by Lexi Whitlow
Crawling between his legs, I run one of my hands up his leg to his thigh. I lean down to place a trail of kisses from his stomach to where his cock begins. He’s already hard and I keep kissing from the bottom to the side, all the way up to the underside if his Crown. I skip over the top and make my way slowly down the other side, teasing him, making every movement with purpose.
He loosely fists his hands in my hair and I like the feel of them there. When I get to the bottom of the other side I give him a single fat lick up the center of the underside until I reach the head. I circle him a couple of times before bobbing my head down on his length.
“Freya…” Andreas moans.
I keep a steady rhythm working him with my mouth, taking as much as I can with my mouth. His hands are a little tighter now but still giving me the freedom to move at my own pace.
I feel him, taste him, have him at my mercy. His skin is at once sweet and salty, and I realize how much I’ve missed waking up next to him—how much I missed this, all of it.
I suck harder and he shivers, goose bumps forming on his flesh. I let his cock go and replace my mouth with my hand, still stroking him. I lean down farther to lick and suck the underside of his balls and he twitches from the attention.
“I’m not going to be able to last if you keep it up,” he warns.
I keep going. “That’s what I’m hoping for,” I taunt.
“Naughty girl,” he croons, closing his eyes.
I find my way back to his cock and try to take every inch of him. It takes a few times because he’s so big, but I manage to get most of it and he’s begging me on.
His hands are now tightly fisted in my hair and we’ve changed from me working him to him fucking my mouth. My eyes are watering and he’s watching me now, watching me take his cock.
Andreas comes hard, his body shaking, and I savor his alkaline essence. I lick it all, swallowing everything that he gives me. I feel like a vixen right now, set out to seduce him and have my naughty way with him. He makes me feel like that, and it’s something that I could get used to.
He’s wearing nothing but a sexy smirk and he looks completely content.
“Let me taste that pussy of yours and then we can go for round two, baby,” he says as he sits up and kisses me.
We made it to round two and then passed out afterwards. When we wake up my stomach grumbles and we decide that we should eat something. The apartment is stocked with furnishings but nothing in the way of groceries, so we walk a couple of blocks to the market.
Browsing the isles, we decide to make pasta and grab everything for spaghetti. It’s simple but we don’t need anything too fancy for right now. And plus, we need to load up on carbs to keep up with out sex life at this point.
Andreas picks out a couple bottles of red wine and we head to the checkout line to pay. I take in the neighborhood on the walk back and there isn’t an ugly building in sight.
We get back to the apartment and unload our bags. I find a pot big enough for the pasta and hand it to Andreas. He takes it and looks at me questioningly.
“You just need to fill it up with water. Three fourths of the way should be good,” I instruct.
He turns on the water to start filling it up and I look for another pan to make the sauce. I finally find the right size and place it on the gas top stove at the same time Andreas brings over his pot too. I turn on the two burners and then start the oven so that it can preheat.
I quickly chop some onion and garlic and sautéed them for a minute or two before adding hamburger to the mixture. Andreas opens one of the bottle of wine and pours each of us a glass. I take a sip and it’s a good choice. It’s not too dry and has just a hint of sweetness.
The meat starts to brown so I drain it and add the pasta sauce to it. Turning it on low while we’re waiting for everything else to finish.
When I look up Andreas is watching me, slightly fascinated.
“Am I amusing?” I teasingly ask.
“A little bit. This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to making a home cooked meal. And you’re the one cooking, not even me,” he admits.
I scoff. “I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. We always had someone that cooked for us, so I never had any reason to learn,” he says as I add some olive oil to the pasta water.
“So, you never learned to cook?” I ask in disbelief. I’ve been cooking things myself since I was a kid so it’s hard for me to picture never having done it. “You’ve led a life where you didn’t have to worry about that kind of thing.”
I look at him pointedly, but his face doesn’t give anything away.
“Never.”
“Well, let’s change that. You can help me with the garlic bread,” I offer. “Grab that load of bread and we can slice it up.”
“As you wish.”
“No husband of mine gets out of working in the kitchen. I came from a middle-class home, and everyone had their role in the kitchen.”
“I’m more than happy to learn.”
He brings over the fresh loaf of French bread that we just bought, and I grab a knife and cutting board. I show him how big to cut the slices and then when he finishes slicing, I get out the butter and seasonings to make it taste good. I show him how to do the first piece and let him to the rest.
While he’s busy doing that, I add the pasta to the boiling water. I check the sauce and stir it before replacing the lid.
Andreas finished the last slice and we place them on a baking sheet before putting them in the over. I set the timer and we sit back and enjoy our wine while waiting. It’s pleasant and I like showing him something that he’s never done before.
He sets the table and sets the opened bottle of wine there too. I plate everything up and bring it over. He takes a bite of the bread and is beyond pleased with how it tastes.
“I can’t believe I made this!” he exclaims happily. “Thank you, Freya,” he says before he takes another bite of the bread.
After dinner we hang out on the terrace for a while before heading in to take a joint shower. And it’s when we’re falling asleep together that I can’t help but think that out time together may be far more pleasant that I’d originally imagined.
But I know there’s more we need to discuss.
And I find myself almost dreading the time when we do.
18
Andreas
The sun shines through the windows when I wake up the next morning. I’m not sure what time it is, but I’m not in a hurry to go anywhere, anyways. It’s the weekend, and Freya’s warm body is snuggled up against my side and one of her hands is around my waist.
As much as I’d like to keep living in this bubble we’ve created, I know that I need to tell her. Today has to be the day. Somehow, no matter what, she’ll know by the end of the day.
I place a kiss in her head and rub her back with my arm. I don’t necessarily want to wake her up but now that I’ve decided that she needs to know today, I’m anxious to get it over with and have everything out in the open.
I know she’ll be mad, that’s a given but hopefully she can see past that when she calms down and see things from my point of view.
Hopefully.
Hopefully.
Hopefully.
It hasn’t been easy hiding my life from her, and I’m not entirely sure why I have. I’ve been incognito before while traveling, but I’ve never lied to someone for so long, let alone someone as special as Freya. And I never in a million years did I picture my wife not knowing that I was a royal. It’s at the core of who I am, and the more I think about everything, the more I know Freya’s going to hate me.
But for the first time in my life, someone cares about me for me, and not for the things I have or the people I’m connected to.
Freya eyes start to flutter and she yawns, interrupting my thoughts. Those big eyes look up at me and they do me in. She doesn’t even have to say anything, just look at me and I’m willing to do anything she asks of me.
“Morning, baby.” I kiss her lightly, enjoying her presence. She snuggles into me in response, closing her eyes again.
“It’s so bright in here.”
“Guess we’ll have to get some curtains or something.”
She smiles. “The sooner the better.”
“You wanna get some coffee?”
“You know I’ll never say no to coffee.” She smirks. “Let’s do it.”
She gets up and I watch her move, silently appreciating the way her body looks before she starts to get dressed. Freya walks to the bathroom and I get up too.
While I get dressed, I try to think of the best way to tell her. I feel like I should lead up to it, but maybe I should just drop the bomb first off. This is still on my mind when she comes back out. She’s pulled her hair back in a half pony tail, put on some makeup. A lot of guys wouldn’t notice that kind of stuff, but I pay attention to everything, especially when it comes to this woman.
We finish getting ready and head down stairs to leave. I steal a kiss from her on the elevator, leaving her smiling when we get to the lobby.
Well. Not just her. There’s a huge grin on my face, too. We’re both smiling. We haven’t mentioned the divorce again. I know Mother and Father would have it prepped and ready to go, but neither of us are keen to do it.
Today, though, she might finally realize I’ve gotten her in fare over her head.
I put on my sunglasses as we walk to a local coffee shop. It feels so normal to stand next to Freya. We spent time together in Ibiza but that was on vacation; being domestic with her and doing things like getting coffee and cooking make me feel like a new version of myself.
Growing up in a royal household, there was a different view of normal. Formal dinners and dances, suit fittings, fiercely limited public appearances, dinners, state visits—those were all expected. So what I have with Freya? Yeah, that’s all one hundred percent new to me.
We order our coffee and get it to go so that we can walk about the city for a little bit. It’s such a beautiful morning, and we want to take it in.
An hour later, we decide to find a café to grab a bite to eat for lunch. We’re both hungry since we only had coffee for breakfast. There’s one thing I’ve learned hanging out with Freya: that girl is seriously serious about food. I like it though. Most of the girls I’m used to don’t even eat salad, too afraid that it’ll ruin their figure. Freya eats what she wants and how she wants, and she’s got just the right amount of curves. Just thinking about her sexy little body makes me want to drag her back to bed and have her for lunch.
We stop at this hole in the wall type place. I go to the host stand and as for a table. The hostess smiles at me with her standard smile but then when she recognizes me, and trust me I know that look, her eyes get big and her smile gets even bigger.
“Yessir,” she says. “Just a second let me see what table we have for you, your highness.”
My blood runs cold and I feel like there’s a cold sweat on my forehead. “Thank you, but I think we’ll pass. Good day,” I say turning away and pulling Freya along with me.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, confused.
“Nothing, they were just full, didn’t have any room for us.” It’s been years since I’ve been recognized, but I know that picture has been circulating now in Bellecoaste. I’m guessing it’s made it’s way over to the United Kingdom.
“But they had a handful of open tables—”
“Reservations, baby. They were reserved,” I lie. Again.
We start walking back down the street and I try to calm myself down. I need to tell her and quickly. If she’d overheard the hostess a second ago that would have been the worst way to find out.
“How about we go back to the apartment and just order in?” I offer. “I’d rather have you all to myself.”
Freya nods. “Sounds good. Just as long as I get some food.”
“I’ll feed you, naked and in bed,” I tell her.
“Even better,” she says standing up on her tip toes to plant a soft kiss on my lips.
“Aww! How sweet is that?”
The voice comes from behind us—Kirk the fucking Jerk is standing there watching us.
I hate this kid for everything he put Freya through while they were together and that shit he pulled at her apartment that day.
“Kirk,” Freya says dryly. “I thought you went home.”
He shrugs. “Well you see, my dear sweet Freya, the plan was to stay two weeks and spend time with you, reconnecting and shit. That plan went to the shitter so here I am, enjoying myself before I have to leave,” he explains.
Freya crosses her arms over her chest. “Have you been drinking?”
“What do you think? Of course I have. It’s the weekend and I don’t have anything better to do. And anyways, what’s it matter to you? You’re not responsible for me anymore. I could drop off the face of the earth and you couldn’t care less.”
“Don’t be an ass, Kirk,” Freya warns.
“Or what?” he taunts. “You gonna stick your boyfriend on me again? Oh wait, it’s husband not boyfriend! How could I forget that part?” he snidely remarks.
“Watch yourself,” I say.
“You gonna hit me again, pretty boy?” he asks. “That’d make front page status, wouldn’t you think? I’m sure your parents would be thrilled about that hitting the press.”
I clench my fist because all I want to do right now is beat the shit out of this worthless scum.
“What are you talking about?” Freya asks Kirk, glancing back at me with uncertainty. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Why don’t you ask your husband?” he says, pointing to me.
Freya turns to me too. “Andreas, what is he talking about?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Probably just drunken ranting.” Great, another lie on top of the pile.
“Common, Frey, let’s go back home.” I grab her hand, intent on getting out of there as soon as possible.
“Ok,” she agrees. “Goodbye Kirk, go back home where you belong.”
“Maybe you should ask your husband who he really is!” he yells as we walk away. “You want to act like you’re so much better than me, but you don’t even know how much he’s fucking you over! Just using you before he goes home to Bellecoaste! He’s a goddamned prince, Freya! A fucking prince! I’m a saint compared to him! Ask him! Just fucking ask him!” Kirk screams livid as hell.
Freya freezes while Kirk is screaming at us. She drops my hand. This is not how I wanted her to find out; now I’m worse than Kirk. I’ve lied to her, so much. So fucking much.
“Andreas, is that true? Please tell me that Kirk’s lying. I knew you were—rich. Really rich. Like, probably old European blood—but—” She steps away from me and puts her hand to her head like she’s trying to process this.
“Freya.”
“You surely would have told me who you were. Kirk’s lying. That’s what he does. Come on?” She looks at me, almost frantic.
She’s pleading with me, but I can’t make her feel better.
“Can we discuss this back at the apartment, where we have some privacy?” I ask quietly. Kirk’s little outburst was theatrical, and everyone is watching us now. I’d like to break her heart in private not for the world to see. Thankfully, she nods, and we walk in tense, strained silence the fifteen minutes back to the apartment building.
We sit down in the courtyard off to the side of the building. It’s small and private—as private as we’re going to get right now.
“I don’t even know what to think right now,” she blurts. “Is any of what he said even true?”
No more lies.
“Yes.”
“Yes, to which parts?” she demands.
“I am His Royal Highness Prince Andreas Alfred Hoffman, Duke of Mount Vail. I am the second son of the King and Queen of Bellecoaste. Second in line to inherit after Caelan.”
It fee
ls so good to finally say it and have it off my chest. She doesn’t feel the same way—I can see it in her face, the way she’s processing what I just said.
“I feel like such a fool right now,” she says. “I didn’t want to believe that Kirk was right, but you just admitted it. Everything that didn’t add up before, all the time I spent worrying about it, suddenly makes complete sense. The villa and the yacht! The catered dinner and this tainted apartment. The money that seems neverending. Why would you keep something like that from me?” she yells.
I reach out to take her hand, but she smacks mine away.
“When we met I was on vacation and traveling incognito. Caelan and I both were. That night at the fountain there was a photographer following me, so I stopped there hoping he wouldn’t notice me anymore. And then I saw you looking at me. I could tell by your reaction that you didn’t recognize me, and I wanted to enjoy being anonymous for a little bit. I didn’t want to tell you and spoil the moment. Most of the girls I spend time with know that and they only want one thing. I sure as hell didn’t expect that kiss and for you to floor me. Being a prince is just one aspect of my life though,” I say defensively.
“That’s bullshit! You’re a prince, that means being a royal is your entire life! Don’t try to give me some bullshit line about it only being one aspect,” she says rolling her eyes. She starts to pace now, rubbing her temple. “I’m not just any woman, I really thought that we were more than that. What about the night that we got married?”
“What about it?”
“You should have told me before we fucking got married! Now I am your wife! You let me unknowingly sign my life away and lied about it to my face for how long now? Was any of it even real?”
“Freya—” I try to say but she stops me.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m fucking done here. I’m going back to my apartment.”
I try to stop her as she leaves, desperate for her to stay.
“Freya wait!” I yell. “We have to live together. You can’t just leave!”
She does just that—and not even with a second glance to spare.