by Emma Chase
And the rhythm starts. Over and over--it's the wet slide of his cock, my clasping squeeze, and the deep, harsh push back in.
This. Always this. It's more than I dreamed, better than I fantasized. It's hard and full and perfect, and I want to live the rest of my life with Logan's hard cock buried deep inside me.
Pounding against me. Ramming inside me.
Fucking me, needing me, loving me.
His hips circle between my legs, twisting as he thrusts, dragging his pelvis across my clit. And the pressure, the tension, builds between my legs.
"Don't stop! Oh God, more . . . more . . . fuck . . ."
I bite his neck, his earlobe--for real, not gently. Because it's so good. Because if I don't, I'll scream the goddamn house down.
I feel his big hand covers my breast, squeezing greedily and the snap of his hips between my legs. It's wild and untamed and raw. We move, grinding against each other without thought. It looks like fucking, sounds like rutting . . . and feels like making love.
I hold his face in my hands, kiss his open mouth and inhale the air he expels.
"Come inside me, Logan."
My plea tears a moan out of him, low and long against my shoulder. And he thrusts so hard, my head jerks back.
"Come inside me." I slide my hands through his hair, down his spine, under his shirt, caressing his skin, clinging to him. "I want to feel it, feel you." And then I'm chanting, "Please . . . please . . . please . . . please."
I'm right there, right on the edge--I tilt my hips, reaching for it, pleasure coiling inside me, waiting to explode.
"Please . . . please . . . Logan . . ."
I sob his name and my head tilts back against the wall as stars burst behind my eyelids. My legs lock around him and I squeeze everywhere, coming and coming . . .
Logan thrusts one last time and groans against my skin. I feel the pulse of his cock, the hot rush of his fluid and, fuck, it makes me come even harder.
What seems like minutes later, after the grip of our orgasm settles into loose-limbed intoxication, Logan lifts his head and guides my lips to his. And his kiss is tender and soft. His knuckles brush my cheeks, caressing like I'm fragile. Made of glass. Gently, he slips out of me and lowers my legs to the floor.
I lean against Logan, on knees of Jell-O. Without a word, I unbutton his shirt and tug it from his shoulders, because I want to see him. I want to enjoy every inch of this beautiful body. And he wants me to. It's there in the smile that plays at his lips and his heavy-lidded, amused expression.
Once I free him from his clothes, he lowers to his knees. Then kisses between my breasts, his lips trailing down my stomach, he slides the ruined slip to the floor.
Flashing a sexy grin, he stands, scoops me up and carries me to the bed.
And there, like he promised . . . Logan gives it to me sweet.
AFTER OUR EXERTIONS AGAINST THE wall, and the bed, Ellie and I enjoy a shower together.
She's very pretty when she's wet.
I wash her hair, rubbing her scalp, tilting her head back when I rinse the shampoo out, making her lovely little tits rise for my waiting mouth. And those beauties taste every bit as good as they look.
Then I wash Ellie everywhere else, massaging her legs and back to keep her from aching tomorrow. I kiss her forehead and she smiles up at me like I'm the king of the fucking world. Her world.
After wanting her so much, for so long, the feeling of her tight, slick and hot around me made me lose my mind for a bit. But in the soothing calm of the shower, I ask her what I should've asked her about before--birth control. It's my job to keep her safe in every way, and I feel like a tool for being so reckless.
Ellie tells me she's been on the pill for years. Girl issues, she says with unusual shyness.
And I'm glad for it--I like feeling her bare, nothing between us, flesh to flesh.
But if there was a baby, I would take care of her, give her whatever she needed, be all she needs.
There are abilities I'm skilled at--familiar with--fighting and fucking, battles and weapons, sensing danger, and knowing how to keep those in my care safe from harm.
But love . . . I'm ignorant of it. The word has never passed my lips, and the feeling is as alien to me as the sentiment.
What I do know, what I'm sure of, is that I would die for Ellie. Kill for her, live for her. The vow echoes through me with every beat of my heart. She is the most important person in my life. She has been from the beginning, and she always will be. There will never be another.
I don't know if I'll be any fucking good at love. I'm not quite sure how it's done. But, for her, I'll learn.
And I'll do my damnedest to get it right.
We lie on our sides, resting but not spent, stroking each other, looking and smiling at one another. I used to think the phrase "gazing into each other's eyes" was stupid. Fake. I mean, really, what man does shit like that?
Now, apparently . . . I fucking do.
And it's not dumb or artificial at all. Because Ellie is mesmerizing. Her face is an ever-changing landscape of expressions--each one cuter, sexier, more enchanting than the last. Her lips have a thousand different smiles and her eyes sparkle and swirl with infinite shades of blue.
If I manage to die gazing at Ellie Hammond's face, I'll go out a happy man.
"When did you know? The very first time?" she asks.
I play with a strand of her hair, brushing its softness against my fingertip, thinking way back.
"It was at the museum, I think. When you flirted with me . . . and I thought, if this girl were a bit older, I'd be all over her."
Her eyebrows reach for the sky. "That long? I never knew."
"I didn't want you to know. I thought if I pushed it away, ignored it for long enough, it'd go away." I kiss her nose and whisper like a conspirator. "It didn't."
"Did you know that I liked you?"
I chuckle. "Aye. Your poker face is . . . well, you don't have one."
Ellie sticks out her tongue--that cute fucking tongue that's teased me for years. I chase after her mouth and I suck on her tongue when I catch her, kiss her. Then, laughing, I say, "I figured it was just a crush. A girlish fancy that would fade when you grew up."
Ellie leans over me and pecks my nose, whispering in the same secret tone, "It didn't."
"No." I run my hand through the damp strands of her hair. Relieved--relieved and . . . wonderfully content.
"So what happens now?" she asks.
I open my mouth to answer, but there's a knock at the door.
"Ellie? It's me--are you up?"
It's Olivia. The doorknob jiggles and thank fuck it's locked, or this would've been an eye-opening visit for the Duchess. I tilt my head towards the toilet and Ellie nods.
A minute later, I hear their conversation through the door.
"Is everything okay?" Ellie asks.
"Yeah, I just . . . wanted to see you. I had a bad dream. Nicholas is still sleeping; I didn't want to wake him--I had to make sure you're okay."
I hear Ellie move out into the hall, probably to embrace her sister. "I'm okay, Livvy. I'm so, so sorry. I won't scare you like that again, I swear."
"I love you, Ellie."
"I love you too."
Then her tone turns teasing. "And I love both of you . . . even if you turn out to be little Ernie and an Omen demon baby."
Together, the sisters laugh.
When I hear Ellie close her bedroom door, I step back into the room.
"Coast is clear." She grins, turning the lock.
I fall onto the bed, moving to the center, pushing a hand through my hair and watching her walk towards me.
"I have to tell Prince Nicholas," I say on an exhale.
Ellie slips her robe off and joins me on the bed.
Pouting.
"You don't want me to tell him?" I ask her.
She crawls over to me, her lovely arse in the air. "No, I understand the situation."
The thing is, I don't think
she does. She doesn't realize the complications--or the changes that will have to be made.
But I'm at peace with it--I'll do what has to be done, as long as I get to keep her.
Ellie trails feather-light kisses along my ribs. "Maybe you could wait on thinking about Nicholas . . . until your semen isn't still trickling out of my body?"
I choke out a laugh. "Fuck . . . the things that come out of your mouth."
She smiles slyly and kisses lower--down my abdomen, around my navel--and lower still.
"At this moment, I want you to focus more on the things going in my mouth."
And my breath whistles out of me.
"Oh yeah?" I ask, sliding my hand into her hair, gripping a bit, just tight enough for her to feel it.
"Yeah." Ellie licks her lips. "Big, hard things."
I scrape my teeth on my lower lip, the way I want to scratch them across her soft, pale breast--the way I will, very soon.
"That so?"
She nods. And then my girl grins--cheekily.
"Do you ever think about this?" she asks. "Me doing this to you?"
My lips drag up into the smile I know she loves. "It's my very favorite thing to think on."
I grasp my stiffening flesh and trace her lips with the head of my cock. "This, love? Is this what you want?"
And she fucking moans. I feel it against me. "Yeah, I want that, so much." She keeps her eyes on mine, slipping her little tongue out--licking, just the tip. I stroke my cock back and forth against her tongue, grazing it with every pass, wet and warm.
It feels incredible and looks fantastic.
Then fantastic gets even better.
Ellie opens that pink, pouty mouth--but holds back. She lines us up and waits . . . waits for me to lead. And I'm all about indulging her. So I push the wide crown past the ring of her lips and thrust up into the wet sucking heat of her mouth.
And her eyes roll closed, like it's the most blissful thing she's ever tasted.
Christ, she's trying to kill me.
When the tip of my cock nudges the narrow back of her throat, I stop. And Ellie eagerly takes over. Wrapping her hand around the thick shaft, working her mouth up and down, taking as much of my length into the heaven of her mouth as she can.
It's wet and sloppy and beautiful.
She worships my cock. Devours it. Hums around it, kisses and adores it with every suck and slide of her perfect lips.
Ellie licks my cock like a lollipop and palms my balls like they're her new favorite toy. My heart races and my breath pounds.
"Ellie . . ." I warn, because I feel the tightening, the liquid heat racing and ready to surge. "Ellie . . ."
She moves faster, pumps harder, sucks tighter, wringing the pleasure from me. My hips circle and lift, pushing up into her mouth as she moans around me. And I'm utterly wrecked.
". . . fuck . . . fuck . . ."
With a broken groan I come in her mouth, down her throat, pumping again and again. It feels like I'm flying and sounds like I'm dying.
When it's over, after the haze of pleasure clears from my vision, I grab my beautiful girl and hoist her up my body. With one thought in my mind--the same thought, coincidentally, that I also had that day, long ago, in the museum: I like to give as good as I get.
Sunlight peeks over the horizon, cutting a golden swath across the floor, creeping until it finds Ellie's face. With my chest pressed to her back, I lean up, over her, watching her eyes scrunch, her nose wrinkle, as she awakens slowly, blinking at the brightening sky streaming through. Then my face is buried against her hair and the soft crook of her neck. She smells like sex and sweat and me. Ellie rolls over, pushing me on my back, blocking the window with her tempting little body and raining kisses down on my cheeks, my eyelids--eager and soft.
"It's a dream. Go back to sleep. It's not morning yet." She presses her cheek against my chest--holding, hugging, clinging. "Don't leave me."
And the way she says it tugs at my gut--because it doesn't feel at all like teasing.
I tilt her face up to me so I can see her eyes. "What's that about, now?"
"Tell me we're going to be together. Like this," she pleads.
And I don't hesitate. "We're going to be together. Every day and every night, just like this." I reach up and kiss her, sealing the words.
Then I add, "But I need to speak with Prince Nicholas, before anyone else knows. Even before you tell your sister."
"But--"
"He's like an older brother to me, Elle--his opinion matters. I don't want him to think I disrespected you or took advantage. I want to be clear about my intentions and I want him to hear it from me, first. He trusts me--I won't have him believing I'm like all the other arseholes who've let him down or betrayed him."
She thinks about it, her eyes warm and light--almost silver. "Do you think he'll be mad?"
"I don't think he, or any of them will be happy." My knuckle brushes the apple of her cheek--so pretty. "They had plans for you."
"Will you get in trouble?"
"Depends on your definition of trouble." I shrug, teasing. "They might throw me in the dungeon, for fucking above my class." My hands find her arse, squeezing. "But, oh, it was worth it."
Ellie bites my arm.
"Don't worry." I take her hand in mine, threading our fingers together. "Everything will be fine, I promise."
Turns out, sometimes I lie--and don't even know it.
I PLAN ON SPEAKING TO Nicholas about Ellie the very same day, but he's scheduled to give a speech for a children's charity that requires him to travel in the helicopter, and there's no chance for us to chat alone. The next day, Olivia's feeling poorly, and she and the Prince spend the whole day sequestered in their bedroom.
And that's how it goes, for the next day and one more after that--I try to take him aside, to find him alone for a moment, but, as it often does, shit keeps getting in the way.
But nothing gets in the way of me and Ellie. I would obliterate anything or anyone who tried. We keep our distance when we're around others, acting friendly--normal.
Then, I go to her room at night--or when I can't, she comes to me. She leaves word for her sister that she's going to the cinema and I volunteer to guard her. But instead, we go to my house, where we don't have to mind our groans and shouts and cursing gasps. We're mad for each other. Insatiable. And it's all so good . . . so easy.
On the fourth day, they're together at breakfast--Ellie, Olivia, Nicholas, Henry and Lady Sarah. Ellie sends a warm, secret smile my way, and I'm determined to tell the prince today.
I clear my throat. "Prince Nicholas--"
"A present arrived for you, Lady Olivia. Looks like it's for the little ones." Sylvie, the new kitchen maid, places a square box on the table in front of Olivia, wrapped in pink and blue paper with a white bow.
"Thank you, Sylvie."
Olivia gazes at the gift for a moment, then begins to tear the paper, revealing a worn, brown cardboard box underneath, with a folded note taped to the side. And something about it rubs me all kinds of wrong. It doesn't seem like something any acquaintance of the royal family would send.
I move forward, putting my arm in front of Olivia to stop her from opening it.
"Has this been through security?" I ask the maid.
Her eyes are wide. "No, it was just delivered at the rear entrance. I thought I'd bring it right in."
I take the box from Olivia. It's a solid weight. I set it on the bureau, away from the table, then I take the knife from my side and use the blade to lift one edge, just slightly. Just enough to see what's inside.
And when I do--I curse.
"What is it?" Ellie asks, standing, her eyes wide and round--looking young, innocent--and something pulls inside me to protect her from this.
"What's in the box, Logan?" Olivia asks.
I shake my head "I'll take care of it--you needn't worry."
"Logan." Her voice is firmer, more of an order. "Tell me what's in there."
"Yeah, what
is this, Seven?" Ellie whispers. "Come on, Morgan Freeman--what's in the box?"
Nicholas closes his eyes, troubled but resigned. Then he nods sharply at me.
"Puppies," I tell them. Hating that I have to say the words. "Two small ones."
Lady Sarah covers her mouth and Henry pulls her near.
Olivia cradles her heavy stomach, where her twins lay. "Are they dead?"
I nod, rigidly--my rage building.
"What does the note say?" Olivia asks. And there's fear in her voice.
Again, I look to Nicholas. He wraps his arms around his wife. "Read it, Logan."
With a cloth, so as not to disturb any fingerprints, I peel off the note and open it.
My eyes go straight to Ellie's, embracing her with my gaze, letting her know that it's all right, nothing will touch her--or her sister. Not while I'm alive.
And then I tell them: "It says . . . soon."
The chair explodes against the wall, sending wooden shrapnel into the air and scattering across the floor. Prince Nicholas is an expert at keeping a tight rein on his emotions, wearing a mask of indifference to hide his feelings. He doesn't lose his temper often. But when he does, it's quite a sight.
A side table is next, meeting the same fate as the chair, taking a china vase out with it.
"Son of a bitch!"
We're in Winston's office, having just reviewed the security footage from the rear entrance where the package was found. And there's nothing--nothing of substance.
One minute the back entrance is empty, then a stream of people exit during a shift change--and when the last of them passes, the box is outside the door. There's no shot of any of the workers placing it there, but every one of them have still been questioned.
Whoever's doing this is a fucking ghost--a ghost that knows the palace well. He's on the inside, or used to be, and that makes it so much worse.
It's betrayal. Treachery--even treason.
Nicholas heads for the door, but his brother blocks his way.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to find the bastard."
"He's doing this to draw you out," I remind him. "To make you slip up, so he can get in closer."
"Then I'll make it easy for him!" Nicholas glares. "And when he comes at me, I'll rip out his fucking jugular."
Henry holds up his hands, speaking soothingly, as though talking to a man on a bridge, determined to jump. "I know, believe me--if it was Sarah I'd want to burn the world down too. But, Nicholas, if you go out half-cocked, it will only make it worse. It's infuriating . . . but you know that's the truth."