by Leslie North
But by all that was holy—he hoped she would be ready for part two of this session soon, because he had never been less a fan of delayed gratification than he was at this moment.
8
Anna paced outside the castle gate, cursing the security guard. Surely it shouldn’t take this long to check that she was who she said she was, and that she had permission to visit the castle whenever she wanted. She was the Queen’s sister, for crying out loud. And never mind that both Ella and Eric had asked her to get an official ID made, which would’ve avoided this whole hassle. She’d been busy trying to cure cancer. She could hardly be expected to drop everything to fill out yet more paperwork to get yet another ID.
She groaned, wanting to smack herself. Of course it was her fault. She should’ve unglued herself from her workstation long enough to follow her sister’s requests long ago, but it was too late now, at least for today. She had some results she wanted to show Eric, and she knew he’d mentioned having plans with friends this afternoon. Hopefully she could still catch him before he left.
She marched back up to the guard station and gave the man a death glare. He fumbled the phone as he dialed, stammering a question to the supervisor on the other end. It would be her luck she’d get the new guy.
“Everything okay?” asked a voice from her side. She glanced over at another man, who appeared to also be waiting for security clearance.
“Yes, it’s just taking longer than I thought,” she said shortly, expecting that to be the end of the conversation.
But: “I know, right?” the man answered. “Between you and me, Saturdays are the best days to visit. Fred is always on duty then, he gets things done much faster.”
She stared at him. Small talk. He was making small talk. Okay, it was okay, she could do this—she’d prepped for situations like this with Eric. She shuffled through her mental flash cards of appropriate tones and topics. According to her homework, this situation called for agreement and a friendly, open-ended question that would allow the conversation to continue if the other party so desired. “That’s a good tip. Do you come here often, then?” she answered after a second, and was relieved when he smiled back easily.
“Pretty frequently,” he said. “Though my schedule got thrown off a bit this time around because of the match this weekend.”
“The match?” she asked blankly.
“Yeah. Rugby. It was England versus Scotland on Saturday and oh man, wasn’t that scrum amazing?” He whistled. “I missed my standing appointment here, but damn was it worth it.”
“Oh! Of course, that scrum was absolutely amazing,” she said, internally panicking. She didn’t know anything about rugby. None of her small talk lessons had covered it, and she wasn’t exactly the sporty type. It was like football, right? Only more dangerous, or muddier, or with fewer people or more people or something?
“Hey,” the man said then, “you’re that researcher, aren’t you? The one Prince Eric has been funding?”
“Yes!” she yelped, grabbing onto the more familiar topic with both hands. Research, she knew how to talk about. “I mean, yes, that’s right, I’m Dr. Anna Fernstone. Eric and I have been working together,” she said, forcing her voice to a more subdued, normal tone.
“How’s that going? Working with him must be fun, if the tabloids are anything to go by.”
Anna flashed back to the mani-pedi, to the feel of yarn around her wrists and his lips on hers. He’d smelled like peppermint and something musky and intoxicating. And the way his thumb had brushed over her nipple…her core tightened at the memory. Thanks to Eric, her first kiss had been sexy, amazing, magical. She’d ended the night aching for his touch, wishing she would’ve asked him to take the lesson further. “You could say that,” she answered the man. “Fun is definitely what Prince Eric does best.”
The guard called her name and she parted ways with her small-talk partner, relieved that her first round of unexpected real-world practice hadn’t been a complete disaster. But by the time she made it to Eric’s suite, she was overthinking the whole conversation, picking apart her flaws and weak spots.
“I need to know more about rugby,” she blurted when Eric opened the door.
“Hello to you too,” he said cheerfully. He opened the door wider, inviting her in, and she entered. His room was all man, clean lines and comfortable leather and touches of old-world wood on the furniture. There was a pool table in the middle of the living room—because of course there was—and the kitchen had two shelves full of what looked like very expensive booze. She took it all in, smiling a little at this private glimpse into Eric’s life, and then frowned sharply. It probably wasn’t so private at all. How many women had stood where she was? How many women had he invited over for a drink, how many bras had hung over the back of that couch? She’d caught herself thinking that the other day in the lab, their kiss, had been special, but she needed to remember that it was just business for the both of them. She wasn’t anything like his other conquests. She wore sensible cotton panties and sometimes her bras didn’t even match them, and they’d certainly never been slung over the back of a man’s couch. He was here to teach her, that was all. She needed to remember that lest she read too much into his lessons.
But at least her bra and panties matched today. Inspired by the way he’d made her feel in the lab, she’d gone on a special shopping trip to one of those embarrassing, sexy stores, and had found it much less embarrassing and more empowering than she’d ever thought it could be. Beneath her no-nonsense charcoal pencil shirt and blouse, she was wearing a silky black thong and a lacy bra that barely covered the important bits. It made her feel like she had a secret, and she wanted nothing more than to share it with Eric.
Eric. Who was staring at her in amusement by this point, one eyebrow raised as she looked around his home without speaking.
She cleared her throat, casting her mind back to why she’d come here. Rugby. She needed to learn about rugby. Well, and show him her latest research results too, but that suddenly felt much less relevant. “I was talking with a man at the gate, and I feel like my small talk skills have improved, but he got onto the topic of rugby and I barely even know what that is, much less how to talk about it,” she explained.
His eyes lit up. “Really? You really want me to teach you about sports?” He looked like a little boy eager to show off something he loved, and she couldn’t help but smile back. She didn’t think she’d smiled as much in her entire life as she had these last few weeks with Eric.
“Yes,” she affirmed.
Half an hour later, Eric was in front of her, both of them crouched forward with their heads touching. “Then they throw the ball into the tunnel in the middle of the scrum,” Eric was saying animatedly, motioning at the space on the floor between them, “and then it engages, and everyone tries to compete for the ball, tries to hook it backwards with their feet.”
“That sounds violent,” she commented.
“Oh yeah, it gets really physical.” He splayed his hands out. “I’ve broken every single finger at least once, back when I was playing seriously. Now I just play in a league with some friends, so it’s not as rough. Unless I owe one of them money or stole someone’s date.”
She narrowed her eyes against a stab of jealousy she shouldn’t be feeling. “So what usually happens then, during the scrum? Do both teams have an equal shot at getting the ball?” she asked, trying to stay focused.
“Depends on whether you’re playing union or league,” he answered, motioning animatedly. His eyes were so bright—she could watch him talk all day when he was excited like this. She had to admit, though, that by this point she wanted to do quite a lot more than talk. She squirmed a little at his nearness—he smelled so good up close, and it kept reminding her of all the amazing things that had happened at the lab the last time she’d smelled that peppermint and musk—as he continued. “In league, the forwards usually don’t push, and most of the time the ball is fed directly under the legs of their own fr
ont row so the team with the put-in keeps the ball basically every time. But in union, both sets of forwards try to push each other back to get the ball.” He demonstrated, shoving gently with the shoulder that was locked against hers. She hadn’t balanced her weight properly and toppled over sideways into the pool table. He laughed, caught off-balance himself by how easily she’d fallen, and ended up pressed against her.
She went still. His body, the way it was so firm and hard against hers, the way it fit just right as he leaned over her…this was exactly where she’d wanted to be since the second she’d walked into the room. The pressure of it was delicious. Before she could think about it, she lifted one of her legs and moved it over just slightly, so that both his knees were between hers. His eyes went dark and smoldering and he leaned down, his nose nearly touching hers, his lips barely a breath away.
“When the players get knocked down,” he murmured, “it’s best to check for injuries.”
Her breath quickened as he raised one hand, lightly brushing a thumb over her lips. They parted under his touch. His other hand ran down her side, to her breast, to the spot that had ached for him ever since that night in the lab. This time, though, he undid a button. She bit her lip against a noise as he slipped his hand inside her shirt and found her lacy new bra. He made a noise of approval, running his fingertips across it in delightful torture, then tugged it down and freed her breast. His hands were on her, skin to skin, caressing, teasing, amazing. She arched into him and he undid two more buttons, tugging her shirt to the side, baring half her chest to him. His gaze was smoky as he admired her, and it made her feel like the most beautiful woman in existence.
Then he lowered his mouth to her nipple. She tipped her head back, mouth open in a gasp.
“Good?” Eric murmured, pulling away a moment to blow a cool breath over her pebbled nipple.
“Very good,” she managed, her breath starting to come in pants.
He kissed her breast again, teased it lightly with his lips and tongue, then made his way up to her neck. One of his hands slipped across her waist, to the hem of her tight-fitting skirt. He lifted her knee, shifting her slightly so that she was partially sitting on the edge of the pool table, and slid a thumb under her hem. She couldn’t help a whimper as his fingertips swept across her knee and then ventured upward. Instinctively, she tried to spread her legs wider, but the tight skirt stopped her. Eric, sensing her need, hooked his hand under the skirt and tugged it up. She overbalanced at the motion and fell backwards and he went with her, his weight bearing her down to the pool table’s surface. The pressure of him was delicious—and then his fingers found her thong, and he touched her right there at the center of her need, and she was feeling a completely new kind of pressure.
“There,” she whispered, squirming against him. “Oh, right there.”
He touched her lightly through the thong, stroking up and down, teasing her a moment through the silky fabric before he pushed it aside. Then those strong, gentle fingers were on her, and she’d never felt anything so amazing. Her head dropped onto the table with a thump she barely noticed as she reveled in the feel of him.
“Have you ever touched yourself?” Eric asked, his voice low with wanting. He found her clit and rubbed it between his fingers, and her heart galloped, her hips helplessly pushing forward.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s…it’s good for…stress relief.” She could barely think straight.
A laugh rumbled deep in his throat. “Ever the efficient scientist,” he said, and kissed her.
“It’s never been like this though,” she gasped when they came up for air. His fingers were increasing their pressure, rolling, caressing, building her up to a pleasure she’d never thought possible.
“Good,” he said, a possessive note in his voice. He moved his other hand down and, without easing the delicious rhythm on her clit, slipped a finger inside her.
She moaned loudly and bucked against him as he pushed it deeper. “Yes,” she said, squirming hard. “More. I need more, Eric, please, more.”
With his knee, he nudged her legs a little wider and slipped another finger into her. The pressure built, spiraling toward her center, and she threw her head back and arched against the table. The pools balls rattled in their triangle at the far end of the table. “Yes,” she gasped. “Oh—yes—right there—don’t…don’t stop.”
“Never,” he promised, and increased his tempo just a little, just enough to…to…
She clenched and bucked, losing herself, heat arrowing to her core as her muscles tightened hard around his fingers. She made a helpless noise, arching into him as he buried his fingers deep in her, so deep, and it felt so impossibly good. She wanted more of him. All of him. She wanted this, again and again, forever.
A knock sounded at the door. “Eric?” called a male voice. “You’re late! We’re headed out to play, you coming?”
Anna and Eric froze, staring at each other, his hands still on the center of her need. She throbbed, the echoes of her climax fading. She licked her lips and tried to think straight. “You…” she cleared her throat. “Go…go ahead. You should go.”
He leaned forward to kiss her. “It’s my cousin, Simon. I swore I would be there today or else I would happily stay here with you all day long,” he said, the intensity in his eyes pinning her to the table. Then he leaned back, and she straightened her skirt and re-buttoned her shirt with shaking fingers while he took a few deep breaths, his desire for her evident in the bulge in his pants. She stared at it hungrily. She wanted to feel that weight in her hands. She wanted to see it, wanted it inside her, wanted Eric inside her.
“Go on ahead,” Eric shouted. “Be there in five.”
She smoothed a hand over the front of her skirt, remembering his hand tracing the same path. “More lessons later?” she asked breathily.
He smiled, her hunger echoed in his gaze. “Absolutely,” he said. “I have some things I can’t wait to teach you.”
9
A week later, Eric headed for Anna’s office the second his plane touched down back in Danovar. He’d had to jet off the day after that amazing rugby lesson, headed to France to do some support work for an art charity his family had funded, and now that he was finally back he couldn’t wait another moment to drop by the lab. Strictly to check in for updates since he’d been gone, of course—and never mind that the memos she’d emailed him had covered all the new test results, or that he was conveniently “forgetting” a meeting with three senior Parliament members in order to see her today.
The truth was, he couldn’t get her out of his head. Those noises she’d made when his fingers were buried in her, the way she’d thrown her head back and let herself go, even the way her memos had slowly become more informal as she let down her guard for him; they all felt like victories. It was exhilarating in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d been with plenty of women in his life, but with Anna, everything felt new.
He knocked lightly and opened the door to her lab, then paused and quietly closed it behind him when he saw she was finishing up a video call. The white-haired man was her doctoral advisor, judging from her deference and the familiarity with which they addressed each other. She was knitting while she updated him, a beautifully complex blanket made of cabled squares. Eric shook his head, marveling at her skill. She might’ve thought she was all science, all the time, but she constantly surprised him with her diversity.
She finished the call. “Welcome back,” she said to him over her shoulder.
He put his hands in his pockets and didn’t miss the lingering appreciative look she shot him as he leaned against the door. “Thanks,” he answered. “I’m actually here to get an update too, if you don’t mind repeating yourself.”
“I don’t mind at all. I was hoping you’d stop by. The lab isn’t the same without you.”
He puffed up a little, happy to hear she’d missed him. She finished binding off the last few stitches of her blanket and stuck it in her bag, then pulled a
new skein of yarn out and held it up.
“Come sit down while I talk,” she invited. “I was about to start a new blanket, and I could use some help winding this into a ball first.”
He sat as directed. “My ball-winding skills are at your disposal, though I have to warn you I don’t have any.”
“Just hold out your hands for me to loop this skein around,” she instructed.
She updated him on the project as her fingers darted around his hands, deftly rolling the bright blue yarn into a ball. They chatted easily when she ran out of research data to impart, and she told him about Anderson’s newest antics—apparently he’d met Mister Right and had proposed on the third date, and now he was planning for the wedding party to dance a reel up the aisle to some hipster pop song while clothed in period-accurate Victorian dress. Anna had staunchly refused, but then he’d asked her to be one of his attendants, which meant she’d been forced to acquiesce to his demands. Eric laughed long and loud at that one, picturing her trying to dance in the hideous ocean of brown tulle she described.
After a while, the skein started tightening around his hands as the ball in her fingers got bigger. “Who are you making the blankets for?” he asked.
“The babies at the neonatal care unit. I make all of them blankets,” she answered, focused on the yarn.
He blinked. “All of them?”
“Yep. It helps me too, though. Knitting keeps my hands busy so my mind can relax.”
“There are more fun ways to relax,” he said, giving her a suggestive smile.
She blushed faintly but smiled back. “This is fun too,” she argued.