by Emma Chase
Nicholas's face twists with frustration. Then he advances so that he's nose-to-nose with Winston. "Find him!" his voice booms righteously. Like the king he was raised to be. "I don't care what you have to do--unleash your most vicious dogs, look in every closet, every corner, turn every house in the damn city upside down--but . . . Find. Him."
Winston bows. He's a retired killer, an assassin--the kind who could shoot a man in the face while sipping his tea and not spill a drop. And he's completely devoted to the Crown.
"It will be done, Your Highness."
Calmer, or maybe just drained, Nicholas nods. "I'm going to be with my wife."
And today is definitely not the day.
I spend the next day in Winston's office, analyzing plans for Prince Henry and Lady Sarah's official wedding, just five weeks away. We look at the measures from every angle, searching for weaknesses and finding ways to lock them down, in the face of the current threat.
I don't see Ellie once the whole long day and the absence gnaws at me, makes me needy, hungry. I want her near me, with me, in my sights, all the time. And because it's been hours and hours without a glimpse of her, I'm wound up tense like a hot fucking coil.
Then, just as my shift is ending, I get a text. Telling me to meet her.
The throne room isn't used for decrees these days. It's a public exhibit, part of the tour, but at this hour, half past ten, it's closed and empty. I step into the dim, echoing room, lit only by the electric candles burning on the walls. Ellie stands on the raised platform beside the jeweled throne, running her hand down the smooth golden arm.
When she spots me, she runs. And it's a joyous thing to see. I catch her when she jumps and wraps her arms and legs around me like a lovely vine.
She sighs against my mouth. "I've missed you."
She feels it too. The craving, the strain, the uncomfortable itch that's only satiated when we're together.
"Have you missed me?" she asks.
I groan against her lips. "I burn for you, sweet girl. I dream of you, even when I'm awake."
Her smile is warm, her blush pink, as she goes after my shirt--working the buttons and kissing my skin.
"What do you dream? Tell me."
I carry her towards the bearskin rug in front of the unlit fireplace. "An hour ago, I was picturing you in my kitchen, wearing nothing but tiny little knickers and a snug cotton shirt that showed off your perky, fantastic tits."
She giggles against my throat, leaning down to drag her tongue over the war falcon tattoo on my shoulder and arm.
"And you were dancing," I tell her, nipping at her plump earlobe. "Shaking your sweet, tight arse like you used to while baking your pies in the coffee shop."
Ellie tilts her head back, finding my eyes. "I didn't think you'd noticed."
I take her lower lip between my teeth, running the tip of my tongue across it.
"It was all I fucking noticed."
I uncurl her legs from my hips. But when her feet touch the rug, she doesn't move down to the floor like I thought she would. Instead, with a wicked gleam in her eyes, Ellie backs her way towards the golden throne, pulling me by the hand.
"I had a dream too. That's why I told you to meet me here."
She sits down in the royal chair, lifting one foot onto the seat, raising the skirt of her pretty red dress and flashing me her bare, glistening pussy.
Wicked, clever girl.
Ellie drags one finger through her slit. My cock twitches, and my pulse pounds.
"I imagined you tasting me, like this, right here."
I lick my lips. "Is that so?"
"Aye." She smiles cheekily, imitating my voice. "And then you sat down and I rode you, fucked you, right here."
This is a hallowed space, the throne a sacred relic--like an altar in a church, or one of those creepy statues whose eyes follow you around, waiting for you to transgress. But at this moment, I don't care.
"I'm going to hell for this," I mutter.
Ellie grins. "Then you should make the most of it before you burn."
Good advice.
Like the sinner I am, I go down on my knees. I spread her legs with my hands, impatience making me rough, hooking her calf over my shoulder. And I kiss her, open-mouthed, between her legs. She feels so fucking soft against my lips, so hot and slippery against my tongue. And she's sweet--like thick, melted sugar.
"Holy . . ." Ellie begins, but doesn't finish. The words lost on a moan.
I suck on her, lap at her, eat her like a plump summer peach. I could do this forever; exist on her alone. Ellie slips down the throne, lifting her hips, offering herself up to my mouth. I thrust my tongue into her heat and she gasps, clenching around me. I grip her hips, slide her back and forth against me, fucking her with my mouth, scratching the tender skin of her thighs with the stubble on my jaw.
Then I drag my lips up to her clit--swollen and full. A hard, quivering, needy little bud. I open her with my fingers and kiss her there, love her there, rub my tongue against her in perfect, tight little circles, until her legs quiver and her hips jerk.
Ellie comes apart with a cry--wild and shameless--with her hand tugging on my hair as her hips gyrate against my mouth. I lick at her gently as the last spasms of pleasure float through her. I slide my sleeve across my mouth and place one soft, tender kiss on her smooth pelvis.
Then I stand and tear my shirt off. I yank her dainty dress up, because I need to feel her--skin on bare skin. I push my trousers down, just low enough to free my demanding cock, then I pick her up and take her place on the throne. Her legs straddle my hips, and her pussy--so wet and hot--hovers above my dick.
In one move, I push her down and thrust up, burying myself in her beautiful, gripping tightness. We both groan.
Ellie strokes my face, meeting my eyes with her languid, heavy-lidded gaze.
I slap her thigh, just hard enough to sting.
"Come on, lass," I hiss. "Ride me. Make your dream come true."
My filthy command wakes her right up. And her pelvis slides forward and back, stroking me from base to tip. Her breaths come hard, her chest heaving.
She rides me faster, finding her rhythm, taking her pleasure.
And she's beautiful.
"I love your dick," Ellie pants. "It's so big, it fills me . . . so good . . . it's so good."
"My dick thinks you're pretty grand too."
We laugh together, in the secret, sultry way only lovers can.
But then there's no more teasing. I grasp her arse, fingers digging into her flesh--helping her move. She rocks over me, harder, wilder. And the heat gathers, builds; my heavy balls tighten with the need to explode, my cock thickens with the desire to come, flood her, fill her.
"You're coming with me, Ellie." I groan. "Come with me."
I latch on to her nipple, suckling relentlessly.
"Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . ." she moans.
And then she contracts around me, milking me, pulling my orgasm from deep inside my fucking soul.
Afterwards, we're a bit silly with the satisfaction. Not tired or spent, but almost giddy. We stand, kissing and tickling, all gentle, teasing touches and soft smiles.
Ellie bends down to get her dress, and I'm so captivated by the view of her arse, I don't realize the throne room door is opening until three people are walking through it.
Shirtless, with my trousers up but open, I spin around--holding Ellie behind me, blocking her from view.
"Logan?" Prince Nicholas asks, squinting like he's seeing a ghost.
Lady Olivia and Prince Henry wear the same expressions.
Before I can formulate a response, Ellie peeks out from behind me.
"Hey guys . . . what's up?"
"What were you thinking?"
I wasn't. That's the problem with letting your cock run things--he doesn't think. Or, if he does, it's only about just the one thing. Dumb bastard.
"Did you realize how reckless you were?"
Sure, I did. Afterwards.
I nod. "It was stupid."
So fucking stupid.
Behind Nicholas, Henry paces back and forth, with a large open book in his hands.
"Didn't we used to have a dungeon downstairs?" the blond prince asks his older brother.
"Could've sworn I found it when I was six or seven. Gave me nightmares for a week." He points at an image in the book and smiles manically. "That device looks like it hurts--we'll order two."
Huh. I thought I was just teasing Ellie about the dungeon.
Nicholas ignores his brother and pins me with damning eyes. "Anyone could have walked in on you, Logan. The staff, visitors . . . photographers."
My stomach churns at the thought of sweet Ellie's bare assets photographed without her consent--splashed across front pages for the whole world to consume. Jesus.
"Do we still hang people?" Henry asks, philosophically. When he doesn't get an answer, he adds, "If not, I'm bringing hanging back."
So that's what Justin Timberlake would sound like if he were a serial killer.
Nicholas sighs, rubbing his forehead. "How long has this been going on?"
I lift my chin. "Depends on what you mean by 'this,' Sir."
Henry snaps the books closed. "I didn't like the way you looked at her at the wedding." He braces his hands on the desk beside Nicholas--leaning over and glaring at me. "So, he means just how long have you been sticking it to the girl who's like a little sister to us?"
I hold his furious gaze for a few seconds, breathing slowly. "That's . . . a fairly recent development."
Then my voice grows stronger. Because I'm not ashamed.
"But I have loved her for a long, long time."
I didn't mean to say it, didn't mean to even think it . . . but it's the truth. Simple and straight.
And the indignant wind goes out of Henry's sails.
There's a knock at the door.
"Come in," Nicholas says.
Lady Sarah steps in, wearing her nightclothes under a fluffy ivory robe and a chastising expression. Behind her glasses, her eyes narrow on Henry.
"So this is how it's going to be, then? Married only a few days and I already have to search the palace to drag my husband to bed?"
Henry goes to Sarah, like an invisible rope is reeling him to her. "Dragging me to your bed is something you'll never have to do, love. You can even tie me there whenever you like, and I'll be happy to reciprocate."
He kisses her mouth, as she blushes deep and bright.
She leans back. "Then why are you down here instead of up there with me?"
"There was an emergency."
"What kind of an emergency?"
"You're not going to believe it."
"Try me."
"Logan and Ellie are fucking."
She automatically glances at me, and her cheeks deepen to a shade of crimson. "I'm sure there's a more delicate way to word that, Henry."
Henry nods, soberly. "You're right, I'm sorry. Let me try again: Logan and Ellie are humping, like insatiable randy bunnies, all over the palace."
Sarah shakes her head. "You're hopeless."
The Prince grins broadly. "It's part of my charm."
"What am I going to do with you?"
Henry kisses her again. "Take me to bed. Obviously."
He nods towards his brother. "You've got this?"
"Yes. Good night, Henry, Sarah."
And the happy newlyweds exit the room. Leaving Prince Nicholas and me alone.
He stares at me across the desk with a penetrating, unreadable expression. This man whom I respect and admire. Who's been more of a mentor, an older brother to me, than anyone related by blood.
"Prince Nicholas--"
"I'm not a fool, Logan."
I should have told him from the beginning. Found a moment, made the time. Before I ever laid a finger on her.
"No, you're not."
"I've suspected an . . . attraction . . . between you and Ellie for some time, possibly before you did."
"Yes. I realize--" I begin.
"You are everything I'd hoped for her. Everything I'd prayed she'd find."
My thoughts stop in their tracks. And my voice is faint with surprise.
"Really?"
"Of course." He nods, smiling with warmth in his eyes. "You're a good man--dedicated, hardworking, loyal. I know you'll put her happiness above all else, that you'll keep her safe. Olivia believes the same."
And it feels like a blessing. The best kind.
Then Nicholas's features sober, grow serious.
"But . . . Logan . . ."
I lift my hand, stopping him, because I already know.
"You don't have to say it. I understand. I'll speak with Winston in the morning, first thing."
"YOU STUCK-UP, ARROGANT SON OF a bitch!"
I yell the words as I charge into Nicholas and Olivia's private dining room--like Joan of fucking Arc on the French battlefield. I came straight here after I talked to Logan, right after he finished meeting with Winston. Right after he turned in his badge or sexy dark clothes or whatever the hell bodyguards have to turn in when they stop being bodyguards.
I love Nicholas, he's a great guy--which makes his current douchery all the more upsetting.
"Ellie!" My sister stands up.
"He fired Logan," I tell her. Then I only have condemning eyes for her hubby, who's still sitting. "How could you do this to him? This job is his life; it means everything to him."
"Not everything." Nicholas's eyes are cool green and unsurprised. He tosses his napkin on the table. "For the record, I didn't fire him. He resigned."
"But you would have fired him if he hadn't resigned."
"Yes, I would have."
Slowly, my sister turns. "Nicholas?"
"I would no sooner allow Logan to guard you or Ellie than I would ask a surgeon to operate on his wife. I've been in his shoes. I've had to choose between duty and love, and I know how it ends."
"That doesn't make any sense. Logan can still be a bodyguard, and be with me."
"Really?" my brother-in-law asks. "And how would that work, exactly? The upcoming ball that will kick off Henry and Sarah's wedding festivities--did you want Logan to come with you? By your side, as your date, a guest?"
I've imagined that. Being on Logan's arm, dancing with him, laughing with him--while he's clad in a sharp, perfectly fitted tuxedo like James fucking Bond.
Mama like.
"Well . . . yeah. I do want that."
Nicholas nods. "And how will he enjoy the party, attend to you . . . and guard the door at the same time?"
I stomp my foot, getting frustrated, because I see the sense Nicholas is making--and I don't want to.
"He wouldn't have to be on duty then."
"All right, then let's imagine how it will be when he is on duty. Picture it--we're all at an event together, shaking hands, accepting flowers. Then, suddenly a shot rings out. What does Logan do? Who does he cover first?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do. Don't think, just answer--who?"
I say the first answer that pops into my head--the only answer.
"Me. Logan would cover me first."
Nicholas leans forward, his features softening. "Of course he would. Just as he should--I would expect nothing less." His eyes dart to my sister. "But the fact remains that I have to think of Olivia, of our children. And for the men assigned to guard her, she must come first--she is the priority. I like Logan very much; I always have. I trust him and would willingly depend on him. I like the two of you together, Ellie. But his feelings for you have compromised him and he's unable to fulfill the duties of his position. It's as simple as that."
A weight sits on my chest, bending it in. Crushing guilt.
"It's not fair."
"Life often isn't," Nicholas says gently. "Logan had a clear choice to make. He understood wh
at he was doing. He knew he could have you or his job--not both. And he chose you."
"I STILL THINK IT SUCKS."
I'm on the mattress in the half-constructed living room of my house, on my side, listening as Ellie rails against the unfairness of life, watching her hang soft yellow drapes on the rods I installed this morning.
She's wearing one of my button-down shirts and nothing beneath. It's long on her--but when she stretches up high to make an adjustment, her scrumptious arse teases me with a glimpse.
Speaking of sucking . . .
She has such a lovely arse. I want to kiss her there, lick her there, hear the high-pitched whine in her voice as she comes while I fuck her there. My cock juts out, hard and ready, and my balls throb.
She needs to finish those bloody curtains. Quickly.
"It's the way it is, Ellie-girl. I knew that when I signed up for security detail and I was fully aware of it when I went to your room that night."
She looks back over her shoulder. Her blond hair shimmery in the sunlight, the shirt inching up her creamy thighs as she twists.
"Is that why you stayed away all those years in New York? Even after you knew you . . . liked me? Because you knew you'd have to give up your job?"
"I stayed away because you were young. And I wasn't sure if you'd want to stick with a bloke like me."
Ellie she shakes her head. "Dummy."
Then she appraises her handiwork around the windows, tilting her head, stepping back . . . right into my waiting hands.
I grab her tiny waist, turning and rolling her under me on the mattress. Then I get right to work on getting her out of my shirt, baring her pretty tits that I can't stop sucking.
She combs her fingers through my hair. "But what are you going to do, Logan?"
"Right now? I'm going to fuck you senseless."
My Ellie likes that idea. She smiles.
"And then?"
I look to the ceiling, contemplating. "Then I'm gonna drag this mattress upstairs and fuck you slow and gentle, beneath the stars."
That gets her giggling.
"And tomorrow?"
I thrust my hips forward between her spread legs, sliding my hardness through her soft, lovely wet heat.
"I'll repeat the process." My breath picks up, because she feels so good. "But we'll use different positions. You're easy to lift and spin around--I can get quite creative."
"Logan . . ." Ellie moans, raising her hips, begging without words for me to thrust inside. To take her, ride her, make her writhe and moan.