Jock's Baby

by Roxeanne Rolling

  “I think you’re really maturing, son,” say the King. “I’ve seen a lot of changes in you the last few weeks, and I’m really happy to see you’ve found someone to spend the rest of your life with.”

  “You know,” says the Queen. “You probably don’t know this, Luke, but your father was a bit of a hell razer in his day. You wouldn’t believe all the things he got up to before he met me…and well, it only took me a little while to domesticate him.”

  “I had no idea,” says Luke. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that, Dad?”

  “Didn’t want to set a bad example,” says the king. “But I guess it didn’t work, did it? It’ sin your genes or something.”

  We all laugh. I’m laughing at the absurdity of this dignified grey haired Liserian king being a hell razer in his youth.

  “I’m just glad most of the domestication’s already happened,” I say. “I don’t have so much work cut out for me that way.”

  “We’ll see about that,” says Luke, laughing.

  EPILOGUE

  27.

  Rebecca

  Luke and I got married two years ago, give or take a few days. We celebrated our anniversary yesterday. To celebrate, we’ve come back to Texas where we met, to go camping. The anniversary dinner was a simple one with cheese and a bottle of wine that we’d been saving. Today, we’re dead tired, from having hiked ten miles already.

  The wedding from two years ago is still fresh in my mind. Of course the press was interested in it, but we managed to do it under the radar for the most part. The paparazzi only showed up at the very end as Luke and I were driving away in our honeymoon car. Luke joked about out racing them, but since the car was almost 80 years old, it wouldn’t have accelerated anyway—he really has calmed down, and he barely even drinks much these days, just a glass of wine or a cold beer every once in a while.

  The wedding wasn’t in the palace where everyone thought we’d have it. We actually had it in my parent’s backyard in Pennsylvania, in their country home outside of Philadelphia, about a six hour’s drive from Pittsburg.

  I doubt I’ll ever go back to Pittsburg, since I’ve long since left my job, and everyone else I know has since moved on. Not that it’s a bad place, but I just don’t have a ton of happy memories there. Before I met Luke, I was my happiest off in the woods somewhere, certainly not in the city itself where I worked.

  Basically, we wanted to have the smallest wedding we could. Jill, my roommate came. My parents came, and Luke’s, of course. But aside from a small smattering of other close family friends, no one else was there. And that was just the way we wanted it. It was basically the opposite of a normal huge royal wedding. Then again, we aren’t exactly doing things in the normal royal way.

  We don’t live in the palace, and we don’t have any plans to do so soon. We do spend most of our time in Liseria, near the palace, in a large and very nice apartment in the capital city, Lycherstac. It’s a nice apartment, but it’s certainly below the normal royal standards. Luke and I both aren’t that interested in luxurious items, and we’d rather spend our time out in nature…well, either that or fucking each other’s brains out.

  Our sex life hasn’t died down in the slightest. If anything, our desire for each other has gotten stronger and stronger. Hardly a day goes by where he’s not trying to get in my pants, and most of the time I let him in happily…more that happily. Hornily is more like it, if that’s even a word.

  “I got the firewood,” cries Luke, appearing around an outcropping of rocks, his arms full of firewood.

  “Let me help you with that,” I say, rushing over and grabbing a couple of the larger pieces right before they tumble out of his hands.

  “I think I did a pretty good job for my first time gathering firewood,” says Luke, as we work on setting up the firewood in a pattern that will work for our campfire tonight.

  The sun is going to set in about an hour, and it looks beautiful right now as the light is sinking lower and lower. Fortunately, the temperature isn’t as crazily hot as the last time we came here, the first time we met.

  “You did a good job for a prince,” I say, jabbing him in the ribs with my elbow.

  It’s been our joke for a while now that he’s a spoiled prince and doesn’t know how to do anything, and so he needs special recognition when he does a “commoner task.” Of course, it’s only funny because it’s not true in the slightest. Luke actually knows quite a lot about being outdoors and camping.

  “I wish I’d done this thing the rustic old fashioned way the last time I was here,” says Luke, taking out his kit of flint and steel.

  “Rather than the party RV?” I say.

  He nods.

  “Well, maybe we wouldn’t have met if you hadn’t been traveling in that crazy and disgusting RV,” I say.

  He nods, and then leans over and gives me a quick kiss, before starting to flick the flint and steel together, showering a pile of very dry leaves with sparks.

  A couple minutes later, and we’ve got a roaring fire.

  “I’ll grab the marshmallows,” I say.

  “The what?” he says, giving me a confused look.

  I know Luke’s still never done some of the American things I take for granted, like toasting marshmallows over a campfire.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “You’ll love them.”

  I return a moment later with the bag of marshmallows, partially smushed from spending so much time in my hiking pack. After all, we don’t even have a car with us. Instead, we hiked in from the bus station. We’re doing this whole trip in a decidedly non-luxurious and non-royal style. That’s OK. It’s nice to have a change of pace, because next month we’re going to Paris with his parents for their yearly royal outing. It’s going to be nothing but eating in the fanciest restaurants, being pampered in expensive hotels, and meeting important French people, not to mention mingling with the large community of expat Liserians who live in Paris.

  “Here,” I say. “Just put the marshmallow on the stick, and then hold it over the fire.” I hand him one.

  Luke takes out a pocketknife that he bought at a local big box store and with a smile on his face starts whittling down two sticks for us.

  “Just be careful not to burn the marshmallow,” I say, smiling at him. “It’s really fun watching you get so excited about that pocketknife, and about carving things.”

  “I can imagine,” says Luke. “Just about everything that can be carved, I’ve carved it at this point.”

  It’s true, and even though we’ve got to be very careful about how much stuff we can bring with us, since we’ve got often got to carry it for miles and miles, Luke has been carting around a huge collection of little things he’s carved out of wood. Well, some of them aren’t even so little. He’s got a chain that he’s carved out of wood, somewhat ingeniously, I think. He’s also got a large amount of slingshots.

  “And I imagine you’ve had plenty of fancy knives back in Liseria,” I say.

  “Well,” he says. “They’re not things you get to play with. Mostly royal heirlooms, swords, and daggers with rubies and stuff like that. I always thought it was boring as a kid, and the only time I got to play with a knife it was just a standard military knife for self-defense classes. But I like this whole American tradition of carrying a pocket knife that you can use for little tasks, or for fun.”

  Luke takes a moment to stop his carving to simply admire what I know he considers the rugged American simplicity of his pocketknife. It’s an old and very famous American brand that I would have never thought much of. Apparently, though, you can’t get them in Liseria.

  I take my recently carved roasting stick and show Luke how to put the marshmallow on the end of it.

  I hold mine carefully over the fire, but Luke jams his right into the big flames. “Got to get it done quickly,” he says. “American style.” He starts laughing at his own joke. Really, he’s laughing about how he’s been trying to adopt some of the A
merican customs. When he was in his partying mode, he was trying to sound just like an American by adopting some of our worst words, not to mention some of our worst habits, like shot gunning beers in thirty seconds flat.

  Now, he’s calmed down a lot with the slang, not to mention the party boy behavior. He’s still just as regal and commanding with his presence alone, and I like him a lot better now that he’s not running around getting drunk and arrested all the time.

  In another moment, Luke’s marshmallow erupts into flames, and we both start laughing hysterically.

  “That’s what happens when you try to be too much like one of us,” I say. “I like you as you are, my weirdo Liserian prince.”

  “Why am I so weird?” he says, giving me a charming smile.

  “Here,” I say. “Taste some of this.”

  I hold out the marshmallow for him, now that it’s cooled down a little, and he sucks down the whole gooey goodness in one gulp.

  “Holy shit,” he says, a childish smile of wonder working its way across his face. “That’s fucking delicious.”

  “I know,” I say. “But you just ate mine.”

  “Oh,” he says. “Sorry. Here, I’ll make you another one.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “Trust me, I’ve had plenty of them in my lifetime. I really just wanted you to try one.”

  “Here,” he says, leaning in and kissing me. “You can still taste some of it.”

  “Gross,” I say, but I kiss him anyway. Really, I don’t think it’s gross, and even after two years, Luke still has a way of making my heart flutter and my pulse skyrocket. But it’s nothing like the anxiety I used to have.

  In fact, my anxiety has almost completely gone away. It’s diminished so drastically that I have a hard time even remembering what it was like going through life constantly scared of anything. Sure, I still have the normal jitters before a flight, or before a Liserian ball or political event, but these are just the normal kind of jitters that everyone in the world gets—there’s nothing out of the ordinary with me or my anxiety now. It’s amazing that one man can change me so much. Of course, it’s not just him, but the relationship we’ve forged together, making me feel more secure about myself and my place in the world.

  We’re making out, and our hands are all over each other.

  “We haven’t set up the tent yet,” says Luke. “And the sleeping pads are still packed away in the bags.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say, breathing heavy. “I want you to take me here in front of the fire, on the ground.”

  “Very American of you,” says Luke, laughing, and continuing to massage my breasts with his strong royal hands.

  “Not really,” I say. “I think we normally go for comfort. But this is a camping trip after all, and we’re supposed to be roughing it.”

  “Well if you insist,” says Luke. “I’m not going to argue, that’s for sure.”

  He’s kissing my neck, and I’m already breathing heavily, as is he.

  His hands are cupping my breasts. We’ve actually gotten “better,” at sex over the last couple years, and trust me, for Luke, that’s a tall order to fill, since he already really knew what he was doing. But we’ve learned how our bodies work, and we’ve gotten better at pleasing each other—they are usually small things, things I couldn’t even call adjustments, things that are hard to explain. These things have more to do with attitude rather than positioning or what’s traditionally called sex “technique.”

  “I want you so much,” growls Luke in my ear, before nibbling on the bottom of my ear lobe, and now moving on to kissing my neck, right below my chin, which he knows drives me crazy.

  I’ve got his cock in his hands, having unbuckled his jeans (which I told him were bad to hike and camp in, but he was insistent for some reason, not that I can complain, since he look so fucking hot in regular blue jeans, and I have to admit I love the feeling and sound of unbuckling them and unzipping them) and his cock springs out, fully ready and fully at attention.

  Luke positions himself off to my side, so that I can sink my mouth around his cock, my titling my head. He’s kneeling on the dirt, and his cock is inches away from my lips. The fire is sprinkling light on us, now that the sun has finally set. The only light is from this fire. This time we’re lucky with the weather and it feels more like the cool autumn evenings that I’m used to back in Pennsylvania. The warmth of the fire is welcome, now that we’re getting naked. But honestly I’m sure we’d both fuck out in the open even if it was down to 50 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s how much we’re still hot for each other.

  Luke bucks his hips slightly, and his cock bumps against my lips. I bob my head down and take him in his mouth. He groans. “That feels so good, Rebecca,” he says, moaning softly, which always drives me over the edge of waiting to full action. I can’t resist any more, and I take his cock fully in my mouth.

  “I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he says, finally, after a couple minutes of this, while he’s meanwhile running his hands up and down my body, concentrating especially on my breasts and my nipples. I love it when he cups one breast in one hand, and uses his other hand to play with both nipples at the same time. My nipples are always so hard with Luke that they feel like they could cut glass.

  “I want to taste you,” says Luke, kissing me on the mouth, but I know that he doesn’t mean he wants to taste my mouth.

  He’s sliding my pants down around my ankles, and finally pulling them off with one complete motion.

  He’s running his tongue in broad strokes across my wet pussy, and using one finger inside to do all kinds of things that drive me crazy, moving it in just the ways that he knows I love and drive me over the edge.

  “I’m coming,” I manage to say, between heaving breathing and intense moans. It doesn’t even take Luke long to make me come now by licking me. He knows exactly when to stat playing with my clit, and exactly how much pressure to use. He also knows that I love it when he licks my inner thighs and caresses me above my knees with his very strong and very manly hands.

  “I want you inside me,” I say, just after the vision-blurring orgasm is starting to die down.

  He doesn’t need to be told twice.

  “I want to be cavalier,” he says.

  “What?”

  “I want to be on my back so that you don’t get scratched up,” he says.

  I start laughing. “I think the word you’re looking for is chivalrous,” I say. “Cavalier means you don’t care at all.”

  He laughs.

  “I’d be fine with getting bruises on my back or getting it scratched up,” I say. “As long as I get to be fucked by you, by my very own, the one and only Liserian Prince Lucas.”

  He laughs. “Let’s try it with you on top first,” he says.

  I get on top of him, straddling him, and I let out a tremendous moan as I sink down on top of his massive thick cock. It fills me up completely, and nothing in the world has ever felt any better.

  I don’t even tease him, but just sink myself down along his glorious cock.

  We don’t last long, and we both come together as we often do.

  “Aren’t you glad we don’t have to use those royal condoms anymore?” I say, as I get down off of him and lie down along his side. We’re both naked in the light, but the warmth of the fire keeps us warm, along with the body heat from one another.

  “They weren’t royal condoms,” says Luke, chuckling. “They were just a regular brand I picked up from the drug store.”

  “I know,” I say. “But I call them royal condoms because you were so worried about me coming after the royal money by having a kid with you.”

  “I know I don’t have to worry about that with you,” he says. “Plus, you’re on the pill.”

  “But maybe I’m just playing my cards close to my chest, and waiting until you’re fooled until tranquility.”

  He laughs. “I’ll take my chances with that,” he says. “Plus, wou
ldn’t it be nice to have a kid someday?”

  I nod. “I think so,” I say. “I used to actually think that I never wanted to have kids, but I’m starting to have my doubts. Maybe we’d make good parents. We could take them all over the place. And they could grow up knowing a bunch of languages just like you, Luke.”

  “You’re no slouch either,” says Luke. “You’re French is just as good as mine now, and you’re getting really good at Italian, too.”

  We spent a couple months last year in Italy, because Luke was working on a diplomatic project, opening up the lines of communication between Liseria and Italy for the first time in over a century.

  “Did your back get scratched up really badly, honey?” I say, pretending that I’m going to flip him over just to check.

  “I think I’m OK,” says Luke. “Nothing as bad as that snake bite you got here two years ago.”

  I laugh. “Wasn’t that crazy? I really needed a prince to come and save me. I was so worried. I remember I was pretty convinced I was going to die if I didn’t get to a hospital.”

  “If it hadn’t been for that snake, maybe we never would have met,” says Luke.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I guess we should have made it best man at the wedding or something.”

  “That would have gone over really well with my parents,” says Luke, and I laugh.

  His parents weren’t thrilled, initially, about having the wedding in a backyard. They didn’t consider it up to their normal royal standards, but after a few drinks there, they eventually came around to the idea, and ended up saying how nice it was not to have all the normal glitz and glamor, not to mention the paparazzi.

  “That snake was sort of like the snake in the garden of Eden,” I say. “Isn’t he the one who introduced Adam to Eve?”

  “That was God, I think,” says Luke. “I think the snake convinced her to eat the apple,” he says.