our parents' wedding. We both know it – it’s a fact that hangs over both of us.
It’s an unspoken, immutable fact.
Even if neither one of us want to admit it.
"I need you." I blurt out the words without thinking. The words sound merely sexual, but I think I mean them in more than a superficial way.
That fact should terrify me, but for some reason, it doesn't.
Belle blushes. "Not here," she whispers.
"Why not?"
Belle cocks her head to the side and looks at me with a sly smile. "You're getting too bold for your own good.”
"No one has caught us yet."
"Yet is the operative word," she says.
"No one is outside, luv.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Let me see what you’re wearing under that dress.”
She rolls her eyes, acting perturbed, but she can’t hide the trace of smile that caresses her lips. She uncrosses her ankles, and looks around furtively before she opens her legs, her fingers pulling the edge of her skirt up on her thigh. She does it casually, like she’s adjusting her dress and not at all like she’s sitting across from me and giving me a show.
“You’re wearing panties,” I say. “I’m disappointed.”
“I was at the hospital,” she says, shaking her head.
“That’s the only reason I’m excusing it.”
“You’re excusing it?” she asks, laughing. The sound is light, melodic. “How noble of you.”
“I am a prince.”
“You’re a prince among men, I’m sure.”
“I want your pussy on my face,” I say. “I’ve been fucking craving the taste of you.”
A pink flush rises on Belle’s cheeks. “Out here?”
I look around, my eyes resting on a space on the other side of the garden where ten-foot-tall manicured bushes edge a space near one of the fountains. “Walk over there.”
“Do you really think I’m going to just do everything you tell me to do?” she asks, the hint of a smile still on her lips.
“So you don’t want my mouth on your pussy, then?”
Belle stands up, smoothing her dress over her hips and turning up her nose at me, before walking slowly over to that area of the garden.
Just like I told her to do.
I wait a minute, before joining her. “You always do what you’re told,” I say, kissing her full on the lips.
She pushes me back playfully. “You’re such a jerk.”
“I don’t hear you complaining when my tongue is between your legs,” I say. “Speaking of which, I’m going to need these.”
I reach underneath her skirt, pulling the edge of her panties and sliding them over her hips. They fall to the ground, catching on her heels, and when she tries to kick them, they tangle. I kneel at her feet, picking them up and slip them into my pocket.
Belle laughs. “Are you keeping my panties?”
“Are you surprised?” I slide my hands up her calf, then higher to her thigh, relishing the way she jumps at my touch – and the way I know that twitch is because she likes it.
“No,” she whispers as my fingers wander between her legs, finding her already wet. She’s wet so quickly for me, no matter what.
It makes me crazy.
I stroke her lightly with my fingertip, moving over her clit before finding her entrance and teasing her gently with my finger. “You’re wet for me,” I note.
“That’s what happens when you tell me you want to put your mouth on my pussy,” she says, her voice catching as I slide a finger easily inside her.
“Noted,” I say, stroking her. “So if I tell you that all afternoon, I’ve been sitting here pretending to read, but really I’ve been just thinking about how much I want you to sit on my face…”
“That would make…me…wet,” she says. Her voice is breathy as I stroke her.
“And if I told you that I was thinking all afternoon about how much I want my tongue inside you, licking you…how much I wanted your taste on my lips…”
“Albie…” she moans softly.
“I love hearing you moan my name.” I slide my finger from her and replace it with my mouth, my tongue exploring her, teasing her, rolling over and over her clit. She’s like nothing I’ve ever had before, and I can’t get enough of her.
But when I pull away from her and stand, she groans. “Don’t tease me,” she whispers.
“I told you I was thinking about you sitting on my face,” I tell her. “That’s where I want you.”
Belle looks around. Her breath is still short, her breasts rising and falling quickly underneath her dress. “Out here?”
“Out here,” I say.
“In the grass?”
“Stop being so prissy,” I say. “You’re not a princess yet.”
“I’m not being prissy,” she says, huffing. “You’re asking me to sit on your face, outside in broad daylight.”
“I’m asking you to sit on my face and put my cock in your mouth,” I whisper, my lips near her ear. “Outside in broad daylight. And I know the thought makes you wet.”
“You’re a bad influence on me,” she whispers, her hands running down my chest.
“I hope so,” I say.
Despite her protest, she straddles me on the ground without further objection. The fabric of her skirt falls around my face and tents me. She rises up on her knees, hovering over my mouth, her movements tentative as she pulls up the front of her skirt and peers between her legs at me. “Is this okay?”
Her hesitation makes me laugh. “Stop worrying, and wrap your lips around my cock.”
“God, you’re so crude.”
“I know you worship me, but really, you don’t need to refer to me as a deity,” I say, pulling her down onto my face before she can object. I enjoy the little squeal she lets out when my mouth covers her pussy. I lose myself in her taste, in the fact that she doesn’t do what I say immediately, doesn’t reach down and pull my cock out of my pants and wrap her lips around it. She sits up, riding my face, her hips grinding against me as I eat her.
I imagine what she looks like sitting on my face out here in the garden, her hands running over her breasts, her head tossed back so that her hair spills over her shoulders and down her back. The image of her riding me outside here, throwing yet another inhibition to the wind, makes me want to explode.
When she reaches between my legs, unzipping my pants and wrapping her fingers around my cock, I think I actually might explode at her touch.
Her mouth is like heaven. It’s warm and wet and she takes me in deeper than she has before, so deep that I swear I can’t go any farther. Then she pulls back, stroking the base of my cock and teasing me with an open mouth. The head of my cock hits her tongue. “Look at all that pre-cum,” she whispers.
I pull her away from my mouth so I can speak, knowing my warm breath on her pussy will only make her hotter. “I want to hear how much you love the taste.”
She laughs, pushing her pussy down onto my face to shut me up, and I eat her greedily. I thrust my tongue inside her until she’s bucking against me, beginning to lose control as she strokes me, her movements jerky. When she finally brings her tongue back to the head of my cock, she rolls it over and over, licking me.
Tasting me.
“I love the way it tastes,” she says, her voice husky. She rubs her finger on the head, massaging the tip before sliding her hand down the shaft. “You’re so full. Your balls are so heavy. I know you want to come. I want you to come for me.”
Fuck.
She wraps her lips around my cock, stroking me in short hard bursts as I devour her pussy. She’s not holding back any longer. All of her inhibitions are gone. Now, she fucks my face with abandon, grinding against me as I lick her clit, sucking even harder when I slide my fingers inside her pussy, one finger pressing against her asshole.
I can’t stop thinking about the filthy way she just talked to me.
I love the way it tastes.
I know you want to come.
She moans as she sucks me, her pussy swollen around my fingertips. I can’t hold back any longer. My balls clench tightly, and I let go, flooding her mouth. As soon as I do, I hear her scream her orgasm. The sound is muffled by my cock and she grinds her pussy against my face as she comes.
Afterward, she crawls away from my face on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at me as she straddles me with her legs on either side of my face. “What are you doing to me?”
The better question is what is Belle doing to me? This girl is consuming me, taking possession of everything I am.
And I think I like it.
34
Belle
I roll over. Albie’s naked chest is underneath me, and I'm still half-asleep as I listen to the beating of his heart underneath my ear. Mid-morning light streams through the windows in my room.
My bedroom.
Albie.
Shit.
“Oh my God, Albie,” I hiss, unable to hide the panic in my voice. I sit bolt upright in bed. “You need to get back to your room. You fell asleep in here last night.”
Albie groans as he rolls over and pulls me against his hardness. “Mmm-hmm,” he says. His fingers find their way down my stomach and between my legs. “Just five more minutes.”
“No,” I insist. “Seriously. Noah is going to realize you’re not in your room.”
“Killjoy,” he says, slapping me on the ass before he slides out of bed.
“We’re getting too comfortable,” I call to his retreating form as he disappears into the bathroom.
We’re getting way too comfortable, far too blatant in our sneaking around. It’s
one thing to be hooking up the way we’ve been, but spending the night? That’s just dangerous.
It’s an unacceptable risk.
Albie ambles slowly across the bedroom to pick up his pants and shirt from the floor. He doesn’t appear the least bit concerned about being caught wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday, doing a royal walk of shame back to his room, even if it’s through the secret passageway. “You worry too much,” he says.
“You don’t worry enough.”
“Life is too short to worry,” he says. “In fact, I have something that might ease your anxiety.”
“That is not going to help my anxiety,” I say, laughing as he walks to the bed and starts to climb on top of me. I push playfully at his chest. “You’re going to get us in trouble. That doesn’t help me feel less anxious.”
“No?” he asks, bringing his mouth to a spot just below my ear. A chill runs up my spine at his touch, my body immediately sensitive.
“Definitely not.”
“Then I must not be doing it right,” he says, trailing kisses down the side of my neck before his warm mouth finds my breast. He presses his tongue against my nipple, and it hardens immediately at the sensation. “Oh, and by the way, you should make sure to forget your panties under your skirt at the charity event tonight.”
Heat surges through my body at the thought of being with Albie again at a public event. “No vibrators this time,” I whisper.
Albie’s hand finds its way between my legs, and he murmurs his approval at my wetness. Of course, that shouldn’t be surprising to him. He has an uncanny ability to turn me on with a mere glance, to evoke a response from my body with a word. “I can promise there won’t be any vibrators, luv,” he says.
He slides easily inside me and I let my eyes close for just a moment, savoring the feeling of his bare cock, the coolness of his metal piercing before it warms with my heat. “No vibrator means you have something else up your sleeve,” I say, my words punctuated with sharp intakes of breath as he thrusts slowly.
“I’m not sure what you mean, luv,” he says, the trace of a smile on his lips. “I’m offended that you think I’d do something inappropriate to you at your own charity event.”
Double Team: A Menage Romance Page 51