by Lana Hartley
“Imagine all the music we can write,” he snickers.
A distinct rustling sound catches my attention, and I worry perhaps we’re being watched.
Is it Vincent? I look over at the door to the conservatory room, but no one is there. He could have been though, seconds earlier before the noise faded to silence.
Nathan caresses my face as he studies me, his brows furrowed in concern. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I say and I rise up on top of him. All twelve inches of his cock slides inside of me, filling me to the hilt.
I ride him slowly, building my momentum to a steady and hard pace. His rough hands keep a tight grip around my hips, his fingers probing roughly into my flesh. I look down and gaze into his brown eyes and the lustful darkness in his appearance sends me over the edge. I circle my hips, grinding against his thick length, but suddenly my eyes cut to the door again. Why am I so paranoid?
Nathan stills inside me and tightens his grip on my hip. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod and focus on working my pussy up and down his length. Me and then I rise up again and ride him and ride him and ride him, harder and harder and harder.
My core tightens as heat rushes through me, my orgasm right on the cusp of explosion. Nathan’s lips part as he wraps his long fingers around my neck, his thumb pressing into my throat as he takes control of each thrust he pounds up into me. His back bows off the piano and his face contorts painfully as he spills inside of me. A ravenous roar rips through his chest, spurring a whimpered mewl from my lips as my orgasm crashes into his release. I collapse against his chest and look outside at the garden. The sky is a brighter blue now. Nathan’s breathing is rampant as he calms himself, peppering kisses across my face and neck just as he always does after we’ve had sex.
I think about what he told me earlier about the nightmares. I imagine him waking up in the middle of the night, terrified of this woman who haunts his dreams, his gorgeous body covered in sweat. Who is she? I wonder as I hold him.
“When did they start?” I ask. We sit up, and I drink his whiskey. I pass it to him, and he takes a few swigs then passes it back to me.
“When I was about fourteen.”
“Did anything happen before then?”
He has his arm draped around my lower back and my face is against his chest. He takes his time answering me. I think this is hard for him to talk about.
He squeezes me and kisses the top of my head.
“I don’t know…” he says.
Morning breaks through the sky with birdsong and just like night has ended, so has Nathan’s dark story. He’s not going to talk about it anymore, but at the same time, he’s started to open up to me, and I appreciate it. I want to show him how much I appreciate it.
“Nathan,” I whisper. He looks at me; his eyes are sleepy and soft. I run my fingers through his hair, straightening it out.
“You don’t get up early ever do you? You’re not a morning person,” I say. He looks at me with a stare that holds a lot of stillness. Our clothes are still all over the conservatory. I’m a little nervous that someone will come in here, because this is the choice room to have breakfast or sip on that first delicious morning cup of Joe.
But nothing is going to ruin this for me. I want to do it to him now, and I want to do it to him in this room.
He is lying across the top of the piano. There’s so much I want to ask him, and not just about whatever it was that happened in his childhood to start such bad dreams.
“Did you have a piano when you were a kid?” I ask him.
“Uhhh…” His voice is groggy and raspy this time of morning. Oh my. It gets me wet. I run my hand along his body and down his smooth ripped chest.
“Yeah, well, my mom did.”
It’s his mom, I somehow think this, the woman in the dream. Why do I think this? I’m also kind of obsessed with the feeling that we were being watched last night by someone.
These thoughts mess with me, but only for a minute. Pretty soon I’m back to what I want to do this morning, before anyone comes in here with mouthy morning thoughts, randomness they feel the need to share.
I can already smell breakfast being whipped up—delicious eggs, biscuits, gravy, sausage and bacon. I could go for some orange juice after this long night of lovemaking.
But there’s another kind of juice I want first.
I run my hands down his length, feeling the heaviness of his cock and balls. I crawl to my knees and trail my tongue up his cock and over the opening.
“Oh…” His body lifts from the piano in a graceful wave of appreciation.
“Baby,” I say. I trace my finger over his stomach, making the shape of a heart with it.
“Mmm…” He runs his hand through my hair and keeps his eyes closed as I make my way back down his body. I grab his thick cock and gently stroke it.
“Oh, Isadora.”
I picture the moment he comes, his perfect creamy cum shooting up and glazing his solid, muscular torso, and I will lick it up. This is inspiration for me to suck him harder.
I slip a hand under his bottom and sneak a finger to his asshole, and slip it up.
“OH! Oh god…oh…”
Does he like it? It’s hard to tell. I suck him harder as I continue to finger his asshole.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, in no time at all.
“Do you like it, baby?” I ask again, just to hear him say yes. I want to hear how scratchy his voice is in the morning.
“I do, I really do, Isadora…”
I penetrate my finger deeper and suck his cock back farther in my throat.
“Isa…dor…ahhhhhh…”
“God, I can’t wait for you to come,” I say. “I can’t wait to taste you.”
More delicious breakfast smells sweep down from the kitchen and into the conservatory, and I hear voices of workers milling about on the property and through the castle. Maybe it's the gardener, because I know he likes his coffee in the morning before he begins working. Or perhaps the maids and the chefs. The castle seems particularly busy for such an early morning.
Is something grand or special happening today?
I turn my concentration back to drawing an orgasm from Nathan, sucking him harder. Nathan doesn’t come easy sometimes, and it takes extra care and attention to make his release as pleasurable as he does for me. I squeeze a second finger inside his asshole and massage the soft walls.
“Oh…”
“You like that, boy?” I ask.
“Isadora,” is all he moans. His hips thrust upward, caressing the back of my throat with the head of his dick, urgently chasing his release. I think of all the times in the past when he’s come, how he tastes, and what an eruptive load he shoots. I want it really bad. I want it to douse us both the way the sun douses the conservatory this morning, the way the sun douses the outside and all those flowers in the garden. I hear voices near the conservatory, and I wonder if this excites Nathan. Does he enjoy it the risk of passers-by hearing his grunts and groans of seduction? Does he want us to get caught?
His eyes are hooded and glazed in desire, and I know it won’t be long before he bathes me in his come. I pull my fingers from his ass and trace soft circles over his balls, feeling them tighten as his orgasm climbs to the surface. His face contorts, and he looks helpless, like he’s being pulled down by a giant tidal wave of pleasure that’s about to break; it’s about to crash over my face like a wave of foamy hot cum. I can hear the low voices of a woman and a man coming closer to the conservatory, and Nathan’s breathing becomes heavier, panting rushed air from his chest. I know his release will be monumental, one big epic celebration of cum, as the head of his cock swells to bursting, spraying his velvety mixture all over my tongue. I drink him in, swallowing back every drop that he gives me. This is a beautiful start to the day.
Vincent
I shower and dress and then decide to head out to the conservatory to see what Nathan and Isadora ar
e up to. Well, I know what they're up to, but I wouldn't mind watching. I'm about to head down the stairs when I catch sight of the queen and the last person on earth I expect to see in this palace. Alex Richter. Alex Richter is one of the deadliest assassins in the world. He's brutal and efficient. He never fails to take out his target, and he’s a ghost. His crimes leave no evidence, just dead bodies. He’s ruthless and without mercy. Even among killers he’s feared. Only the powerful or most dangerous people in the world know his name. I know everything Richer is capable of, I've hired him in the past.
To say that he's dangerous is an understatement. If he's here with Ileana this must be why she cancelled her meeting with Nathan. What the fuck is she up to? Why the hell is she engaging an assassin? I need to find out. I step back concealing my presence in the shadows of the dim corridor. I resist the urge to charge down the hall and beat the answers I want out of Richter. There are million reasons why that wouldn't be smart right now. Besides I know a man like Richter would die before he'd give up his secrets. That’s one of the reasons he’s so highly paid, an indiscreet assassin is useless.
I strain my ears trying to hear what they're saying, but they’re too far away. Though I doubt highly I’d hear anything useful. Ileana and Richter aren’t going to be discussing the specifics of his assignment in a hallway, even one that appears empty. I suspect they're heading to Ileana's office. As soon as they disappear from my line of sight, I race down to the second floor. If I move quickly I can get to Ileana's office before they do. I rush down the hallway grateful that all of the staff seem to be hard at work and not wandering the hall. I take the back stairs two at a time, and arrive to find the hallway leading to the queen’s office empty.
Luck is on my side, and the door to Ileana’s office is unlocked. I slide quietly into Ileana's office and quickly look for a place to conceal my presence. I slip into the closet on the far side of the room just as I hear the click of Ileana's heels on the marble floor of the hallway. I silently shut the door just as Ileana and Richter enter the room.
“I appreciate you arriving so quickly, Alex,” Ileana says. She sounds friendly, almost intimate.
“Your highness, you know I’m always at your service for anything,” Richter says. I can hear the leer in his voice.
“Oh I know, Alex, and believe me, I do appreciate all of your skills,” Ileana purrs.
What the fuck is going on? This definitely isn’t her first meeting with Richter. I wonder how many there have been. The queen’s list of enemies has grown short over the years, and the reason why is clear to me now. The only question is who is going to be next. Whatever their relationship may be, this isn’t a social visit.
“You know, Alex, I wasn't sure the wedding was actually going to happen.”
“I'm surprised it did. The two princes have never made a secret of how much they dislike each other, but I know how persuasive you can be. I can’t imagine what secrets you must know about their families to have brokered this arrangement. It’s a brilliant piece of diplomacy.”
Ileana laughs, “You have no idea how brilliant.”
“But, Ileana, you didn’t bring me here to celebrate your diplomatic victory did you?”
“Not at all. I have a job for you, Alex?”
“Target?”
“Prince Nathan,” Ileana says smoothly. It takes every ounce of self-control to remain hidden and listen.
“This won’t be simple. The prince is a young man. You won’t be able to pass this off as a natural death.”
“I know,” Ileana relies unphased.
“Accident or suicide?” Alex asks.
“Murder,” Ileana says.
“Murder? You want it to look like an obvious assassination.”
“Not exactly. I want it to look like a crime of passion committed by Prince Vincent.”
My hands clench into fists at my side, and I can feel my rage coursing through my veins. I will myself to remain calm. I know exactly how Ileana’s plan ends. It’s diabolical and brilliant.
“Vincent’s temper is practically a thing of legend. And everyone knows how much he hates Nathan.”
“Indeed, they’ve been rivals since they were boys,” Richter says, understanding in his voice. He too no doubt has guessed Ileana’s end game.
“A jealous rage overtook him. He just couldn’t bare to share Isadora with Nathan for another day,” Ileana says in a tone of mock regret.
“Unfortunately,” Alex says, “The penalty for such a crime is death.”
“Unfortunately,” Ileana agrees. “Sadly with the death of both princes, I’ll be left ruler of all three countries.”
“Don’t you mean your daughter?”
“No I don't.” Ileana snaps. “Isadora doesn't have the real strength required to rule, to keep her enemies at bay. She'll come to me. She’ll have to. I'll be ruler or the entire region, and with the strength of three nations at my disposal who knows what I might do?”
“Who indeed?” Alex says.
“So you can do it?”
“I can do it, for a price of course.”
“Of course, how does one hundred million sound.”
“It sounds like Prince Nathan is a dead man.”
They both laugh.
“Not just yet, though,” Ileana says. “I need to plant suspicion. That shouldn't be too hard with Nathan, he’s always disliked Vincent, and with a push from me he'll have his spies investigating soon enough. They'll be the first to say that Vincent was dangerous and that Nathan was worried about his safety.”
“How long do you need?”
“A week should suffice.”
“A week it is then.”
I hear the scrape of chairs and dying footfalls. I wait for absolute silence before I risk opening the closet door. My blood is boiling; Ileana is truly evil. This the worst kind of treason, and I don't think Ileana will stop with Nathan or me. I think Isadora could be in danger as well. I'm not going to let anyone hurt Isadora, and I'm not about to be a pawn in Ileana's games. I have to speak to Nathan.
Nathan
“Where’s Isadora?” I hear Vincent’s voice behind me as I stand in front of the mirror buttoning my shirt. I’m about to make a joke about his rudeness, when I catch a glimpse of Vincent’s face in the mirror. The words on my lips. As I turn to face him, I can see anger burning in his eyes and worry creasing his brow.
“She’s in the bath,” I say
Vincent shuts the door that connects our chambers to Isadora’s and locks it. Clearly this is serious. He lowers himself into a chair. It looks like he’s carrying the weight of a thousand nations on his back.
I take a seat on the bench across from him. I wonder if something has gone terribly wrong at home while he’s been here for the wedding.
“What is it? I ask. Vincent looks like he wants to murder someone, perhaps several someone’s in extremely brutal ways. This can't be good, at all.
“I found out who the queen was meeting?” Vincent says, and his tone does nothing to alleviate my concerns. Obviously, whatever he found out is bad for him, or us.
“You did?” I ask quietly. I sense that if I push too quickly Vincent will explode, and I don’t need a fight—I need information. It’s clear from Vincent’s expression Ileana wasn’t choosing a surprise wedding present for the three of us. I wait patiently for Vincent to continue, although I’m starting to understand his desire to throttle people for information.
“Do you know a man named Alex Richter?” he asks.
Alex Richter, oh this is bad, very bad. I weigh my options. I debate telling Vincent that I only know Richter by reputation, but I think he’ll suspect I’m lying and I would be. I have made use of Richter before. I decide against deception. If this is to be a true alliance I have to trust Vincent, and clearly he trusts me or we wouldn’t be having this discussion at all.
“I know Richter,” I say simply.
“Then you know what he does.” Vincent nods in confirmation. “Ileana met with him in her
private office today.”
“Well, we've got to find out why Ileana is seeing him. Find out who her target it is.” I say.
“I know that,” Vincent says, looking down, his voice heavy.
“You do?”
“I saw them together before they saw me. I doubled back and was able to reach her office first. I hid in the closet and heard everything,” Vincent says.
I’m actually impressed with Vincent’s restraint. I know he probably wanted to beat the answers out of them, but Vincent still hasn’t told me who the target is and I’m starting to suspect. I feel dread and anger starting to claw its way through my blood.
“Who’s the target?” I ask, but I know the answer as soon as Vincent looks at me.
“You,” he says.
I take a deep breath. This wouldn’t be the first attempt on my life, but it is the first to come from so close to home. I spare a second to wonder if Vincent could be involved. I dismiss the thought immediately. For all his faults I know that if Vincent wanted to kill me, he would give the respect of doing it himself, and he would have tried a long time ago.
“I’ll kill her,” I say, getting up from the bench, “and I won’t need Richter to do it for me. “
“Nathan,” Vincent says sharply, rising to stand in front of me. He places a hand in the middle of my chest. It’s oddly comforting. “You can’t do that.”
I would comment on the irony of Vincent counselling caution, but I’m too pissed off. I want to wrap my hands around Ileana’s throat and watch the life leave her wicked eyes.
“There’s more,” Vincent says.
“More?” I force my emotions to calm. I need to be able to think, to plan, because someone is going to die and it most certainly isn’t going to be me.
“She told Richter she wants it to look like a murder,” he says.
“A murder?” I say.
“Yes and I’ll-” Vincent starts.
“Be blamed.” I finish his sentence. I begin to see the evil brilliance of her plan. It’s genius. I should have seen it from the start. I should have known that Ileana would try to seize power. “With me dead, and you to be executed, Isadora would be in control of the entire region.”