by Lana Hartley
“I like the memories I have of me and my mom,” she shares. “We used to spend the day sunbathing, and that was nice. My mom loved to sunbathe, and I think that was when she was the happiest. And she made the best lemonade, I’m telling you, Vincent. It was just incredibly delicious.”
“Sounds great.”
“You know I can make it some time, I have the recipe. I mean, if you and Nathan are even interested.”
“Nathan will spike it with his alcohol, surely,” I snide.
“Yes,” Isadora laughs. “You’re probably right as rain about that one.”
“Right as rain,” I repeat. “I like that expression.”
“Me, too.”
“I like you and I love this blessed night.”
“Me too, Vinny. I like how you appreciate things,” Isadora says. “I feel like people take so much for granted. They get up and go through their day, probably having a better day than most in this world, and they don’t even seem to appreciate it. That annoys me, but you really seem to appreciate everything, and I like that.”
“Thank you for saying so, Isadora,” I say.
We continue our walk through the gardens, admiring the beauty of the night we’re sharing together. A relaxed chat, the bright stars lighting our path, and the sweet smell of the beautiful flowers. The horses are just off in the distance in a little kingdom all their own.
We eventually come back to the bench and I watch her get dressed, helping zip her dressed closed. It’s a nice sight. I take in the last few sounds of night before dawn comes and certain creatures go away and the birds replace those night mating calls with their sweet chirping sounds. Isadora pins her hair away from her face, and her cheeks have a nice tint, like a dewy post-sex glow. Tendrils of blonde hair cascade around her face, but no matter because it’s only going to tousle while she’s in bed.
There are words on the tip of my tongue that I want to say to her, but as I start to speak she kisses my lips. I pepper kisses down her neck, along her shoulder, and over the swells of her breasts, though we both smell delightfully gross. She claims my lips once more, and I allow her the control, the hard nibble she places in the plump of my lip, but when she pulls back she’s breathless. I lick a slow trail up the curve of her neck and over the shell of her ear, closing my lips over the lobe before the words slip into her ear.
“Night is my favorite time of day.”
Nathan
I arrive in the tea room a few minutes early for my meeting with Queen Ileana. I always arrive early for any engagement. I casually stroll the perimeter of the room. To all appearances I'm simply taking in the decor, perhaps considering if it suits my tastes. Actually, I'm checking for surveillance equipment. One turn around the room satisfies that there aren't any cameras or listening devices within sight.
Rather than comforting, I find the lack of surveillance equipment strange. A palace that hosts royalty and diplomats on a regular basis without a surveillance system in the main areas? It's unusual to say the least, and it could be dangerous. I take a seat in one of the high-back leather armchairs and wait for Queen Ileana.
I look down at my watch. The queen has exactly two and a half minutes before she’s late for our meeting. The click of heels on the floor tells me that a woman is approaching, but the steps are much too hurried to belong to Queen Ileana.
I stand just as Queen Ileana’s secretary, Theresa I believe her name is, comes rushing in, looking flustered, apologetic, and very nervous.
“Hello, Theresa.”
“Good morning. Prince Nathan, Queen Ileana sends her apologies, but she's unable to have tea with you this afternoon. She asked me to reschedule, at your convenience, of course.”
“Of course,” I say. “Tell, Theresa, is Ileana not feeling well?”.
“No. I mean, yes. I mean, Ilea—her Highness is not sick.” Theresa’s voice trembles slightly. I suspect that Ileana isn’t a particularly kind person to work for.
“If the queen isn’t ill then why has she cancelled our meeting?” I ask as kindly as possible. I’m worried the poor girl might faint from anxiety, and I need information.
“She had a scheduling conflict. It’s all my fault, really,” Theresa stammers.
“Really?” I smile at her and she relaxes just a little. “I’m sure you’re not entirely to blame.”
“Well, I scheduled the tea, but… But I didn’t know Queen Ileana had another meeting scheduled.”
“You didn’t?” I raise an eyebrow and step closer. “But aren’t you her scheduling secretary?”
“Yes, but . . .” She trails off, hesitating.
“But?” I push.
“The queen scheduled this meeting herself.”
“I see.” Now I’m certain the queen is up to something.
“I didn’t know about it until today, you see, and I didn’t want to disturb you this morning.” Theresa blushes.
“Understandable, and no real harm done. It’s still early, I’m sure I’ll find something to amuse me.”
Theresa breathes a visible sigh of relief. “If you don’t require anything of me, I’ll just be going now,” she says, edging toward the door.
“No, I don’t need anything else. I’ll have my secretary call you to reschedule.”
“Yes, your highness,” she says, turning to leave.
“Oh, Theresa, one more thing?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Who is the queen meeting?”
“I'm afraid that's confidential,” she says, shifting nervously.
“Is it?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about this meeting, not even who it’s with, sir.” She looks me directly in the eye, and honestly she’s too nervous to be anything close to a good liar.
“That’s all then, Theresa.”
“Thank you, sir.” She scampers away.
We'll see how confidential Ileana’s meeting really is after I speak with my staff. This confirms my suspicions. Ileana is definitely planning something, and I need to know what. I leave the tea room and head toward the garden; perhaps Isadora is still there. I'm surprised I've resisted the temptation to seek her out for this long.
Last night is still fresh in my mind, and the truth is I really would rather be buried inside Isadora's sweet body than buried in intrigue with the queen. I'm sure Isadora would prefer it, too. She's nothing like what I expected based on what sources told me. I hardly expected to find a woman whose appetite for passion could match my own, yet Isadora's does. More than that she's witty, intelligent, and capable. She's everything I could have asked for in a wife. I step out into the lush green gardens of the palace. I have to admit there is something calming about it, the quiet and the greenery.
A garden so vast you could easily lose yourself for hours. I wonder how many days Isadora kept herself hidden here. Though if her last garden visit was any indication I doubt I'll find her alone. I turn down the winding garden paths until I hear one of Isadora's breathless cries. The tone is unmistakably one of pleasure. I feel my cock stir. Such is Isadora’s hold on me that just hearing her in throes of pleasure arouses me. I walk further down the path and hear Vincent's voice added to Isadora's own. I turn a corner, and what I see is certainly much more pleasant than tea with the queen. I step back just inside the shadow of the leafy archway.
Isadora is naked astride Vincent. Her eyes are closed, head thrown back, and her beautiful body is on display. Her gorgeous full breasts, their nipples hardened with desire, bounce as she moves up and down riding Vincent’s cock. His hands are in her hair, and his mouth is on her neck. I feel my cock harden almost instantly. I’m tempted to unzip my pants and truly enjoy the show, but I decide to wait. Not that I worry about being seen. There aren't any cameras in the gardens, either. That's something I'll have to change for my own benefit if nothing else.
I could never get tired of seeing Isadora taken over by pleasure, completely lost to her physical desires. I press my palm against my rock hard cock. Isadora's eyes opens,
and she looks directly at me. I see a wicked smile creep across her lips as she crashes her mouth into Vincent's, grinding her hips against his, fucking him that much harder because she knows I'm watching. It sends a sharp jolt of desire straight to my cock.
God, I want to fuck her until she’s completely spent, I want to wring every drop of pleasure from her body. She breaks her kiss with Vincent and her lips move beside his ear, no doubt making him aware of my presence. He looks over his shoulder, and they both look directly at me as the come.
I give them a moment to dress before I saunter over to them. Helping Isadora up from the grass, I kiss her lips.
“I thought you were having tea with Ileana?” Vincent says.
“She had an unexpected scheduling conflict.”
“I see.” He gives me a knowing nod.
“A scheduling mix up; that’s not like Theresa,” Isadora says.
“Well, I think it’s worked for the best.” I reply. “Don’t you?”
“Did you enjoy the show?” Isadora asks.
“Of course.”
Vincent laughs. “Who wouldn’t enjoy watching?” he says, dropping a kiss on her cheek as we start to stroll up the path toward the palace.”
“I think I’ll go back to our chambers. Will you be coming?” Vincent asks.
“No, I think I’m in the mood for some music,” Isadora says with a sly smile.
“Well, enjoy,” Vincent says, turning onto the path that will take him to our wing of the palace.
“Oh she will,” I say.
Isadora
I hear music. It’s a lovely, soothing piano song. Where is it coming from? Who is the artist? The sun is just going down on a long day. I follow the music. I feel that whatever this day had, tonight beholds something much better.
Getting closer to the music, I realize it’s not the radio or some CD—it’s live. I hear precious mistakes. I hear the tender melt of fingers upon keys.
I see him in the conservatory room, which is romantically lit with moonlight and a few candles, and smells fresh of dirt from the plants being watered earlier today.
Nathan is dressed down this morning. Most people who lounge in the conservatory don’t wear the very best jacket or their most flawless pants.
I take advantage of the few moments to really see him. Seeing someone in their element, the comfort of themselves is entirely different than when they know they’re being watched, and their walls go up like kudzu and they battle insecurities. Right now he might as well be naked…
And literally speaking, the only thing Nathan has on is his jeans, so he’s somewhat naked. No shirt so he’s showing off his ripped abs, his deliciously smooth, clean skin. His jeans drift down around his jutted hipbones which are as perfect as two teardrops. I watch how they just drift there, how his body pours into those distressed jeans like perfect warm skin and bone. I want to rush over to him, to make our own lovely music, but this moment is too good to destroy.
I stare at his beautiful feet, where the ankles of his jeans are a bit worn and frays of fabric hang there. His feet are perfect—clean, smooth. He takes care of himself head to toe, this prince.
He stops playing, sensing me there. We eye each other for a long, still second. His eyes have never looked bigger or a darker brown. They are heavenly tonight, dark and full of secrets. I want to know every single one.
“That was…a nice song.”
He moves his hands away from the keys altogether and rests them in his lap.
“Thanks.” He seems forlorn.
“I’m sorry, I can go…”
He stands up, reaching for his smokes.
“No, don’t go.” My eyes fall to his hips, those jeans slip down just a few heavenly inches. I can see the outline of his perfect manhood—speaking of inches. He’s so big and long he must tuck it into his right pant leg. My midnight appetite is stirring.
He comes over to me, and I cast my eyes down to look at his feet.
“Why would you go?” he asks the right questions, Prince Nathan.
“I don’t know.” It’s been a while; I’m hungry for his kiss. He doesn’t hesitate. He wraps is arms around me, and we let ourselves get lost in a long, hot kiss. His stubble rubs my face, and he picks me up and carries me over to the grand piano. The glass doors are open so the sounds of the rich night filter inside.
It’s perfect—the smell coming through the doors, the fresh, calm, cool night air.
He closes his mouth around mine, and I place my feet on his hips so my little toes are on the waist of his jeans, and I try to push them down. They don’t give, even though they seem like they drag and just want to fall to his beautiful feet.
My toes trace it over his jean-covered cock, which is growing hard beneath my touch.
“Mm,” he moans. He likes the teasing feel of my little foot against his growing dick. “Mmm…Oh…Isadora.” His voice is soft but so deep. I kiss him hard, and he thrusts his hips between my thighs, and I open my mouth as inviting him in. The kisses are quite brutal expressing deep hunger for each other. Hunger that feels like rage.
I reach down for his stubborn jeans, determined to get them off. I want to feel the warm skin of his agitated cock.
I find the three golden buttons of his jeans and pull them through the slits. They loosen, and I push them down with my toes. Now we’re getting down to the nitty gritty. He’s wearing black boxer shorts and I place my toes through their window and feel the warmth of his cock. He kisses me really hard as his hands slide up my legs under my dress.
“Oh…” I move anxiously, waiting for the moment his fingers find their way into my panties—his assertive, thick fingers greedy to touch my quivering wet pussy.
“AHHH!” I grin and all but lose it, stretching out on the piano so my long blonde hair falls off the edge.
He fills me up with four fingers. My leg lifts in response and the heel of my foot slides over the smooth oak surface of the piano. My arms are spread as well as my legs.
“I’ve been thinking…about you all day…” I let go of the confession. He’s listening; I can tell by the way he kisses my inner thighs. I pull on my hair, burning for him tonight. He pulls away for the moment, and his cock is sticking out of his boxers shorts as he comes around to the piano keys and pulls on my ankles so I swing around and my toes are on the keys. He gets on top of the piano stool and leans forward.
Tonight I want to feel everything on my little pink pussy—his teeth, his stubble, his tongue, his whole mouth, his fingers, and lastly his thick, long cock having its way with me. I’ve been craving Nathan in a psychotic way, a way that feels a bit insane. Unhealthy.
I feel queasy, like I might pass out. He’s the one who keeps me up at night whether we’re together or not. If he’s not in my pussy, he’s on my mind. Something about the way he hugs me, that look in his eye when I walk into the room, like he’s forgotten what he was about to say and he might jump up and grab me if I walk out.
I’m starting to need him more and more every day, to the point where it’s hard to breathe. If I saw him with another girl, I bet my heart would break and I’d choke on it.
“Please…oh…”
Tonight he feels marvellous, and every nerve in my pussy is grateful for him. I feel him in a way I never have before; it’s not just his cock or the thrusting—it’s him—it’s all of him.
“Nathan,” I sigh his name like he’s ripping me apart and putting me back together again.
“Nathan!”
“Baby, sweet girl,” he says, kissing my soft breasts as he fills me up inside.
“Stay,” I say.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
This draws a tear from me and then another. I’ve been kind of emotional lately. Is it my period? I am due for one soon. I’ve just been on the verge of crying over the slightest thing. But this isn’t a slight thing. Nathan isn’t a slight thing.
“Oh…” He moves slowly inside of me and br
eathes heavily against my neck.
“I wanna come in you, sweet girl, and then play…you…a song.”
He comes and it’s a slow, hot orgasm. I feel him leak out inside of me, and we lie there for quite some time panting in sync. A gentle breeze flows in over our sexed bodies. Fireflies light up the dark outside behind us like candle flames going in and out in a breeze.
I run my hand through his hair and let him feel vulnerable for the moment. He’s still inside me, though deflating. If he moves any slight way, he could slip out.
The conservatory room is naturally lit, and right now the outside lighting surrounding the mansion creates a very romantic glow.
“There’s a firefly in here,” I say, ever so softly.
He looks around, lifting his head where it’s been comfortably burrowed into my neck, and tries to spot it. It’s the sexiest thing to see him in this way—relaxed, satisfied. Still dripping inside of me.
“You have to wait,” I say, “for when it wants to light up.”
“What do you think makes them light up?” Nathan wonders with boyish curiosity.
“I don’t know…their heart.” I’m just being romantic. Or cheesy. I’m not sure.
“Really?” Nathan actually believes me, and it’s the cutest thing.
“Yes.” I let him believe it. Maybe it’s true anyway, I don’t really know.
He slips out of me then tucks himself away before he sits at the piano and begins playing a song. It’s a lovely old song. I can’t place what it is exactly, but it sounds really good.
I watch him play and there is a sensitivity about him I never noticed before. There’s a sadness that flows out of his fingers onto the keys. Something haunts Nathan every single day of his life. I never knew it until now because he doesn’t talk about it. He’s quiet about his demons as most men are, but I can hear it now.
I can hear it in the song.
I go over to him and that firefly lights up. I sit down next to him, and he abruptly stops and turns toward me.
“You play something,” he tells me.
I’m caught off guard.
“Huh?”