Dare Me

by Tara Wylde

  I push my groin towards his hand as my first orgasm starts. He increases the speed, adding extra fingers until I feel like I’m on fire. My breath catches in my throat as I buck my hips and ride the wave, over and over and over.

  Dante said he was my puppet, but the truth is, I’m his. He can make me move and jump and squirm with the slightest touch.

  I drop to my belly on the lounger, panting.

  “God, you’re good,” I huff.

  “See?” he says. “Skills.”

  I roll over onto my back and spread my legs so that my feet are on the pool deck, opening myself wide to him. He stares at me, mouth open. I stare at him – it’s like looking at one of the statues in the palace gardens.

  “What other skills do you have, baby?” I ask. “Show me.”

  He leans forward and surprises me by lifting me off the lounger completely. His hands clasp my buttocks and pull me upwards until my face is level with his. As he does, I wrap my legs around his waist.

  “Are you going to…?”

  And then he does, lowering me onto his iron rod. I gasp at the sensation of fullness as I go lower and lower. Each time we fuck (God, I love saying fuck, it feels so good), I find myself able to take more and more of him in.

  This time, I’m going for it all.

  “More,” I whisper. “I want every inch of you inside me.”

  He’s gentle about it, lifting me with those hydraulic arms of his as if I weighed nothing. Lift and drop, lift and drop. Each time going a bit deeper.

  His hips move in time with each lift, making it a double whammy, up and down at the same time. Finally, I feel my opening brush against the hair of his groin.

  “It feels like heaven,” he says.

  My mouth opens for his and we wrestle our tongues, not moving down there for a while. I’m content for him just to be all the way inside me.

  For a moment. But soon the need comes again, and I start to tilt my hips toward him, mashing my clit against his groin.

  “Fuck me hard, Dante,” I whisper. “As hard as you can.”

  Now that he has permission, he lets loose, gripping my ass and lifting me almost all the way off his cock, until only the head is left inside. Then he lowers me and raises his hips, thrusting himself all the way back in.

  “Oh God,” I pant, gripping my arms around his neck for dear life.

  With each thrust, he picks up speed, until I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. The pleasure is like a cloud that’s all around me, not just inside me.

  As the momentum builds, I let go of my clutch around his neck and drop down until I’m at arm’s length, clasping my hands behind his neck. He tilts my ass up and towards him, so that now he’s pounding directly into my G-spot.

  His speed is incredible, animalistic. Wave after wave flows over me and through me, filling me with a feeling of ecstasy. I finally manage to get my bearings after what seems like an eternity of frenetic motion.

  My eyes open just in time to see Dante’s face flex into a mask of pure joy, right as I feel him go off inside me like a cannon.

  We stand there, our heads against each other’s necks, breathing like the horses after a race at the Royal Ascot. My body shudders as aftershocks take over, but Dante holds me in place. We stand there a long time, him holding me tight, his cock deep inside me.

  I can’t stop what comes next. I don’t want to stop, consequences be damned.

  “Dante,” I whisper in his ear. “My prince. I love you.”

  “Amanda,” he whispers back. “My princess. I love you, too.”

  Chapter 91

  46. DANTE

  It’s been three hours and it hasn’t gotten weird. That’s a good sign.

  Ike and the children got back less than ten minutes after Amanda and I finished our… exercises. Barely enough time for a cooling naked swim in the pool. The five of us have been together since.

  Amanda keeps sneaking glances at me and smiling. I smile back. It’s like we’re teenagers.

  Was it too soon? We’ve known each other less than a month. But stranger things have happened, surely. Such as getting married to fulfill a ridiculous decree.

  It was the only time I’ve ever said those words to a woman. I assume it was the first time for Amanda. We didn’t really talk about it after.

  “Uncle,” Oriana calls from the pool. “Did you know that cowboys were tougher than Roman soldiers?”

  “Is that right?” I say, cocking an eyebrow at Ike. He gives me a sheepish grin.

  “Because they had guns,” says Vito. “Roman soldiers only had swords.”

  “Well, that makes perfect sense,” I say.

  Amanda giggles. “You need to stop taking history lessons from my father.”

  “Can we call Ike something different?” Oriana asks. “Ike doesn’t sound right.”

  Ike wags a finger at her. “Watch it, kid, that’s my name you’re talkin’ about.”

  “What would you like to call him?” asks Amanda.

  “I don’t know,” says Vito. “What do you think we should call you?”

  “Don’t matter to me,” Ike says. “Just don’t call me late for supper.”

  Amanda glances at him. “Doesn’t look like that’s been happening much, lately,” she says with a grin.

  “Brat,” he grumbles. “Try’n raise a kid right, whaddaya get?”

  “Can we call you nonno?” asks Oriana.

  Amanda and I share a smile.

  “No-no?” Ike says. “What kinda name is that?”

  “Not no-no,” I say. “Nonno.”

  Amanda places a hand on his.

  “It’s Italian for grandfather, Dad.”

  Ike looks around at us, stunned, as the children grin widely. This is where the marshmallow peeks out from under that leather exterior.

  “Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I suppose that’d be all right.”

  “Yay!” they cry in unison.

  I move over to where Ike is sitting and place a hand on his shoulder.

  “They’ve never had someone like you in their lives,” I say. “You and Amanda are always there for them, listening to them, playing with them. So many of the people around them tell them what to do, how to act. You simply want to be with them.”

  Amanda and I exchange another look. Her eyes glimmer as they catch the setting sun.

  I could look into them for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.

  “Well, I do it ‘cause I love it, not ‘cause I have to,” he says. “And as long as they’ll have me around, I’ll be around for ‘em.”

  He turns to the children. “’Cept when they rat me out to their uncle and Amanda about cowboys and Roman soldiers!”

  He leaps into the air from the edge of the pool and drops into the water like a boulder, splashing water everywhere.

  As they play, Amanda sidles up next to me and takes my hand.

  “You may not realize it, but that’s one of the most important moments of my dad’s life,” she says.

  “I do realize it. And it’s kind of fitting, don’t you think? After all, you and I had a pretty important moment earlier.”

  She lays her head on my shoulder. “Yeah, we did.”

  “Do you feel better about the future now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you promise to take everything Isabella says with – what did Ike call it? A salt lick? – from now on?”

  She laughs. “Yes, I do.”

  “Good.”

  “Besides, we’ve got real things to worry about,” she says.

  “Like what? Princesses don’t have to worry about things, especially not my princess. Haven’t you ever seen a Disney movie?”

  “It’s funny you say that,” she says. “Because Chancellor Huber looks like the bad guy from one of those movies.”

  I shake my head. “Huber is a paper tiger. You said it yourself, the people love us, and it’s the people who count.”

  “I get the feeling that most of th
ose people are younger, though,” she says. “I hate to say it, but historically, those are the people least likely to vote. I don’t think a referendum would be a slam dunk for us.”

  “It would be a lot easier if someone would go on camera and tell the real reason why the councils want the monarchy gone,” I say. “They want to take over my family fortune. It’s essentially state-sanctioned embezzlement.”

  She grabs my mouth between her fingers and squeezes, turning my face into a fish mouth.

  “Look at that face,” she says in baby talk. “Who could steal from a face like that?”

  “Somebody tryin’ to steal from you, son?” Ike asks, toweling himself off.

  “It’s just politics, Dad,” Amanda smiles. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

  “My neighbor Lloyd Thompson had to deal with some rustling a while back. We all knew who it was, so we got together and had a little chat with ‘im outside the bar in Shelby. Fist-to-face conversation, if you get what I mean. Them cows were back in Lloyd’s pasture two mornings later. Just showed up outta nowhere.”

  I seriously consider sending Ike to talk to Huber for a full ten seconds before dismissing the idea.

  “It really is nothing to worry about,” I say, pulling Amanda onto my lap. “I’d rather focus all my attention on making this lady happy.”

  “What about us?” Vito asks as they arrive, dripping from the pool.

  “You’re already happy,” I say. “Right?”

  They grin.

  “No,” says Oriana.

  “No,” says Vito.

  “Whassat?” Ike pipes up. “Someone callin’ me?”

  He picks them up as they squeal in protest.

  “No! No!”

  “That’s me!” he cries, jumping back into the pool with the two of them. “Nonno!”

  Amanda and I giggle uncontrollably as the three of them wreak holy havoc in the pool.

  She leans close to my ear.

  “Are we really going to make it?” she whispers.

  “I think we are,” I say. “I really do.”

  Chapter 92

  47. AMANDA

  “Do we really have to do this?” I ask Maria, blowing my hair out of my eyes.

  I’ve been staring at books of fabric swatches and paint colors and accessories for what seems like a month now, but in reality it’s been less than a week.

  “It’s expected,” she says. “When royals begin to live together, it’s tradition for the new wife to leave her mark on their living quarters. And in your case, it’s one more step towards solidifying your relationship with Dante in the eyes of the people.”

  I wince. “So it’s pretty much a given that Renaldo will have his people ‘leaking’ secrets about my decorating choices to the media?”

  “It’s a reality of life for royals,” she says. “Everything you do is in the public eye.”

  “Everything?” I say, arching an eyebrow.

  She smiles. “In this day and age, I wouldn’t put it past them to have a hidden camera in your bedroom.”

  “Don’t say that!” I giggle nervously. “I’m paranoid enough as it is.”

  “Welcome to life at the Morovan palace,” she shrugs. “This is the reason the Trentinis pay their staff so well and tend to hire generations of the same families. Privacy is of the utmost importance.”

  I sigh. Dante’s – our – apartments really are too masculine. Gothic, almost. I get the sense he had it decorated in the aftermath of his sister’s death and hasn’t changed anything in the ten years since. So I guess it’s time to turn a new page.

  “Can we put this away for a little while and talk about something enjoyable for a change?” I ask.

  “You’re the princess, Amanda. You tell me what to do, not the other way around.”

  I grin. “Uh-huh. And then you give me that look that says ‘do you really think that’s a good idea?’ and we end up doing what you think we should do.”

  “My secret is out,” she says with a laugh. “I always said you were sharp. I can only beg you not to tell Dante about my technique.”

  She takes a seat next to me at the table, pushing the sample books away and folding her arms in the space she’s cleared.

  “What would you like to talk about?”

  “I’d really like to start planning a visit to Montana,” I say. “I haven’t been home in so long. And I can’t wait for Dante and the twins to see the ranch. I think they’re excited about it, too.”

  “May I offer some advice first?”

  “Of course.”

  “Whenever you use the word ‘home’ now, you should make sure you’re referring only to Morova,” she says. “It’s a small distinction, but one the people will pick up on. In their eyes, you belong to them now. You are Morovan now, after all. Marrying Dante has made you a naturalized citizen.”

  I’d never thought of that. Another thing to add to the pile of things I need to get used to. My romance with Dante has seemed so unreal at times, it’s easy to lose track of the very protocols that are my field of study.

  When I’m in his arms and in our bed, it’s easy to lose track of everything.

  “You’re right,” I say. “Okay, let’s talk about planning a trip to my family ranch. Better?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Dad got back a couple of days ago, and there are some things he has to take care of, but he should be ready for us in a week or so. Do you think that’s doable?”

  Maria opens her ever-present iPad and pulls up a calendar. After a quick scan, she smiles.

  “Luckily, the height of summer is low season for social events,” she says. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Dante and I have talked about keeping the visit low-key. We want to make sure the kids have a chance just to enjoy themselves while we’re there.”

  “Of course. Now, what metropolitan center is closest to your father’s home?”

  Metropolitan center? In Montana?

  “Well, there’s Billings,” I say. “And Missoula. They’re both about 100,000 population. Great Falls and Shelby are closer but smaller. Why do you ask?”

  “For accommodations. That long a drive won’t be ideal, but I suppose we could rent a helicopter to speed things along.”

  I tilt my head. “I’m not sure I understand – we’ll stay at the ranch. The house has three bedrooms. The kids can share one.”

  Maria looks as if I’m speaking Chinese to her.

  “I meant the staff,” she says. “They’ll need somewhere to stay.”

  “Staff? What are you talking about?”

  “The royal family travels with secretaries, valets, drivers, security. A dozen in all, at least.”

  This is insane. Why on earth would we need a dozen people to fly somewhere for a visit?

  “Okay,” I say, putting up my hands. “We need to talk about this stuff. I really don’t think – ”

  At that moment, Carlo appears in the doorway of our chambers, agitated and huffing from exertion. I’ve never seen him any less than fully composed. What in the world is going on?

  “Carlo, are you all right?” I ask, rising to take him by the arm and lead him to the sofa.

  “I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” he pants. “I ran here from my office – neither of you were answering your phones.”

  “We have them muted. What’s the emergency?” My stomach suddenly drops. “Is it the children? Dante? Has something happened?”

  He runs a big hand through his hair. Seeing him in a state like this has goosebumps rising on my arms.

  “Something has indeed happened,” he says. “But not what you think. Maria, please turn the television to 4Roma.”

  She snaps up the remote and turns on the TV. After a few clicks, we’re looking at something on the screen that stops my heart cold.

  It’s a still photo of a blonde with her face digitally blurred, lying in a bed, holding a camera in a selfie pose. She’s naked, her body blurred like her face.

  Next to
her in the bed is Dante, asleep, his arm under her head.

  Maria looks at me, eyes wide. My shock must show on my face because she rushes to my side and wraps an arm around my shoulder.

  “Steady,” she says. “Don’t panic. I’m sure this isn’t what it appears to be.”

  “They’re saying the photos are from the prince’s bachelor party in Ibiza,” says Carlo. “I’ve been trying to track down Emilio to talk about this, but he’s nowhere to be found.”

  On the TV, Lorenzo Ricci sits behind the anchor desk with a scowl. The photo of Dante and the woman shrinks to the screen behind him.

  “For those just joining us, you’re looking at photos from Prince Dante’s bachelor party less than three weeks ago,” he says sternly. “Yes, you heard that right. The prince in bed with a woman who is most definitely not Amanda Sparks, just days before their so-called storybook wedding.”

  My mouth is dry. I feel like I’ve been cruising down the highway at sixty miles an hour and accidentally shifted from fifth gear to reverse.

  “We received these photos from an impeccable source and have independently confirmed that they are real and were taken the night of the twenty-sixth,” says Ricci. “The revelation comes as no shock to this reporter. I have said for years that Dante is not the man to lead the Morovan monarchy, and this simply adds to the mounting pile of evidence.

  “It is absolutely clear that the royal marriage is simply hasty window dressing to keep the councils from taking direct control of the Trentini fortune for the good of the nation.”

  Maria shakes a fist at the screen.

  “Bastardo!” she barks. “He calls himself a journalist! He’s nothing but a rumor monger!”

  “I don’t know,” I say through numb lips. “Looks pretty authentic to me.”

  “Your Highness,” Carlo says, taking me by the shoulders. “I’ve known the prince his entire life. I don’t pretend to understand the circumstances of these photos, but I can say one thing with utter certainty: I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been since you arrived at the palace.”