The Crown: A Modern-Day Fairytale Romance

by Samantha Whiskey

  My thumb found her clit, and I pressed and rolled, my fingers finding her body slick with more than just water. “Please be ready, because I can’t wait,” I said and positioned her over me.

  “I’m ready the minute you walk in a room clothed, let alone naked,” she panted with her forehead braced against mine. Her arms looped around my neck as her body undulated against mine, her pussy riding my hand.

  I moved my hand and thrust through her tight folds, savoring her gasp in my mouth as I kissed her. This was what I needed, to bury myself in Willa. To brand her as mine for as long as I possibly could, because she’d already left her mark on me.

  The water sloshed over the sides of the tub as she rode me, her tight pussy squeezing my dick like a fiery vice. She pushed me back against the tub and kissed me hard as she took me over and over again, our bodies slippery and wet.

  I worked her clit with my fingers until she arched against me in pulsing waves as her orgasm took her. Fuck, the woman was perfect. Gorgeous, sexy, funny, smart, and mine. So mine.

  I growled that sentiment into her neck as I came, spilling into her in rhythmic thrusts as pleasure clouded my brain and cleared it at the same time.

  “Yours,” she agreed with a soft kiss to my temple.

  Our breathing slowed as the temperature of the water cooled, Willa sprawled on my chest. “Oh my God. Willa, I’m sorry. That was animalistic.”

  “That was fucking phenomenal.” She smiled up at me. “I don’t know what happened, and you don’t have to tell me. Just know that I intend to use you in the same exact way when I need to.”

  I cupped her face and kissed her gently, the complete opposite of the way I’d just taken her. Or let her take me. Whatever.

  A knock at the door sounded.

  “Fuck,” I muttered.

  “Duty calls,” she sang merrily, hopping out of the tub and wrapping her delectable body in one of my towels. I loved the sight of her in my things. Apparently, a few days with Willa and I was going cave man.

  I stood up and did the same, wrapping a towel around my waist as the knocking went from persistent to demanding.

  I swung open the door to find Oliver mid-knock.

  “Jesus, what could possibly be that important? Are we on fucking fire?”

  The solemn look on his face was harsher than any words could have been.

  “Oliver?”

  He raised a stack of tabloids—these dated today—and shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Xander.”

  I looked down to see a full page picture of me kissing Willa in the lobby of our hotel in New York. Our faces were clear, as were the other pictures of us walking hand in hand. “Prince Alexander’s Yummy Yank,” was the first headline.

  Rage simmered in my veins. I was used to having my privacy violated, but Willa? This was bullshit. Utter bullshit.

  “It gets worse,” Oliver said.

  “How?” I snapped.

  He pointed to the caption beneath the picture.

  They had her fucking name.

  “So much for being discreet.”

  Willa

  Xander slid his arms through a white button down shirt, his movements frantic but his features solid as stone.

  “I’m sorry, Willa,” he said for the thirteenth time.

  I tucked my knee under my chin and sank into the leather chair in front of the desk in his bedroom. I’d quickly changed into a pair of silk pajama pants and top, not wanting to fully lose the luxurious feel the bath and the mind-blowing sex had offered me. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m compromising everything—”

  “Stop,” he cut me off, and a warm tendril rippled over my skin as he dropped to his knees before me. He slipped his strong hands over mine, looking up at me with those stunning dark eyes. “I’m used to the lifestyle. This isn’t something I wanted for you. And I’m s—”

  “Don’t.” It was my turn to interrupt him. I motioned to where I knew Oliver stood outside the door, waiting. It had been a full ten minutes since Oliver showed him the tabloid. “Go.”

  He flashed me another apologetic look. “I didn’t intend to rush off after…”

  I smirked. “After you fucked me senseless?”

  His mouth dropped, a churning in those deep brown eyes. I pressed the tip of my finger under his chin to close his mouth.

  “Yes,” he finally said, standing. I craned my neck, following the tall length of his body as he towered over me. Damn, the man was exquisite naked, clothed, wet or dry. It didn’t matter what he wore, what mood he was in, or where we were—I wanted him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about me.” I put on my best smile, not showing him how much I worried I was totally screwing with his royal life. “I’ve got my laptop and an international adapter. I need to work.”

  A quick kiss on my forehead and he was out the door. Once I heard his and Oliver’s footsteps fade into the distance, I let my shoulders drop.

  Damnit.

  Xander and I thought we were being so smart. Careful. Not going public, keeping what we were quiet…understanding that there was a time limit to what we had.

  Something sharp twisted in my stomach, a sour tang filling my mouth.

  I was bad for his image, and now there was proof of it all over the front page of the hottest selling tabloid in the states, and here, apparently.

  His mother hating me was one thing—she had some lioness-like instinct to protect her cubs and her pride land—but the rest of the world? They didn’t know me. They didn’t know what Xander and I had agreed to. They likely thought I was after some jewel encrusted crown with a title to match.

  I rolled my eyes at the notion, hurrying across the room to grab my laptop bag. I didn’t want the kind of responsibility Xander was born with, and I certainly didn’t want his money. I had enough of my own, not that the public was aware of my net-worth, but still. I was an author…not a damned prostitute.

  I unpacked and plugged in, ready to leave Elleston and their views of me behind for a few hours and focus on my work. Lifting the screen, my latest work-in-progress popped up, and I re-read the last paragraph I’d written to reorient myself.

  “Shayla, please,” Brandon begged. “Let me have you.”

  I sucked my teeth, tsking him as I secured the leather cuff around his wrist. “Patience,” I said, my stilettos clicking against the hardwood floors of his bedroom as I pranced to the other side to secure his opposite wrist.

  He growled, yanking against his restraints, the chains clanking against the wrought-iron bed frame. Sweat beaded down the hard ridges of his abdomen, the trail slick and sweet as it rolled over his perfect hipbones. I’d tortured him for an hour already, sucking him to near-completion before chaining him to the bed.

  Situating my knees on either side of those glorious hips, I glared down at him. “Tell me again how bad you want me…”

  The sharp buzz of my cell vibrating on the desk jolted me out of the scene, and I groaned when I saw the number.

  The one person I could never ignore.

  “I’m working. I promise,” I said by way of a greeting as I swiped open the call.

  “Glad to hear it.” Laura, my agent of six years, had two tones—business and fucking urgent business. This one was the latter.

  “How bad is it?” I asked, sighing as I stared at the words on the screen in front of me. I’d much rather be diving into the scene than dealing with reality at the moment.

  “You tell me,” she said. “Have they extradited you yet?”

  I laughed, the joking in her voice shaking off some of my tension. “Not yet. There is always tomorrow.”

  She chuckled. “The reporters got your name from an overzealous fan that gushed about the pictures on Instagram.”

  “Ahh,” I said, nodding though she couldn’t see me. I ran my fingers over the smooth cherry-wood of Xander’s desk.

  “Yeah,” she said. “At least they don’t know about Sha
yla’s adventures.”

  I was silent, the thought shocking me like a lightning bolt. I glanced at the words on my screen—they weren’t devious by any means…they were perfect for the genre, for the readers who devoured them—but if the queen found them? Fuck, she might behead me on principle.

  “Willa?” Laura brought me back from the horrible vision. “They don’t, right?”

  “No,” I snapped, then took a breath. “God, no. I mean, I think Xander does. He’s never commented on it, but he saw the books on my shelves back home.”

  I figured he was adapting a don’t ask, don’t tell policy on the matter, and since we already had so much stacked against us, and so little time together, I hadn’t thought to have an open discussion about it. Now that the tabloids had painted me as a crown-hungry Yankee though…

  “Good,” she said. “We’ve worked our asses off—me especially—to bury that part of your life in order to keep it from connecting to the other. Shayla should stay well hidden, but I can’t promise anything, Willa. I’ve never been up against god damned royalty before.”

  I chuckled again. “You almost sound excited about the prospect of a challenge.” Laura was one of the top ten literary agents in the United States, and she had taken my brand to a level I’d never dreamed. She was cut throat but caring—like a mama bulldog—and I loved her.

  “I’m not,” she said, and I could detect the lie in her voice like she was grinning a Grinch-worthy smile. “Anyway,” she continued. “You shagging the King of Elleston was only half the reason why I called.”

  “Prince,” I corrected her.

  “Royalty. Whatever.” I could picture her rolling her eyes. “A spot opened up for the San Francisco Bookish Dreams signing. They want you to fill it.”

  I jerked out of the chair. “Seriously?”

  Bookish Dreams was one of the largest and most prestigious book conferences in the states. Their signings were like well timed, perfectly choreographed dances and all the top authors signed at their events. They had waitlists the second they announced a new signing.

  “Dead serious,” she said. “And don’t sound so shocked. You could easily sign as either of your personalities. Children’s books are making a huge comeback because all the moms are reading the adult stuff, and buying their kids books at the same time.”

  The idea of signing as my secret pen-name had me trembling. I liked that part of my life private. Mine. No one could touch me there—bad reviews, over zealous fans, none of it. It was my secret identity, and while I’d love to sign books for my readers in person, I was for the moment content to ship them signed books from the comfort of my cabin.

  “When is it?”

  “This weekend,” she said. “I’ve already checked flights. I’m hovering over the buy now button.”

  I hissed, my eyes darting to the giant closed door across the room. Bookish Dreams was incredible, but Xander…I wouldn’t get another shot with him. Once he became King, I’d have to go home, completely aware that what we had was something we both needed, but weren’t allowed to keep.

  “Willa?” She chided.

  “I can’t.” I blurted the words, my decision final and fast. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here, but I’m not leaving one second before I have to.”

  “Bookish. Dreams.”

  “I know. Trust me, I get it. It’s a fantasy signing, and any other time I would’ve dropped everything to be there—”

  “But you can’t boot the prince?”

  I sighed.

  “I can’t,” I said again.

  I rubbed my palm over my face, hating how hooked I already was.

  We had weeks left. That was it. And I was turning down a dream signing for just the shot at being with him for a few extra days. A few extra laughs, a few extra chances at letting him be Xander instead of Prince Alexander, a few extra sweet sighs as he came inside me and pushed me beyond so many planes of ecstasy I didn’t remember my own name anymore.

  “Wow.” Laura whistled. “I know he’s gorgeous, but he must be more than that to get you to turn this down.”

  “He really is,” I said, unable to stop the smile on my lips.

  “Having a castle in your pocket and a country willing to get on its knees for you has its perks,” she joked.

  “It’s really not like that,” I said. “When he’s with me…God, Laura it’s like I wrote him. He’s funny, and sharp, and perceptive. And I can’t even describe how good he is in other…areas.” A flush raked over my body with just the thought of his mouth on me, of the animalistic way he’d taken me in the bathtub. The way he’d needed me on a primal level I was more than happy to appease. “But,” I said, coming back down. “He is the prince, too. There are two sides to this coin, and I’m just learning how to play. I need to be here. For him.”

  “What about what you need?” She asked, and I pressed my lips together. She’d always looked out for me. Always forced me to take care of myself so I could take care of my career. She’d even shut me out of writing for two weeks so I could catch up on sleep when I’d written back to back Shayla Scotch books for a marketing push.

  “Xander is what I need,” I admitted. “I’ve never experienced anything like this before, and even though I know it’s limited…I can’t stop it now.”

  “Wow. Well,” she said. “Just stay safe, okay? I know you’re smart as hell, Willa, but I don’t want you coming back home a puddle. Got it?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I said, trying to laugh but unable. I couldn’t promise her anything. With the way I craved Xander, I wasn’t sure how I’d survive when we had to cut things off permanently. I wanted to write him off as this great chapter in my life—one that filled my inspiration tank for years to come—but never turned into an actual book. Something easy to say goodbye to and look back on fondly. Not something I’d regret or desperately try to re-write.

  “I’ll let Bookish Dreams know you’re sad you can’t make it.”

  “Thank you, Laura. I really am sorry. You know that.”

  “I do.” She laughed. “The man has to be something special to miss out on this. I hope he knows you’re one hell of a woman, too.”

  “He does. Trust me,” I said. Xander treated me like something precious, yet acknowledged my fierce independent side was one of the reasons why he was drawn to me.

  “Good. Love you, lady. I’ll talk to you soon. Try and crank out another forty thousand words while you’re there. Maybe start a new book about sexy princes.”

  “Ha, ha.” I shook my head. “Love you.”

  We hung up, and I sat there, silently staring at the words on the screen. I was no longer in the mood to write about sex. I didn’t want to dive into Shayla’s most recent conquest and explore all the ways in which he could drive her wild. I was too preoccupied with the man who I still smelled on my skin. Whose slickness I could still feel between my thighs.

  Xander had owned me in that tub, yet he’d let me ride him like I was in control. It was the perfect balance between us—a hot, passion driven, consuming craving that we were both ready to satisfy the second we were within ten feet of each other.

  My heart raced at the thought of what we’d do when he returned—it didn’t matter if it involved clothes or not—as long as we were together. I’d be just as happy sitting next to him in a stuffy room learning which proper fork to use for salad as I would be riding his face until I flew apart above him.

  Okay, maybe almost just as happy, but the realization was enough to knock the breath from me.

  Xander was transforming from a fun, much needed fling with an expiration date, into something that sunk its teeth into my soul, the bite bordering on pleasure and pain and exploding stars over my eyes.

  But I was nothing more than a yummy yank to his people…to his country. And I wasn’t allowed to see stars with Xander.

  I could only hold on to his fiery tail as he shot across my life, one brilliant blaze of light that was just powerful enough to brand him on my heart forever.
>
  Tears coated my eyes, and I blinked them away.

  I was fucked.

  Utterly, royally fucked. Pun absolutely intended.

  Xander

  “They’re all in there,” Oliver motioned to the sitting room.

  “Who is all?” I asked as we made our way down the hallway of the palace residence.

  “Everyone.”

  I nodded and savored the last fifteen footsteps I had before my world attempted to implode. Attempt being the key word. I wasn’t going to let anything blow up in Willa’s face. I had two options here. I could confirm or deny, and there was zero chance I’d deny any part of Willa.

  “Want me to walk ahead of you? Your mother might be armed.”

  “Ha. Very funny.”

  We walked into the sitting room, and Oliver took his place at the doorway with the other members of the royal security detail. I was on my own.

  Everyone came to their feet except my mother. Jameson, Charlotte, Sophia, Mother’s secretary and—

  “Seriously? You thought we needed to bring in palace PR?” I asked, motioning to Georgia Kenderickson.

  The uptight blonde cleared her throat as Mother motioned to the vacant loveseat. I sank into the cushions, far more relaxed than I could ever comprehend given the situation. Charlotte gave me a tight smile from her armchair.

  “Discreet. Those were your words,” Mother clucked. “Not a half hour later, these are littering the doorstep.” She pointed to the spread of tabloids on the coffee table.

  “I hardly think they littered anything. Chances are they were delivered and never had a chance to meet our actual doorstep.”

  “You know what I mean!” She snapped. “And then you left us sitting out here for almost four hours waiting for you to what? Consult on matters of national interest with your American?”

  I ignored her jibe.

  “Jameson, where is my secretary?” I asked my brother, who was lounged in the corner of the couch, his head resting in his hand like he was bored.