Complete Me (Royals Saga Book 7)

by Geneva Lee

  “Everything I am belongs to you,” I promised her in a whisper.

  “Forever?” she asked, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

  “For always.”

  21

  Clara snuggled against his chest, releasing a deep sigh of contentment. This was where she belonged. No matter how stubborn she acted or the hoops she made him jump through, she was Alexander's. She had been from the moment she saw him in the lounge at the Oxford and Cambridge Club. Despite her desire that day to write him off as a bad boy, she had been drawn to him, inexplicably so. And nothing had ever been the same since. One brief moment, one stolen kiss and everything had changed. Clara had had a plan for her life and he had come along to upset the destiny she had laid out for herself.

  She ran her palm over the slab of muscles that comprised his abdomen, her fingers pausing along the scars that snaked over his torso. Once he had hidden himself from her, showing her only glimpses of the darkness of his past and the burdens he carried inside him. Sometimes he regressed into those habits and it was her job to bring him back to the light. He caught her hand, grasping it with his and lingered over the scars. They were physical reminders of the accident that claimed his sister's life and set him on a trajectory toward her.

  “You don't have to,” he said, hesitantly.

  She wriggled her fingers free and brushed along the damaged tissue. “I want to. I want all of you, X. The beautiful and the ugly. The darkness and the light.”

  “You already have it,” he vowed to her.

  She rolled over and climbed on top, straddling his trim waist. Placing her hands over the scars, she rocked her hips until they made contact with his thickening cock. She kept her hands there as the two found each other naturally. His crest knocked gently at her entrance and she lifted herself just high enough to grant him access. Then Clara enveloped him slowly, losing herself to the sensation as he stretched delicate tissues.

  In the past, Alexander had been too much for her. He brought too much emotion, too much pain, too much of him for her to handle. Now she accepted the beauty of their bittersweet relationship. She would never have enough of him—physically and spiritually. He completed her. Within her there was a void only he could fill.

  Alexander’s hands closed over hers as he began to roll his hips in a steady, quickening rhythm.

  “Be with me,” he called to her. “I want to see how beautiful you are when you’re riding my cock.”

  She opened her eyes to find his trained on hers. As the first, white-hot emissaries of climax stole through her limbs, she cried out, riding through the fire under his lustful gaze. But before she could collapse against him, Alexander’s hands found her hips and provided the endurance she no longer had. Her body fought her, as her heart once had, but neither answered to her will any longer. When the friction built again, she exploded, taking him with her.

  Clara flopped against the pillow in a boneless heap of limbs. Satiated didn't begin to describe how she felt. Clutching the sheet to her chest, she shot a mischievous glance at her husband.

  “It's been a while,” she said breathlessly. Clara had grown accustomed to their daily lovemaking. Actually, most of the time, it was damn near hourly. It had been far too long since he had last taken her to bed and now she felt used and strained and sore—all in the best way possible.

  “Ten days,” he informed her.

  “Did you count the minutes, too?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. Trust it to Alexander to know how long he'd gone without claiming her body. She couldn’t help taking a little pleasure in knowing that he had missed her as much as she had missed him.

  “Speaking of, we need to catch up,” he said, propping himself onto his elbow and casting his eyes upon her. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Alexander’s gaze pierced through her, and Clara bit her lip, grinning sheepishly. “Maybe.”

  It was pointless to hedge. From the looks on his face, he already knew, but his acknowledgement was the first true confirmation she had received. Her suspicions had begun to grow in the last few days but she'd been far too busy to see them through. Alexander reached over and circled her nipple with his fingertip lazily. Even the slight touch set her on edge. He was teasing, or rather, testing her body, and her response might have proven his theory.

  “Well,” he prompted, “how far along are you?”

  She resisted the urge to pull the sheet over her head.

  “I don't know,” she whispered, daring an embarrassed grin instead.

  “You don't know?” he repeated. “This sounds like a familiar story.”

  “I've been a little busy.” Defensiveness overcame her. It wasn’t as if she had planned this, and he was the reason she’d been distracted anyway. Maybe he needed a reminder of that. “And I was mad at you.”

  “That doesn't change the fact that you're pregnant, poppet.” Alexander's hand slid to cover her belly and laid his palm flatly against the soft tissue that would soon swell with life.

  “For all I know, you just got me pregnant.” She informed him but with Alexander there to face facts, she knew that wasn't the case. The mood swings, the irritability, and the incessant urge to cry constantly, it was all there. Even Belle had bothered to point it out which made Clara wonder if her best friend suspected before she did.

  “Even I’m not that skilled. Though it hurts to admit it.”

  “How did you know anyway?” Clara asked. She'd had every reason to be upset with Alexander in London, so if he tried to pin it on that, he had another thing coming. No, Alexander hadn't been privy to the emotional gymnastics she’d put on for Belle and Edward. If he had guessed, there had been some other clue she was missing.

  He pressed his lips into a bemused smile and shook his head. “No way.”

  “Now you have to tell me,” she cried, picking up a pillow and beating him with it.

  He released a tortured sigh before he tilted his head and admitted his source. “I can taste it.”

  Clara blinked, trying to process this confession. “I'm not certain that's a good thing.”

  “It is.” A smug smile carved over his handsome features. Not for the first time, she hoped the baby looked like him with his inky black hair and crystal blue eyes. There were worse things than carrying the child of a human sex god who worshiped you, she thought, even if he could be an arrogant prick sometimes.

  Her hand found the one resting on her belly and she covered it, holding him there in that sacred spot. Alexander's eyes closed, a reverent calm overcoming his features, as if he was holding vigil.

  “Happy Christmas,” Clara whispered. Then a terrible thought occurred to her. She hadn’t bought him a single present. She couldn’t help but wonder if she should plead hormonal insanity in the morning or confess now. “I have to warn you, I don’t have anything to give you.”

  He popped one eye open, then the other and the love reflecting from them nearly blinded her. “Clara, you’ve given me everything.”

  22

  The entire family was gathered into the parlor that evening. Their number had doubled throughout the course of the day, and now they were complete. It was an odd mish-mash of people and a few they suspected might show, like Alexander's grandmother or his friend, Brexton, were nowhere to be found.

  But Belle's heart was full. She had spent plenty of Christmas Eves drowning her sorrows with a stolen bottle of wine while avoiding her mother. Last year had been the first holiday that she had not spent at the Stuart family estate. Now getting to spend her Christmas Eve with the people she cherished most, she knew that breaking that tradition had been the right choice.

  In the past, she had been desperate for her mother's approval. She'd sought it by agreeing to a marriage that would bolster their family standing and ensure the financial security of Stuart Hall. Now Belle chalked it up to being young and foolish. She knew it ran deeper than that, though. She had wanted to be loved and, without understanding what that really meant, she had been willing t
o overlook how people like her mother and Philip treated her in return for the illusion of it. When she had ended things with her ex-fiancé, it took her a long time to accept that some people didn't change.

  As a girl, she had wanted to believe that if she did the things her mother asked, she would be loved in return. Now as she looked around this room full of people who had been there for her through every up and down, a firm conviction settled over her. She'd heard it said before, but now she truly understood what it meant to choose her own family. They were an imperfect bunch, to be sure, but they were hers and she wouldn't give them up for anything.

  Elizabeth crawled over and used Belle's knees to pull herself into a standing position.

  “Clever girl,” Belle praised, picking her up under her arms and placing the baby in her lap. “You take after your auntie.”

  Holding her, Belle knew that accepting nothing less than loyalty and unconditional love was her destiny to claim. That seemed a particularly important realization to come to as she considered the leap into motherhood.

  Elizabeth caught a lock of her blonde hair and tugged on it, trying to pull it toward her mouth. Belle shook her head, clucking softly and maneuvered it away, only to have Elizabeth catch her palm. The baby seemed content to try to put that in her mouth instead.

  Belle couldn't help but laugh as joy flooded through her. When she felt eyes burning across the room, she lifted her own to find Smith watching her with the baby through hooded eyelids. He drank in the sight before him, which was something Belle didn't mind doing herself.

  Her husband had opted to dress down in a charcoal sweater and a pair of jeans. He didn't usually wear things that were so casual, and she made it a point to let him know exactly how she felt about the way his ass looked in those pants. As soon as they returned to London, there was going to be a whole new drawer of jeans waiting for him.

  His gaze didn't waver from her. Even from a distance, she could see the fierce desire in his emerald eyes. Heat creeped under her cheeks as she recalled welcoming him to Balmoral earlier this afternoon.

  It had been easy to slip away, given Alexander’s boisterous entrance. Smith had caught her attention from the doorway, and while everyone laughed as Clara was carried off to her bedroom, Belle and Smith made their way to theirs.

  “You’re here,” she whispered as soon as they were alone.

  “There’s something I have to tell you.” He dropped her hand and paced the length of the room. Her heart leapt into her throat. She’d worried that there was a reason he had insisted on staying behind in London. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he was grappling with guilt now.

  “Tell me,” she pressured him.

  “I saw Georgia,” he began, but when she opened her mouth to ask questions, he stopped her. “Let me finish. She had information about the man who killed Hammond.”

  “Whoever killed Hammond did us all a favor,” Belle said coldly. She could spare no remorse for a man who had never showed her an ounce of humanity. He had been a monster and they were better off with him gone.

  “You and Georgia are so alike,” he muttered, but when Belle’s eyes narrowed, he hurriedly took it back.

  Belle sensed her husband needed to confess, and she would gladly absolve him. She trusted him to do what was right for both of them, even if her heart raced with apprehension. “Did you kill him?”

  “I turned him in,” he said to Belle’s surprise. “I found your notes—in the gun.”

  She had placed them there on instinct. Smith had given her so much. If the only thing she ever granted him in return was the faith to believe in choice, she might be able to repay him.

  There would be a time to ask for particulars, but she wouldn’t force him to process all of his feelings at once. Instead, she began to unbutton her blouse. Smith moved to face her and followed suit. They didn’t touch each other as they undressed. Instead, they stripped slowly until they stood with nothing between them.

  He would have done it—for her. The thought that this man would kill to protect her was almost as hot as the fact that he didn’t. If he had any doubt about his choice, she would erase it by placing her body in his hands.

  Edward dropped onto the couch beside her, interrupting her daydream.

  “You're looking rather heated,” he pointed out. “Do I need to turn down the boiler or is this something that can’t be helped?” Belle’s eyes flickered to her husband, and Edward groaned. “That's what I thought.”

  “Just wait,” she warned him. “You're about to be in your honeymoon period. Then no one will be able to stand to be around you either.”

  “I hope so,” Edward said good-naturedly, giving her a wink over the rim of his glasses. “How did we get so lucky, anyway?”

  He had found David across the room and his face was a mixture of love and longing as he studied him.

  “I have a favor to ask you,” Belle said, tearing her eyes away from Smith. Edward drew in a deep breath, before he nodded. She suspected he would understand what she was asking. “I need you to make more room in your life.”

  Edward's gaze dropped to her stomach as if his glasses could be used as a sonogram. “Smith works fast,” he said with a chuckle.

  Belle elbowed him in the ribcage. “I want you to make room for Smith.”

  She didn't bother to add that with any luck, he'd need to be making a little more room in the future as well.

  Edward glanced to David. “I'd like you to do the same.”

  The two of them had been best friends and while their allegiance would always be to one another, it was becoming increasingly clear that their husbands would be part of their lives forever. Belle didn't want Edward to feel as if he had to choose between Belle and becoming Smith's friend. As far as she was considered, Smith was as permanent an addition to her life as her right arm.

  “I think your husband's ears are burning,” Edward said as Smith prowled across the room toward them. Belle felt a rush of anticipation thrill through her.

  “Take Elizabeth?” she asked.

  “Excuse me,” Smith interrupted them as Belle handed the baby to Edward, “but I'd like to steal my wife away. I think it's time she heads to bed.”

  Belle didn't miss the way Edward's eyes rolled a little. Smith's insatiable libido was something he was just going to have to get used to.

  Smith took her hand, guiding her through the corridors to their private bedchamber. When they entered, he didn't flip on the light switch.

  “You were serious about going to bed?” Sleep was usually the last thing on her husband's mind when he suggested they retire for the evening.

  There was only enough moonlight to make out the silhouettes of furniture inside the room, but after a moment her eyes adjusted. Smith stayed close to her. All that mattered was that she could see him, even cast in shades of gray.

  “I have something for you.” He led her to the bed and handed her a box tied with a long, red ribbon.

  “That's not what I was expecting,” she said under her breath.

  “You'll get that, too, beautiful,” he promised her.

  She plucked free the ribbon and lifted the lid of the box. Inside, hundreds of feathers cushioned a small black machine. “I knew it was too big to be diamonds,” she had teased, “But I'm not sure what this is.”

  “I have something for you tomorrow,” he promised her. “Tonight, you get stars.”

  He lifted the machine free and flipped the switch. Instantly, a dazzling array of light shimmered across the room, covering the ceiling with constellations. It reminded her of New York and wedding rings and promises made. He had given her the stars then and he was doing so again now.

  She cleared her throat, her voice thick with emotion. “I thought I was on the naughty list.”

  Smith placed the machine on the table and fingered the untied ribbon. “That can be arranged, beautiful. Turn around.”

  His mouth swept across the arch of her neck and he undressed her. When she was nude, he guided
her onto her stomach. His palms flattened on her ass, spreading her to him. She wiggled her legs open, but instead of dipping between them, he picked up each of her wrists and brought them behind her back. A moment later the silky ribbon from her present slid around them, cinching them tightly together. He continued playing with it for a moment.

  “You look so pretty, tied in a bow for me.” He bent over her to whisper in her ear. “Can I play with my toy now?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she breathed.

  “You are on the naughty list,” he informed her, his hand rubbing circles over her ass. “Aren’t you?”

  He prompted her answer with a firm, stinging smack.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “It so happens that I prefer the naughty list.” This revelation was followed by a quick series of whaps to her bottom that left the tender flesh singing with sensual pain. “Your ass is as red as this bow, beautiful.”

  He slid a finger down the crack between her cheeks and she writhed under the gentle touch. She wanted more. Since they’d begun to try for a baby, most of their lovemaking had been purely traditional. Belle’s preferences, however, ran the gamut.

  “Please, Sir,” she begged.

  “You’re dripping for me,” he told her. A moment later, she felt the blunt crest of his cock massaging along her seam. “I’ve been saving this for our future.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t bite back the disappointment. Part of her needed the primal, taboo side of Smith. But she wouldn’t say no to him any way she could have him. Smith surprised her, though, bending over to run a tongue along the sensitive pink rosebud. Belle clenched at the contact but relaxed as he continued to circle leisurely.

  After a few minutes, a finger pushed inside and began to pump.

  “It’s Christmas,” Smith said with a groan, “I’ll give you both.”