Accidentally Royal_An Accidental Marriage Romance

by R. S. Lively

  Christian thrusts forward, filling me completely and I gasp. The pleasure of my orgasm from earlier hasn't fully ended before I feel on the verge of another. He thrusts forward over and over again, deeper than before. Christian moans and whispers into my ear, his body taking control and ravaging me with a hunger that is evenly matched by my own. He lifts me by my ass until I am completely suspended between him and the rock. I know I am safe, but the danger of being caught only adds to the thrill as he continues to pound into me. He reaches his mouth down, taking my breast into his mouth as he rocks back and forth. I suck and nip on his neck, drawing grunts of pleasure from him. I can feel my body wrapping around him, clenching Christian, driving him closer to his own orgasm.

  He releases my breast and crushes my mouth again while his pace quickens. I can tell he is close now, and one hand leaves my ass to massage my breast again. Faster now, he pumps forward, and he releases the kiss, resting his forehead on mine. I lose myself in his eyes and everything else fades from focus. Only his eyes and the rush of my impending orgasm. Just as the waves of my own pleasure crash around me, Christian lets out an animal-like roar and pushes as deeply into me as possible. I feel his cock throb as he grinds into me with his entire body, pressing me into the rock behind us. Slowly the throbbing dies down and he slides out of me, spent. I slide down to the blanket and he curls beside me. I tuck into his arm and rest my face on his chest, kissing it lightly as my body finishes vibrating with its release. I could sleep here, stay here, live here forever in this moment. I stare at the sky and the cloudless, star-filled night and wonder how things could stay this way.

  It's an unexpected thought, and one I try to push away immediately. I remember how Christian acted earlier when we first talked about the festival. He seemed uncomfortable as if thinking about his family, and even his country for some reason, put him on edge. I hadn't meant to upset or offend him when I asked why he left home. His reaction to my questions, though, had been restrained, but obvious. There was something behind those dark eyes that reminded me of the lives both of us lead without the other. Our time together was halfway over already. He wasn't sharing his real thoughts with me, which meant he didn't want me to know about them. I respect that. As we cuddle on the blanket, I find myself brainstorming other ways to reassure and comfort him.

  Chapter Eight

  Piper

  Two days later…

  "So, what do I do with this again?" Christian asks, looking at the baseball glove in his hand as he walks beside me.

  "It's for catching a stray ball if one comes our way during the game."

  "Does that happen very often?"

  "I mean, Boston is leading the league in homers this season, so yeah, actually, it kind of does. You want to be prepared if one ends up in our seats. It would ruin your day if it hits you, but if you catch one, you will have an awesome souvenir."

  "Homers? Oh, home runs. Right. Lead the league?"

  "Yeah, Baxton has twenty already and it's only June. He might break the record if he can stay healthy."

  Christian nods in a way that I assume means he has a general idea of what I just said and why it would make sense. He seems excited, if confused by the rules I slowly explained and repeated to him during the car ride here. While at first, he wanted nothing less than to go back to Boston, my love of baseball eventually won him over, and I scored a pair of tickets last night. It has been years since I’ve actually been to a game, primarily because Boston is a few hours from Westover, and in the rare instances I’m home, I’m usually not in the mood to go into the city. I still follow the team though, even in the most remote areas of the world. In my organization, I am known for fanatically keeping up with the daily scores and games during baseball season. When I found out Christian had never been to a baseball game, I knew I had to include it in his education of Massachusetts.

  We reach the ticket booth and I see Christian's head perk up as he looks around.

  "What's that smell?"

  "Ballpark food. It’s half the fun of going to a game."

  "Peanuts and Cracker Jacks, right?"

  I laugh. He at least has some frame of reference.

  "Some, but that's not the star here. Here, the star is The Mega Dog."

  A loud and booming laugh escapes Christians lips. A few people stop and look at him before turning back to their scorecards and smartphones, but he doesn't seem to care or notice. When he laughs, it always seems completely genuine. It’s like he laughs with everything in him. It's one of the things about him that draws me to him. I've always tried to not care what people think of me, and live my life exactly as I want to. Christian, however, makes me look restrained.

  "I have to eat something called a Mega Dog. What the hell is it?"

  "No way I'm going to tell you and ruin the reveal," I say. "It's way better to just show you. It's all part of the experience."

  As we enter the ballpark I smell the grass and the dirt and suddenly feel like a kid again. Baseball games will always remind me of my father. His love of the Boston Red Sox was second to none. In fact, he would have gone out of his way to make sure he saw today's game against New York. I haven't seen these teams face off since he died, but somehow, knowing that I’ll have Christian beside me, makes me willing to face it. We begin to weave our way through the crowds of fans in red and white jerseys as we make our way closer to our bleacher seats.

  "Why are we sitting all the way out here?" Christian asks. "What are those little rooms over there?"

  I follow his gaze and scoff.

  "Those are the VIP boxes," I say.

  "Why aren't we in one of those?"

  "You are so fucking spoiled. Who are you? When you watch baseball, you sit in the bleachers. That's just the way it is."

  "I'm not sure if you noticed this, but there seem to be a lot of people who aren't sitting in the bleachers."

  "Not true fans," I say.

  "Seriously," he says as we sit down, "there are a fucking ton of people here. How many games are there a year again?" Christian asks as we wait for what seems like an endless parade of unattended children to stream past us. One glances his way and I can't help but laugh at the expression on his face.

  "A hundred and sixty-two during the regular season, more if you make the playoffs."

  "Good Lord, that is a lot of games. That's a barbaric pace for an athlete."

  "Yeah, for everyone but starting pitchers, they only play once every five days," I say. I know it means nothing to him yet, but I still think it’s an important distinction. "The main issue my dad had with baseball was how babied the starting pitchers were. Especially in our league, where they don't even have to hit."

  Christian glares at me.

  "I have no idea what anything you just said means."

  "You will."

  "Fine, but if you ever come to Cambria, I'm boring the shit out of you with every historic site and obscure tradition I can possibly think of."

  It was meant as a mere teasing threat, but what he says weighs heavily on my chest. It's the first time either of us has even mentioned the possibility of seeing other again after the end of his visit. I don't know how it makes me feel just yet, so I decide to move past the comment without acknowledging it.

  "We have some time before the first pitch. Now that we've found our seats, do you want to grab some food?"

  "Sure."

  The bleachers are general admission, so there are no assigned seats, but I feel confident walking away from the position we chose. The people on either side of us will keep an eye on them for us. Bleacher bums look out for each other. That’s the way it is. We round the walkway behind the bleachers when I spot the Mega Dog stand. Unable to contain his excitement, Christian nearly jogs as he beelines to the stand. We reach the counter and thankfully the line is still fairly short.

  "It's a hot dog?" Christian asks incredulously as he sees the menu pictures and the dancing neon dog sign.

  "Not a hot dog, the
Mega Dog," I say with a dramatic gesture that fails to impress Christian. "It's the only dog to eat for a true fan," I say. When he still doesn't look as excited as he had been, I sigh. "It's a hot dog and a sausage dog covered in red onion, chili, pulled pork and onion rings. And any other topping you want, I suppose, but I usually get them regular-style."

  "That’s the regular? How the hell do you eat that much food?"

  I shrug.

  "That's why you get them before the game. Gives you all nine innings to finish it."

  Christian finally laughs. He looks at the man behind the stand.

  "Two Mega Dogs. Regular. And two beers."

  "Look at you acting like a real baseball fan," I say.

  He grins as he leans down to kiss me, and I feel my body ignite.

  We find our seats in the bleachers again just before the game begins. Christian looks relieved to sit down as he balances a Mega Dog, a beer, a foam finger, his glove, and a scorecard precariously in his hands. I might have gone slightly overboard.

  "You've seriously never seen baseball?" I ask.

  "Believe it or not, I have never seen a baseball game, either on television or in real life. It's not a thing in Cambria."

  "I choose not to believe it. Baseball is a wonderful game, and everyone should love it. It's an absolute crime that you were in the States before and no one took you to a ballgame. What sports do you follow in Cambria?"

  "Polo. Croquet. Synchronized water ballet."

  I look at him, my mouth open, and Christian laughs.

  "I live in Cambria, not fucking Narnia, Piper. We have other sports like you do here. Soccer. Tennis. We just don't happen to have baseball." He takes a sip of his beer. "I actually do like polo, though."

  I scoff as I take my first bite of my Mega Dog.

  "Spoiled fucking rich boy," I mutter.

  "So, it's a bit like cricket, yeah? The diamond looks awfully familiar."

  "Don't say that," I say. "Don't be that person."

  "I'm kidding," he says. "I'm not a cricket fan, either."

  "Too busy with water ballet?"

  "Something like that."

  I point to the field as the players take their places.

  "See that guy? That's our pitcher, Lester. We bat in the bottom half the inning. So, Lester is our guy on the mound for today. He has a wicked slider, four-seamer, and curveball. He's also a lefty, so he gets a lot of pop-up outs against lefty-heavy teams like New York."

  "I'm just going to go ahead and say I believe you."

  "Shh, first pitch."

  From the corner of my eye, I see Christian pick up his Mega Dog and spin it a few times, examining it from all angles.

  "Since you apparently have rules for everything, do you know how I'm supposed to eat this thing?"

  "There is actually a debate on that. Some people use a fork and knife to cut pieces off and eat them individually. Some eat from the top down, picking off the onion rings like an appetizer. Some people separate the bratwurst and the hot dog and eat each on their own. Me? I am a traditionalist like my dad. Pick it up, open wide, and eat it like a regular hot dog. It might be a little messy, but that's the point.”

  "You'll have to demonstrate opening wide and taking it when we get back to the hotel later," he murmurs against my ear.

  I feel a shiver of anticipation roll through me, and for the first time in my life, I hope it's a short game.

  "Eat."

  I want to tell him there's something else he should eat, but I'm afraid if I do, he'll fuck me right here on the bleachers.

  Christian dives into his Mega Dog with a giant bite. I explode into laughter as I see chili splash across his face. He nods as he chews and swallows it, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  "Like that?" he asks.

  "Just like that," I say, leaning in to kiss him.

  As the game goes on, I continue to explain the rules to him, and by the fifth inning, it seems like he kind of has figured it out.

  "So, if our guys hit one where we are sitting, that would score all three men on the bases, tying the game?"

  "Yes, plus the guy hitting the ball. So, we would actually take the lead."

  "If the other team were to hit it out here, can I just throw it back?"

  "What?"

  "What stops people from catching home run balls and tossing them back onto the field?"

  "Security, for one. For another, they are highly collectible. And third, it doesn’t change that the home run happened. Even if you got the ball back to them, they can't use it again."

  "That's a stupid rule."

  "I get the feeling you might like things to go your way," I say sarcastically.

  "Like I said before, I get what I want."

  "Except the ability to change century-old rules."

  "We'll see. So, if one comes our way we just try to catch it," he says, holding his glove aloft as he sips on his beer.

  "Yes. I don't think you need to sit there with your hand over your head, though. You'll notice if one of them is headed here."

  He leans in toward me, and I feel his hot breath on the side of my neck. His hand slips under the back of my shirt and down into the waistband of my pants as I feel his fingers squeeze my ass.

  "Don't tell me what to do, woman," he growls. "I might just toss you over my shoulder and carry you out of here."

  My cheeks flush and my thighs grow warm. Before I can say anything, the older man sitting behind us returns from his concession stand run, and Christian hastily removes his hand from my pants.

  "Have you ever caught a home run?" he asks casually as he sits up.

  The memory hits me hard.

  "When I was about eleven, I came out here with my dad for a game. I didn't actually catch a ball, but he caught one in his beer cup. They played the video clip on sports shows for a week."

  The bottom of the ninth arrives and we are losing terribly. Most of the bleachers have emptied and only us, and a few die-hards who have decided that being shirtless is somehow an act of defiance, are left in our lonely little section. I have yelled enough to lose my voice, and Christian has joined in, using almost the same level of aggression I saw at the airport to chastise the players. He seems born to be a foul-mouthed heckler, but I'm still not entirely sure he understands all the rules. His inappropriate jumps for joy when he thinks something amazing is happening – but isn’t – are the sole source of brightness during the last few innings, as our hated rivals stomp us into oblivion.

  I'm gathering up my trash and belongings to head out early, so we can beat traffic, when the crack of the bat and the rising sound of the crowd around me brings me to my feet. A deep fly ball is heading our way. I reach for Christian, but he isn't there. I look around and see him, two rows above me, all by himself, holding his glove up in the air like this moment has been his mission in life. The ball is heading right for him. Two or three guys are making their way toward him. He glances their way for only a second before turning his attention back to the ball.

  "Don't fucking think about it, boys," he says. "That ball's mine."

  The men immediately back down and the ball lands directly in Christian's glove. I scream and throw everything I was holding to the ground, including my beer. He jumps in the air with it triumphantly before swaggering back to our seats and holding the ball out to me.

  "I caught it for you," he says.

  I'm caught off guard by the flash of genuine sweetness peeking through his smug outer persona. I look up to see the other bleacher creatures heading back to their seats, and when I turn back to Christian, he is looking down at our seats with a stern expression on his face.

  "You are messy as hell, you know that?" he says, and I follow his gaze to the spilled beer all around us.

  The sweetness lasted a few seconds, anyway.

  "Yes, yes I am," I say with a nod. I take a step closer to him and lower my voice. "You know, spilling beer is considered a very serious baseball si
n. Perhaps I need to be reprimanded."

  A sly grin crosses my face as he grabs my wrist and starts pulling me toward the parking lot.

  Christian

  By the time we get to the car, I can't wait another second for Piper to touch me. I've been hard the entire game watching her breasts bounce up and down as she cheers, and listening to her mouth off to the people around us. Her little quip about the beer just pushed me over the edge. The parking lot is a complete gridlock, but that's exactly what I want. Leaning the seat back slightly, I unbutton and unzip my pants. My cock springs out immediately, and I reach for Piper's hand.

  Her skin is hot and soft against my shaft as she coils her fingers around me. My hips buck up as her hand strokes hard and fast. The windows of Piper's car are more tinted than those of the rental car, so I'm not concerned about people seeing us. Even if they do, I don't care. I'm don’t feel like waiting anymore.

  I reach up and cup my hand behind her head, digging my fingers into her hair.

  "Suck me," I command.

  Her head dips down with her mouth already open, and I growl against gritted teeth as her wet tongue swirls around my cock. One hand grips the base as she moves in a masterfully synchronized rhythm where she is either touching or sucking every inch of me at all times. Her other hand goes to her own pants, releasing the button and lowering the zipper so she can wiggle them down slightly. Around us, cars are moving, but I don't care about anything but Piper's mouth and hand on me, and watching her fingers dip down into her panties.

  I feel her murmur against my engorged head as her fingertips find her clit. She massages for a second, then withdraws her fingers. Taking her mouth from me, she sits up slightly and holds her fingers to my lips. I suck them for a second, before pushing her head back down onto my cock. She dips her head down further, letting me enter her throat, as she uses her now-wet fingers to massage herself. I'm heading straight into a powerful orgasm, and I don't hold myself back this time. The speed of her fingers between her thighs grows faster as my hips thrust into her mouth. Finally, I explode, and her hand tightly grips the base of my shaft to hold me still as she swallows luxuriously.