by Kim Karr
After freeing myself from my boxers, I position the head of my dick right against her wet, hot pussy and push the tip in. She’s already soaked with her cum and so ready for me.
She wraps her arms around me, her fingernails digging into the flesh of my back as I fill her.
Fuck.
She feels way too good.
She’s my heaven and hell.
At first, I make slow, short pumps in and out. She feels incredible, and I don’t want it to end. But soon, my hands fly to her sweet ass, pushing her further into me.
Like this, her hands find my shoulders, gripping me tight, and she rides me even harder. I groan when she rolls her hips, begging for more.
Harder.
Faster.
I give it to her.
She’s a storm I’m chasing, the entire time knowing the outcome is destruction, and yet, I can’t stop.
Her head falls back, and my mouth finds her throat, licking and sucking. I shift her small body a little, allowing her to wrap her legs behind me, her dark hair falling around her angelic face as she does. She’s so fucking beautiful that I have to kiss her. I find her lips, and soon, we’re both upright, mouth to mouth and chest to chest. There’s so much I want to say, but nothing that makes any fucking sense, so I stay quiet.
I thrust into her again, and she gasps when I hit the spot that drives her wild. It isn’t long before we’re both desperate to come, wild with fucking need.
Hard, wet, slaps fill the space as we both reach our climax.
When I finally stop twitching inside her, I pull out and stare into her eyes. I don’t know what to fucking say. I refuse to say that won’t happen again as I did before because, obviously, it fucking will.
After redressing herself, Ophelia climbs back over the seat and opens the door, breaking the silence with, “I’m going to go inside now.”
I should say, “I’ll come.”
I should say, “Let me walk you in.”
I should say, “Don’t go.”
Instead, I say nothing.
GOTCHA
The Wimberly Warrior
The Gossip Column
HOT ROYAL NEWS
By Ann Hess
If a picture tells a thousand words, I don’t really have to report the news, do I?
After a tumultuous and unsettling first half of the year for Wimberly’s Royals, it appears the younger Prince of Wimberly is back, and not only in Wimberly but back to his bad-boy ways.
This picture shows him waiting outside an unidentified girl’s apartment, and when he whisked her away, he shagged his security. To shag her? Your guess is as good as mine.
The Queen can’t be none too happy about his behavior, especially since the older and the younger Princes have begun accompanying her to the summer season’s engagements, which must be part of the inevitable transition.
This monarch’s commitment to “life-long service” may be out of her hands. Perhaps regency—where the Queen retains the Crown but hands over all official responsibilities to Vittore—is coming. Or maybe even succession is on the horizon. And if so, our young bad boy Prince will be next in line.
Time to grow up, Julius.
And get married.
Wimberly needs an heir.
Hear ye, hear ye.
A ROYAL AFTERNOON
Present
The text is simple, “A car will pick you up at 10.”
A week has passed, and this is the first I’ve heard from the younger Prince of Wimberly.
I spent the first four days of the week trying to convince Raquel that Julius is interested in me. The picture didn’t satisfy her in the least. The only thing that got her off my back was my midweek meeting with the Queen.
And that was short but sweet.
I met Queen Helena in her private chambers at the Palace. She wore a light yellow duster and matching slippers. Her hair was done, and she wore the most beautiful three-strand pearl necklace with a Cameo in the middle, of which she later told me was a gift from her father to her mother.
The woman believes in true love more than anyone I’ve ever met, and she isn’t afraid to flaunt it.
Although she looked like the Regent she is, she also looked exhausted. While she sat in a wing-backed chair, I sat perched on the edge of the silk sofa. She wanted to start her story at the beginning when she was a full-fledged Princess but not yet Queen.
Over tea, she told me about how she met Aristotle on holiday in London and fell in love with his charm at first sight. How they married against her father, the King’s wishes, and, soon after, had a child. It was a whirlwind relationship that didn’t give them time to breathe. Not long after Vittore was born, her father passed, and she became the Queen of Wimberly.
Aristotle was a visionary, which is why she fell in love with him. He, however, was not made to be a Prince. He had big dreams of creating an empire, and upon moving to the Vespa Isles, he discovered a deep void that could be the basis of his empire. He figured out that the Vespa Isles had a considerable need for a shipping source. So, while he pursued his dreams, Helena sat on the throne. They spent very little time together but were both happy.
When Vittore turned eighteen, the two decided to part ways. They still loved each other; however, each had their own version of a happy life, and compromise just wasn’t working for either of them any longer.
Raquel scoffs when she reads my notes. “This is all fluff. We need the meat of their relationship.”
“What do you mean? That is the meat.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s fluff. I want to know the impact on their relationship when Aristotle moved to London. Dig deep into the rumors of infidelities on both sides and ask her about them.”
“There wasn’t any cheating.”
“Of course, there was. You can’t really be that naïve, can you? They lived apart for years. Besides, no one falls in love at first sight. There’s a reason she married him so quickly. Perhaps she was already pregnant. Find out.”
I stare, dumbfounded at her. “I can’t ask the Queen that!”
Eyeing me from head-to-toe, she points her manicured finger at me. “Yes, you can. It’s your job. I’m serious. Find out the dirty details. I mean it, Ophelia, get something that people want to read, or I’ll find someone else who can.”
There it is—the threat.
I knew it was coming.
The thing is, she wants dirt on the royal family that I cannot give her, regardless of how many threats she throws my way.
I won’t do it.
Still, I have to play along with her because I know. I know she knows about Julius and me. I can tell. Julius is right. She’s just waiting for me to break and give her the inside scoop to what happened between Julius and me three years ago. The truth only him and I know. I can’t let it come to that. Not yet.
Stall.
All I have to do is stall.
Give Julius the time he needs to take his grandfather’s company public. I owe that to him. So, until then, I will continue to feed her crumbs and hope they satisfy her long enough.
“I have to go,” I tell her.
“Bring me something juicy,” she shouts. “I mean it. And I really like that dress on you.”
I roll my eyes. Of course, she does, she picked it out.
I stop in the bathroom on my way down to the street and then raise my chin and set off for my next event.
The car arrives on time, sans Julius.
Much to my embarrassment, the chauffeur-driven limousine drives right into the Palace’s forecourt and announces my arrival over the speaker system, in a way I’m not expecting.
Today, I’m not wearing the purple cut-out dress Raquel saw me in earlier. It was too fitted and too revealing for an event like this.
Instead, I used the credit card she lent me to purchase a Kate Snow design. I changed in the bathroom at the office, without Raquel knowing, before exiting the building.
The dress is a floor-length, violet floral wrap with mat
ching fascinator and silk clutch. And it cost more than I make in a week.
The Queen whispered in my ear before I left the Palace on Wednesday that she prefers to wear pastels to the garden parties. I think it was a suggestion, so I took it.
On the most beautiful sunny afternoon, I enter the garden where at least five hundred other people are standing, I have a shade umbrella in my hand as I look around. There are diplomats and civil servants, policemen and firemen, businessmen, teachers and nurses, and even famous actors.
Most of the men are wearing morning coats of black or gray and look rather dumpy. The women, on the other hand, are in assorted party garb with different hats and gloves and look vibrant.
And yes, I said gloves.
I have mine, don’t worry.
Every year, Queen Helena throws three garden parties for between four and six hundred people. Some are invited on their own account, some as part of an allocation of tickets to the establishment they work for. Others to represent various charities. Regardless of the reason, everyone wants to meet the Queen.
This year, she plans to throw four parties. The extra one has not been announced yet, but Julius spoke of it in the car last week. I didn’t tell Raquel about it. Perhaps it is the one where the big announcement will be made, but I haven’t asked. Julius or Queen Helena will tell me when they are ready. If they are ever ready, that is.
The red-coated band members strike up the National Anthem. Just then, the Queen and the two Princes appear at the top of the steps, and a hush falls over the assembled crowd. Then applause breaks out as they make their way down the broad stone staircase and toward us.
The Queen is wearing a powder blue coat over the same color dress and a matching hat. She accessorizes with white gloves, her signature purple handbag, black loafers, and sunglasses.
Yes, the Queen wears shades.
Vittore looks sharp in his suit, but Julius looks incredibly dashing in his morning suit and topcoat, minus the vest. My heart does a little twirl as I take him in. The pants are fitted, long and lean, and so is the jacket. There is nothing dumpy-looking about him dressed that way, that’s for sure.
Then I remember how I can’t seem to keep my hands off him, and how I keep ending up either under him, on top of him, or at his knees, and I force myself to look away.
I have to stop that behavior. It’s not like I don’t know he’s using me for sex as some kind of punishment, and yet, I keep letting him.
Are hate fucks okay, though?
It’s not like I’m not enjoying myself.
No. Stop. I shake my head and look elsewhere, anywhere, but at the man who has my heart on a leash.
The guards, in their embroidered uniforms and hats, position themselves in order to make a clear pathway for the three Royals, who have now separated so as to spread their attention to as many of the guests as possible.
I’m in the Queen’s lane, and dozens of people are already surrounding her and personally introducing themselves—there’s a new representative from France, a member of Parliament with his young son, and a businessman on the brink of retirement.
The ritual of royalty may be repetitive, but the Queen seems to adore it. People who meet her will remember everything she says to them, and she’s mastered the technique of personalizing even these short encounters.
“Oh, I remember my visit there! There’s a marvelous exhibition on the west side of town,” she tells one of the men, who smiles at her words.
Around her, the crowd of guests surges thickly, trying to remain near enough to engage in conversation as she walks forward.
When the Queen glances around, she cranes her neck until she spots me, and then whispers something to one of the guards. After nodding, he makes his way toward me. “Miss, Her Royal Highness would like you to accompany her today.”
Blinking owlishly, it takes me a few seconds to understand what he’s saying—the Queen wants me to walk with her. “Of course,” I tell him and follow him once I’ve closed my umbrella.
The Queen’s eyes twinkle when I approach her. “You look like a Princess,” she tells me, and I find myself blushing.
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure what to wear. Raquel wanted me to wear a more fitted dress to attract—” I stop, remembering she doesn’t know about Raquel’s plan for me to seduce her grandson.
“To gain Julius’s attention?” she asks, only mildly stunned. “Regardless of her intentions, I think you already have it, my dear.”
I glance away, embarrassed. “No, I promise you, I don’t.”
She leans close to me. “He’s putting you through the wringer, huh? Give him some time. He has trust issues, and you violated his trust in a big way.”
My entire being crumples. I feel like a balloon that’s been popped. She knows. The Queen knows. How is she even talking to me?
With a gentle touch, she presses a hand on top of my shoulder. “That doesn’t mean you can’t earn it back.”
The crowd is all around us, and here we are whispering about my deceit. “How do you know?”
Stopping, she turns toward me and removes her sunglasses. “Darling, I’m the Queen of Wimberly, and much to my grandson’s dismay, there isn’t much I don’t know, especially about him.”
“Then you must know he hates me.”
“It isn’t hatred I see when he looks at you.” With a chuckle, she loops her arm through mine, and we start walking again.
“It isn’t love, either.” Oh, God, did I really just say that?
She shrugs. “Sometimes the lines are blurred. Trust me, I know. But either way, everyone deserves a chance at redemption.”
I can feel the other guests’ eyes burning holes into the back of my skull. “Does he know you know?”
With a mischievous grin, she says, “He hasn’t come right out and said so, but I think he suspects. The thing is, discussing it with me would mean having to admit how he feels, and Julius isn’t one for airing his emotions. He’s like his mother that way. Or perhaps like that because of her.”
“You don’t care for his mother?”
If you’ve never seen a Queen roll her eyes, you must. It is truly a sight. “No, not at all. And I suspect neither does he. Not anymore, anyway.” She points her finger at me. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
I burst out laughing, completely charmed by this woman’s honesty. “Your secrets are safe with me, Your Majesty.”
“Good, because I do like you. When you come back this week, I’ll tell you about Vittore. Sweet boy, but so easily taken by women. A lot like his father, I suppose, and another reason Julius is the way he is.”
“I’m looking forward to continuing our story,” I tell her. “I’m almost finished writing about what we discussed last week.”
Someone interrupts us, and I have to say, I’m glad. I need a chance to breathe. She knows. She knows and doesn’t hate me as Julius does. Maybe I can redeem myself, after all.
re·demp·tion
/rəˈdem(p)SH(ə)n/
Noun
the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.
Making our way to the first scheduled presentation, we stop at one of the large, white tea-tents. There are several. However, I am not certain which is for what cause.
On one side of the tent, there appears to be most of the royal diplomats, and on the other are the majority of less prestigious guests. Regardless of status, all are treated to sumptuously catered hot or cold drinks, tiny round sandwiches, buttered tea biscuits, and an assortment of colored cream cakes.
After scanning the area for Julius, even though I know I shouldn’t, I decide seltzer water is just what I need and head toward the beverage cart.
Speak of the devil.
My heart nearly stops when I see his dark head of hair sticking up this way and that from the blowing wind. Accepting a flute of the bubbly liquid, I can’t stop the burning knot that forms in my stomach at the sight before me.
Having removed his topcoat, Julius is
sitting on a small sofa with his arm stretched out behind the woman who is sitting beside him. He has one leg resting upon the other knee, and a wine glass in his hand. His masculine profile is only illuminated under the rays of the sun.
He’s casually speaking to the beautiful woman beside him. Her name is Katerina Volchok, and she’s a model from the Ukraine. I think she’s the daughter of one of the dignitaries here today. Tall, tan, and blonde with a big bosom, she’s sitting very close to him.
Very, very close.
And I really hate it.
Sure, I’m tall and trim, but my breasts are small and perky. And whereas I’m considered much more adorable, she’s completely stunning. Honestly, there is no comparison.
It’s not that I’m jealous. He can flirt with whoever he wants. In fact, he can date, kiss, or screw who he wants.
Or can he?
Does pretend dating come with a rule book? If so, I could really use it right now, because I want to rush over to him and—well, I don’t know what.
Okay, stop.
Relax.
He isn’t mine. Sure, he hate fucks me, but that’s just to get me out of his system, if not punish me, by forcing me to bear witness to what I lost, I’m sure.
I can feel my knees go weak. My nerves are getting the best of me. Trying to breathe past the anxiety I feel.
Suddenly, he laughs over something Katerina is saying, and when he does, he turns a little with the movement, his eyes landing right on me—and stopping.
All of my breath leaves my lungs, and the air feels so heavy, I can’t breathe. It’s his stare. I feel it like an adrenaline rush. Raw and needy. I want to look away, but I can’t, because I swear his chest just jerked as if he too is sucking in a breath.
There are hundreds of people surrounding us, but at this moment, it feels like just the two of us.
As he rakes his eyes down my body in one fast, complete sweep, my stomach grips nervously.
“There you are. It’s time for the presentation, and I was hoping you’d sit beside me.” I blink and then blink again. The Queen is now in her wheelchair with Vittore behind her, and she has no idea I was just eye fucking her grandson. Over tea and biscuits. Oh, God, I’m so naughty.