by Teagan Kade
The sauna’s small, room for five or six—max. I ladle water onto the coals, welcome the sizzle and steam that follow.
I sit back and close my eyes.
I don’t know how long it is before I hear the door open.
I snap upright. “Marcus?”
The door closes. I look at the figure before me and cannot believe it. “Grace?” She’s standing there in a white towel, cheeky little smirk on her face.
“I’m a little insulted you thought I was Marcus.”
I’m in shock. “I, I mean… How did you get in here?”
She sits on the bench opposite me. She looks back, acting innocent. “The door was ajar.”
“Very funny. The truth. Out with it.”
“I had to see you, called Marcus to find out where you were. He informed me this was a men-only club, but that wasn’t about to stop me.”
“Are you telling me you broke in here, without Marcus knowing?”
She spreads her legs just slightly, a Bermuda triangle of opportunity opening up. “They are quite engaged with that pretty receptionist, and like I said, I used to be a criminal mastermind.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“I was actually a real little shit. You want to know what they tried to put me away for?”
“I do.”
“Breaking and entering.”
“You are full of surprises, Grace Everett. What are you doing with a cock with legs like me?”
She looks at me a little closer. “It turns you on, doesn’t it?”
But my dick’s doing all the talking, the towel in my lap turning into a god-damn telegraph pole. “It is. I have a thing for bad girls.”
She stands and lets the towel flutter to the floor. “I can be bad when I want. Question is, can you?”
I laugh. “Are you sure you want me to bring the bad boy out? You didn’t like him so much at the start.”
She shrugs. “Truth and honesty turns me on. Besides, maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I want it dirty.”
“Dirty, huh? You lost your virginity this very week and you’re ready for the big leagues?”
“I want to be fucked.” The way she says it, spits it at me, makes me impossibly hard. “Give me everything you fucking have. Don’t hold back.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods.
I’ll play along. “I suppose this breach of privacy can’t go unpunished.”
“Naturally.” She places a foot onto the bench between my legs and lifts my towel. My, someone’s pleased to see me.”
I pull my towel away. “You might say that.” I’m remaining remarkably composed given her pussy is right at my eye level. I lean over to the coals, ladling in more water. There’s a hiss, steam gathering around the room and rising to the roof.
A light buzz is still ringing through my veins from the coke, but I’m with it, completely ready to take this to the next level. She wants kinky? She’s sure as fuck going to get it.
I move her foot away and head to the door, turning off the lights, my dick a dragon in the dark.
Only a blue web of reflection from the pool outside provides luminosity. Everything is loose shape and shadow, but I’m used to the darkness. It’s where I do my best work.
I do not know where she is in this small space, but I feel her, her heat.
“Spencer?” comes her timid voice. She’s taken my place on the bench.
I follow my nose, kneel quietly before her and place my tongue on the inside of her thigh. Her legs open to greet it.
I grip her left thigh, high and hard. I feather my lips against her, barely brush her skin working my way up the exposed top of her leg. My other hand holds her calf, cradling it like a bottle.
My hair brushes her chest, the underside of a breast as my tongue runs a line over the top of her hips, steering clear of falling into the space below, running the perimeter of her bikini line.
I wait, licking at the film of perspiration on her skin, the heat she’s giving off incredible.
I come up her body and kiss her, let my lips push her mouth apart, my tongue finding hers. She takes me in hungrily, pushing her breasts against my chest, her hands splayed out on the bench, leveraging her body up to meet my mouth, tasting the exotic there and the forbidden.
I draw my lips away until she’s arching forward, moaning, my bottom lip the last connection between us, trying to stay connected and then falling away.
I spread her legs wider still. It forces her to perch closer to the edge of the bench, her buttocks leaving it stickily.
I wait, tease until she scoots further, her pussy open and exposed before me. I let my breath fall on her, measured and casual, just breathe quietly until she’s shaking and shifting with urgency.
I sit my tongue on the fleshy bridge of her lower vagina. It lies there, absorbing the moisture she can’t help but release, moisture mixed with steam and the dry and the sweat that now coats my tongue. I bring it up in a long, practiced motion, splitting her labia and finding her inner folds. I use every part of it, the smooth roof and rough underside, snaking it in and out, running it over her unhooded clit, making it grow pebble hard.
She melts and drops her head forward, placing her hands on the top of my head as I press my tongue back down into the deep, damp recess of her cunt.
My hands snake around her buttocks, each finger digging into her flesh, lifting her whole and pressing her midsection into my face, my hungry tongue, sodden with her.
My cock’s stiff, already leaking for attention.
A throwback, mechanics of the past, tell me to end this pleasure, to take her hard, right now, but I hold back and continue to indulge her with my tongue, let her body rattle as I plunge inside again, splitting her cunt open.
I nuzzle into her with my entire face, my chin pressing against her perineum, my nose against her clit, her cum running in slow-mo strands to the pine bench below.
She tugs at my hair, digs her nails into his scalp. It’s building now, her orgasm.
“You want to come, don’t you?” I whisper between strokes.
“Yes,” she replies. “I want to come,” repeating my words.
“No.” My face leaves her pussy and I’m gone. “Do you want to come, or do you want to come like you never have before? Tell me.”
I ladle more water onto the coals, let them sizzle beside us. I’m right on the carnal precipice, dying to fuck her, but no, not yet. This is about her, not me.
“Make me cum like never before,” she gasps.
“You have to trust me.”
“Anything.”
“It will hurt.”
“I don’t care.”
“Turn around,” I tell her, knowing this will be too much, but she asked for it. “Kneel, put your elbows on the bench above.”
She does as I command, turning around to face the wall. She places her knees on the edge of the bench, her lower legs and feet dangling in mid-air, her elbows on the bench above.
“Spread your knees a little wider and arch your back. Push your ass out to me.”
Her voice is muffled by the wet curtains of hair around her face. “Okay.”
In the dark she dips her back, her cheeks spreading for me, her pussy and ass unrestrained. She’s completely open, completely at my mercy now. “Beautiful.”
“You can’t see anything.”
“Can’t I? I can’t see your beautiful pussy, its lips parted ever so slightly, your ass above, inviting.”
I search the floor, taking her towel and folding it over on itself.
“What now?”
“You wait.”
One of coals shifts, a small cloud of steam rising in the darkness, numbing my head further.
“For what?” she asks.
“For this.”
I strike her backside hard with the towel, her entire body thrust forward.
“Fuck!” she shouts, incredulous. “What the—”
“Quiet,” I warn.
“Ugh,” she gr
unts, as I strike her again, lashing her across both cheeks.
“I told you it would be painful. Pain before pleasure.”
Again, I strike. She cries out, squeezes her cheeks together.
I almost can’t bring myself to do it, but she wanted the real Spencer. I whip across her buttocks with such intensity and blinding intent her legs shake, and she seems to be mustering everything she has to prevent herself slamming into the bench in front of her.
I hold off, give her time to process this, let her body wire itself to mine.
I wait, and then it comes, blissful music to my ears.
“Again,” she vocalizes, pushing her ass out.
I adjust the towel, striking her with pinpointed accuracy right in the middle of her left ass cheek. The crack of the towel is unmistakable, the whip and pain greater for it.
Her breathing is irregular. She’s panting. “You’ve got good aim.”
“Time well spent in the boys’ locker room.”
I whip at the air, the crack frightfully loud in the small chamber. Her body jerks in reaction.
I’m loving this, this forbidden attention, the alpha male rising up and taking me completely. “Do you want more?”
“Yes,” she responds, voice dripping with desperation.
Her body is trembling, shaking now. She is completely at my mercy.
I heap more water on the coals, over and over, until fog and steam fill every crevice of the room, my entire body slick, my breathing labored, my chest working for every breath. It must be a thousand fucking degrees in here.
Good.
I prepare the towel, sense the tension in my arm as I pull back, eyes taking aim the darkness. I strike her again, imagine her teeth clamping together, her ass tightening and burning.
I lash her over and over, whip her right between her cheeks until she’s close to release.
In the darkness I’m sure I see the glint of a tear rolling down her cheek.
What have you done?
I drop the towel and approach her. My thumb brushes her asshole, the tender button of it, soothing the fire. Her cunt floods, spilling its banks below.
I press my cock against her folds. My hands fall on her cheeks, her body relaxing. I drive forward, sighing with relief as I bury myself inside her, force her forward.
She’s so fucking wet I glide in and out effortlessly, the sound of our copulation a gentle wash against the steam that so fogs the room and my head.
My vision is blurry. There are strange shapes in front of me as my cock rides in and out of her, my sack pounding against her clit.
I become frantic, bunching her hair in my hand and pulling her head up, taking her like I’ve never taken anyone before, hammering into her backside harder and harder with every stroke. I draw her into my marble thighs, mere cushions against the onslaught.
My thumb returns to her asshole, slipping inside.
She stops breathing.
She chokes.
Cock buried to the hilt inside her, her orgasm smashes into her, pussy clamping and convulsing around my member, suddenly electrified, squeezing it tight with powerful contractions as she gasps and whimpers into the air.
I run my hand up her spine as it takes her, the tension in her legs falling away, the final contraction tipping me over the edge as I empty myself inside her.
It takes us a while to recover. I simply hold her on my lap. I don’t ever want to let her go.
I stroke the side of her, run my fingers over the small speedbumps of her ribs. “Now, how exactly were you hoping to get out of here?”
She holds the side of my face. “The back door, of course.”
*
I meet Marcus and Richard in the foyer.
They look surprised. “We were going to come in soon, sir, check you hadn’t passed out, turned into a prawn or some-such.”
They’re clueless. I still can’t believe Grace managed to get past them. “It was most relaxing.”
“By the way,” adds Marcus. “Grace messaged me.”
I act dumb. “And?”
“She wanted to know where you were.”
“You told her?”
“I did, but I also informed her this was a gentlemen’s club.”
“I see. I’ll call her when we get outside.”
“Very good, sir.”
We all head down the hall together. I’m actually looking forward to getting out into the open air given the claustrophobic feel of the Russian Baths, not that I ever wanted to leave that sauna.
Marcus opens the doors and I head out into blinding midday light… and a swarm of paparazzi.
The door closes automatically behind us. It all hits me at once. I look around, shielding my eyes. There must be a hundred or more of them here.
Flashes pop. “Prince Spencer!”
They rush forward en masse, Marcus and Richard rushing in front of me with arms out, trying to create a path, but it’s useless.
I’m caught in a sea of them as we move down the stairs.
In the struggle I see Grace move out from around the side of the building. I go to shout to her but stop myself. They haven’t seen her. They don’t even know who the mysterious Woman in White is. No, let her go.
She sees the swarm and stops, but I look at her, try to communicate with my eyes to get the hell out of here. She nods and starts to walk away, her steps turning into a run as she flags down a cab on the main road. Good girl.
“Get the hell back, you hear me!” Marcus thrusts a guy out of the way, his camera falling to the ground. He manages to dig a path through the middle, Richard literally pulling me through towards the SUV.
The questions keep coming.
“Spencer, do you have anything to say? Do you have any comment?”
About what? I have no idea what’s going on. I just hope Grace has nothing to do with it.
I keep low, let Richard pull me.
What the fuck is going on?
I’m shoved into the back of the SUV.
“Stay down!” Richard yells, kicking another reporter back and slamming the door closed. Marcus swings into the front and immediately floors it, hands thumping and slapping against the side of the car as the voices fade and bikes kick into gear behind us.
It takes us almost ten minutes to shake them.
I sit up. “What the fuck was that?”
Richard’s phone beeps. He checks it and looks at Marcus before handing it back to me. “I think I might have an idea, sir.”
My heart drops.
Fuck no.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GRACE
My phone goes psychotic the moment I step foot inside the cab. I’m mad at myself for leaving him there like that, helpless, but I there was nothing I could do.
I open up the first message. It’s a link from Amanda, a link to a photo of Spencer passed out in a lounge, a mirror in front of him, a razor blade in his hand, white powder under his nose and on the mirror, the whole thing in garish strobe light that paints him in the worst possible way. From a PR perspective, it’s a fucking atom bomb. Worse, it’s Armageddon.
I can’t bring myself to look at the news. Everyone’s going to want a piece of him now.
I call him straight away, but it goes straight to his voicemail.
I text instead:
Saw pic. Don’t panic. Call Me.
At least this cabbie’s quiet, a brooding eastern European. I couldn’t take conversation right now, not after that and this. It’s too much to take in.
Maybe it’s better out in the open? Maybe now he can get help?
But I know the truth. He’ll be slaughtered by the press. Drug use was always bandied about, yes, but this damning proof.
Do you really want to be part of this, after everything you’ve been through?
The doubt starts to wear away at me. Run, run! it screams, and what? Leave him for dead, the best thing to happen in your life?
Be honest, Grace. You hardly know him.
It’s funn
y, because I never believed I could fall in love so fast. Prince Spencer? The absolute last person on earth I would have imagined myself being with, but for all his wild ways and arrogance, I see the true nature of his character. I see us, together.
The cab lets me out at the Savoy. I hurry up to my room, past the small groups of paps who remain oblivious to who I am. But what does surprise me are the two royal bodyguards waiting either side of my door, which is open.
I point. “That’s my room.”
The bodyguard on the left gestures inside. “His Royal Highness will see you.”
I eye him as I walk into my room. “Spen—”
Alexander is standing by the window, phone to his ear. He’s writing something down. “London Suite, Intercontinental, one-thirty, yes. You’ll wear what I sent you?”
He pockets the slip of paper, turning and looking almost as surprised to see me as I am him.
His expression darkens. “I’ve got to go.” He hangs up, pocketing his phone. “Not who you had in mind, I presume?”
I am surprised. “What are you doing here?”
Alex smiles. “Grace, thank you for meeting.” He motions me to take a seat. “Please.”
This is weird. Something is seriously wrong, but I play along. I sit, sliding a hand into my pocket. “Where’s Lizzy?” They’re always together. It’s odd for him to show up here without her.
He takes a seat and brushes his sweater down. It’s hunter green, the complete antithesis of what Spencer would wear. “This doesn’t concern Lizzy.”
“Oh.”
He leans forward, smiling again before speaking. “I understand you have become quite close with my brother?”
I sit a little deeper into my chair. “We’ve become close, yes.”
“You’ve no doubt seen the news.”
“I have.”
Alexander considers this. “You see, Grace, I look out for my little brother—always have. Whether or not he wants that help is a different matter, but I am there all the same.”
Where the hell is he going with this? “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Very well. Let me be blunt. You’re fucking my brother, getting under his skin, and we simply cannot have that.”
The fucker. “Who’s we?”
“The Palace, the public… Spencer seeing, marrying a Yank? It would be a scandal, especially with your past.”