At His Majesty's Request

by Maisey Yates

  “Then we’re both equal. And for that I’m glad. I would hate to be standing here, ready to lose my mind with wanting you, with you feeling completely calm and certain.”

  “Oh, no sweat there, Stavros. I’m shaking,” she whispered.

  He swore. “Sorry, I’m losing my finesse.”

  “Good. I don’t need your finesse. You’re a very charming man, Stavros, and you seem to come by it effortlessly, no matter how you really feel. I would much rather have something real.”

  “You have it.” He kissed her again, through with talking. Words were too difficult now. He just had to show her. Because it was the absolute truth. With her there was no artifice. He had tried to put distance between them with his charming persona, and he hadn’t been able to. She made him real.

  She made him real in a way he could never remember being before.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against his body, sighing when her full breasts made contact with his chest. She was soft and perfect, everything a woman should be. He ran his hands over her curves, the indent of her waist, the fullness of her hips, the round curve of her butt. He palmed her, his body shuddering.

  “Buttons,” he growled, taking his hands from her backside and turning his focus to the front of her dress. Most of her dresses had buttons, but he was half convinced she’d chosen this one to torment him thanks to his earlier comments.

  Her wicked smile confirmed it. He moved slowly, pushing each button through the hole at half the speed he could have done it in. Teasing them both. It was worth it. She bit her lip and watched him work. Even in the dim light, he could see the color mounting in her cheeks. He could feel her breath shorten, her breasts rising up against his fingers as he worked at the buttons there.

  He was hard, burning with the need to take her, to join with her.

  He pushed the top of the dress down, letting it fall around her waist. She had a lace bra on beneath it, thin and sexy. He slid his thumb over one breast, felt her nipple harden beneath his touch.

  He moved to the next set of buttons on until the skirt loosened enough to fall down her hips and pool in the sand.

  She was barefoot already, and now she was wearing nothing more than a pair of lace underwear and bra. He’d had her this undressed before, but not all the way. He unhooked her bra in one deft movement and consigned it to the sand with the dress.

  “You’re perfection,” he said, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples. She closed her eyes, her lips parted slightly. He took advantage of the moment and kissed her, then moved to her neck, her collarbone, before drawing one tightened bud between his lips and sliding his tongue over it. “And you taste amazing,” he said.

  She shivered beneath him, and he felt an answering tremor echo in his own body. He’d never felt so connected to a lover before. He’d always been committed to giving pleasure, because sex was only satisfying if all involved got what they needed. But he’d never felt dependent on his partner’s response. Had never needed to draw the pleasure out like this, to be sure it was superior to his own. To be sure it was superior to any she’d had before.

  He got on his knees in the sand, not caring about his suit, not caring about anything but the need to taste her everywhere. He slid his tongue along the waistband of her panties and he felt her stiffen.

  “Come on now, Jessica, don’t get shy on me.”

  She gripped his shoulders, the cold from her fingertips seeping through his shirt. She didn’t stop him. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her underwear and tugged them down her legs.

  She stepped out of them, her movements unsteady. He looked up at her and saw a shimmer of tears in her eyes. When he looked back down, it wasn’t simply the gorgeous triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs that caught his attention. It was the scar that ran just above it. A thin line, an imperfection that meant very little to him in terms of how it looked.

  But one he knew held a wealth of pain. Her pain. He could not remain unaffected by that. He was grateful he was on his knees, because the hard punch it delivered to his stomach might have taken him there had he not been down already.

  He could hear her teeth chattering. “Stavros …”

  “Oh, Jess.” He leaned in and pressed his face to her stomach, kissing her there, just beneath her belly button. “You are amazing to me.”

  He lowered his head and traced the same line the surgeon’s knife had followed, pressing kisses to the depressed section of skin. He didn’t give her a chance to protest. He moved lower and flicked the tip of his tongue over her clitoris. A raw sound escaped her lips and she clung more tightly to him, her nails digging sharply into his shoulders.

  He held her hips tightly and continued his exploration of her body with his lips and tongue. He could feel her shaking beneath his touch, and that was good, because he was shaking, too. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman more, couldn’t remember if the taste of woman had ever been essential. He was certain it never had been before.

  Jessica was utterly unique. Comparing her to other experiences, comparing this moment to other experiences, was an impossibility.

  He slipped his hand between her thighs and pressed a finger slowly inside her body, she froze for a moment, her hands gripping at his shirt and he felt her muscles contract around him as she found her release. It was her orgasm, her pleasure, and yet he felt spent. Satisfied.

  But still in need of more. He was so hard his body burned.

  She slid down to her knees, kissing him, her body pressed against him, her hands tearing at the buttons on his shirt. He was sure more than one was made a casualty in her haste, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered now. Nothing but being joined to Jessica. Nothing but finding some solace from the ache. From the emptiness he’d never been cognizant of until she’d walked into his life.

  He helped her with his pants, shucking them off as quickly as possible. She pressed lightly on his shoulders, pushing him back into the sand. She slid her hands down his chest, his torso, along the side of his erection, teasing but not touching.

  “Careful,” he groaned.

  She smiled, a sassy, sleepy smile of a woman who’d been satisfied, but who was still hungry for more. The big difference between the two of them right now was that she’d had the edge taken off, and she had the time to tease. He feared he did not.

  She moved over him, and he put his hands on her waist, tilting his face up to pull one nipple into his mouth. She arched into him and he slid one hand down her back, guiding her so that his erection was pressing against her slick entrance.

  “It’s up to you now,” he said, words nearly impossible to force through his tightened throat.

  She bit her lip, her eyes on his. He could see her fear and he wished there was something he could to ease it. He kept his hold on her steady, kept his body still, gave the control back to her. He didn’t want to move too quickly, didn’t want to do anything to ruin the moment.

  She lowered herself onto him, taking him inside an inch at a time. It took all of his strength not to thrust up into her. He kept his focus on her face. Her lips parted, her expression intense. And when she had him inside all the way, she let her head fall back, a slow breath escaping her lips.

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered.

  “Good?” he asked.

  She looked down at him, a smile touching her lips. “So good. And not enough.”

  She tilted her hips and pleasure flashed through him like a flood, pouring over him, taking over him. She set the pace, but he moved with her, thrusting up into her body, encouraged by the sounds of ecstasy coming from her lips. She planted her hands on his chest, her face tilted down, her hair covering them both, shielding them.

  He could feel his orgasm building, taking him to the edge. He clung to it, every ounce of his willpower channeled into keeping his control. He had to give her more. One more. One more graceful movement and she tossed her head back, her breasts thrust forward. He captured one with his lips and she froze, her mouth open
on a silent scream.

  And then he let go. He was falling, lost, unsure if he would ever come back to earth. Back to himself. But Jessica was there. And that meant nothing else mattered. Nothing but the pleasure that bound them together, nothing but the all-consuming sensation that was washing over him like a wave, drawing him farther and farther away from shore.

  She collapsed over his chest, her breath hot on his skin, her breasts pressed against his stomach. He wrapped his arms around her and smoothed his hand over her hair.

  He could feel her tears on him, dampening his skin. “Jess … don’t cry.”

  “It’s good crying,” she said, sniffing.

  “No pain?”

  She shook her head. “No pain. You’re amazing, by the way.”

  “That was all you.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s never been quite like that for me before.”

  He wound a silken strand of her hair around his finger, then released it, watching as the ocean breeze caught it. “Well, it hasn’t ever been quite like that for me, either.”

  “You’ve never had to deal with a neurotic woman who had mass amounts of sexual hang-ups and cried afterward?”

  He laughed, so strange because he had her naked body pressed to his front and he was becoming increasingly aware of the sticky, itchy sand at his back. And he couldn’t remember ever wanting to laugh after sex. Sleep. Go back to his own bed, yes. But not laugh.

  He sat up and brought her with him, holding her on his lap. “You are truly unique.” He kissed her, drank her in. Would he ever feel like he wasn’t starving for her?

  He stood and swept her into his arms, looking out at the waves, the breeze warm on his bare skin. “Hang on,” he said.

  He ran toward the water and she tightened her hold around his neck, making a sharp, squeaking sound as they hit the waves, the water spraying around them. He walked out into the surf and spun them around. He set her down gently, the water lapping around her hips. She was laughing, breathless. He was shocked to discover that he was laughing and breathless, too.

  She didn’t just make him feel. She made him feel everything. All at once. And in such a big way he was sure he would burst with it.

  “You’re crazy,” she said, kissing his mouth, her lips tasting of salt water and Jessica.

  “Maybe a little.” He looked at her face, so pale and lovely in the moonlight. “Yeah, maybe a little.” He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his face, couldn’t fight against the strange, expanding feeling in his chest.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist. “You’re like Prince Charming’s hot cousin. Prince Sexy.”

  “No nicknames,” he said.

  She laughed against his chest. “All right, fine. No nicknames.”

  She smoothed her hands over his back. “You’ve got sand all over your back, Prince Sexy.”

  “I wonder whose fault that is?”

  She looked up at him, the expression on her face impish. “No clue.”

  Something in his chest seemed to break, causing a release. Like a bird escaping the confines of a cage. A strange sensation assaulted him. Happiness. Freedom. Things he didn’t have a lot of experience with.

  If only he could hold on to it forever.

  This month would have to do. Four weeks to carry him through the rest of his life.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “STAY in bed with me tonight.” Stavros tightened his hold on her hand when they reached the top of the stairs back at the villa.

  “You want me to sleep with you?”

  “Eventually.” A wicked smile spread over his lips and her heart expanded. Sex, lovemaking, whatever it had been, with him was like a whole new experience.

  She should feel … some sort of awkwardness. It was their first time together after all. Walking back from the beach with him completely naked, her beautiful 1950s-secretary dress discarded and uncared for, should have left her blushing.

  The memory of what it had been like to ride him, to be filled with him, to lose her mind completely when she orgasmed, rushed over her. How vocal she’d been both when he’d gone down on her and when he’d been in her, should have made her want to hide under the covers.

  But she felt … surprisingly relaxed. And also still turned on.

  She’d never experienced this sort of comfort in her own skin before. Even when she’d been younger with nothing medically wrong with her, she’d had insecurities. Her hips were a little wide for her body, her stomach not perfectly flat.

  It had taken her a long time to let Gil make love with her with the lights on. And earlier she’d let Stavros touch her with the sunlight filtering through the window. Maybe it was her age. Maybe she’d finally hit that point where she just didn’t care. With Gil she’d been an eighteen-year-old virgin, after all. A couple years later and they’d gotten married. Then things had started going wrong with her body.

  And now things were so much better. The sex had been so good she didn’t think she could have felt anything but good about it if she’d tried. His pleasure had been obvious. He’d had no insecurities, no anger to project onto her. And she’d just basked in her own pleasure, in the way they’d been connected, like one person. She hadn’t had to wonder if she’d been right, because she could feel that she had been. That they’d been in perfect sync.

  And that was a new experience. She didn’t feel like there were ghosts hovering in the background anymore. She hadn’t realized how much of herself had still be wrapped up in things from the past. How afraid she’d been of letting it go. Because clinging to it had been less scary than moving on.

  “I just want you to know, that really was the best ever,” she said.

  He smiled. “You’re very good for my ego.”

  “As if your ego needed inflating.”

  “It may not have needed it. At least not from just any woman. From you it means a lot more than that. So much more than empty flattery.”

  She cleared her throat, tried to deny the tender feelings that were swirling in her stomach. “I’m definitely staying in your bed tonight.”

  “Good.” They walked down the hall hand in hand and he pushed the door open to his room, scooping her into his arms again as he had at the beach. “Shower first though. I’m still sandy.”

  He carried her into the bathroom and set her down on the bright white marble floor before turning on the water in the shower.

  She turned and caught her reflection in the mirror. There were red splotches on her body, from sand and Stavros’s whiskers. Her cheeks were pink from the sun, her hair tumbled beyond reason, stringy from the salt water. Her scar was still there. Still impossible to ignore.

  But her eyes … they looked so happy.

  She lowered her hand and ran her fingertips across the line that ran below her belly button.

  “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind and lowering her hand. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Do you know … you’re the first person besides my doctor to see me since I’ve had that scar.”

  “I didn’t know,” he said.

  “Well, that was … This,” she said, moving her hand back to the scar, “was the end of my marriage.”

  “He divorced you because you got a hysterectomy?”

  She but her lip and shook her head. “No. I divorced him after he wouldn’t come to the hospital to see me. To sit with me. After I came home and all he would do was look at me like … like I’d betrayed him.”

  “Bastard.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe … maybe I did the wrong thing. Maybe if we would have kept trying it would have worked. Maybe the first four years of trying weren’t enough. Maybe if there would have been four more years, or IVF or something … it would have worked. I was the one who couldn’t take it anymore. My doctor told me the hysterectomy would make my pain go away and so I jumped at the chance.”

  “What about adoption? Why wouldn’t he adopt
a child?”

  She swallowed. “It wasn’t the same to him. It … wasn’t what he wanted.” She would have done it. Gladly. Happily.

  “Jessica—” he turned her so that she was facing him “—how can you think you made a bad decision? And what business did he have making you feel bad for dealing with pain the way you had to? It wasn’t his pain. It wasn’t his right to make the decision. You said yourself he did his best to ignore your pain. It wasn’t his right to make you suffer for trying to make it stop.”

  “Sometimes I think so, too,” she said, her voice breaking. “A lot of the time I do. For the last couple months before the procedure I was on a steady pain-pill diet. That made me feel a bit happier, but it also made me sleepy. Made my brain foggy and made me unable to do my job.”

  “That’s unacceptable. I can’t believe you were in so much pain. I can’t believe he didn’t care.” He shook his head. “That’s too much,” he said, his voice rough.

  “I know,” she whispered. “And he never … he never wanted to know how bad it was. He just didn’t … he didn’t want things to change. He didn’t want a sick wife that couldn’t stand to be touched. Didn’t want a woman who was broken. It wasn’t what he signed on for.”

  “He never asked you how badly you hurt?” Stavros touched her cheek. “He didn’t care?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t … I was so convinced he loved me. He was my husband. But on this side of it, I get angry. I wonder how you could watch someone suffer and only care about how it made you feel. I … And he said I was a bitch. But I wasn’t.” Her voice caught a sob sticking in her chest. “I wasn’t. He was a bastard. And he didn’t love me.

  He didn’t even have the decency to divorce me. He made me do it so he could hate me for that, too.”

  “And you did what you had to do. For yourself. And it was right. You know that, don’t you?” His expression was so earnest, so impossibly sincere. It made her heart ache.

  “I do. But then sometimes I think I gave up too quickly.” I would be a mother. Her own words echoed in her head. “I’ll never know if I could have conceived if …”