Royal Affair (Royal Scandal #1)

by Parker Swift

  “These are an outrageous gift. I mean, they’re unbelievable, and it was fun to pretend, but you shouldn’t be giving these to me.”

  “Fuck should and shouldn’t. If you had seen how incredible these looked on you…There was no way I could leave them behind. They’re yours. I want you to have them.” He wasn’t to be argued with.

  “Thank you, Dylan. And for the scarf, which felt like an extravagant gift on its own. These—” I fingered the earrings lovingly. “I don’t think I’ll ever have the occasion to wear them, but I love them.” I kissed him softly and leaned into him.

  “Good. Ok, food.” He stroked my back and then tugged me out of the car.

  It had started raining so hard that by the time we made it to the door we were nearly soaked through. Once inside, I went to my room to shed my wet clothes, and reemerged in a clean, dry V-neck t-shirt and jeans. By the time I got to the kitchen, Dylan was on the phone ordering us takeaway Thai food. He held his cell phone away from his ear as he spoke to me, “I’m assuming you’re not allergic to peanuts?” I shook my head in confirmation, but that was the only input I was asked for food-wise.

  “The food will be here soon, but I have to go. I have some things I have to do this afternoon.”

  “You’re not going to stay and eat with me?” I was more disappointed than I realized I’d be.

  “No, but you’ll eat with me tonight. And bring an overnight bag. You’re sleeping over,” he said, smiling. His rakish smile was his way of asking permission to be as bossy as he was being, and it was fine by me. “Lloyd will pick you up at five forty-five.”

  “Sleeping, huh?”

  “Is that a challenge?” He looked both incredibly pleased at my playfulness and also completely firm. “You have no idea how I already plan to put that delectable little body of yours to work. I’ve been incredibly gentle with you so far, so you might want to think twice before asking for more.” His voice was low and husky.

  “I thought we weren’t going to go to your house,” I said.

  “We’ll be careful,” he replied, coming towards me. “You really are making me break my own rules.” He sighed, sounding almost confused.

  He put his finger under my chin and tipped my head up, his lips meeting mine. “Now. Be good. Eat your lunch. Stay warm and dry, and be ready when Lloyd comes to get you.” He kissed me again, squeezed me in his arms, and walked away. He turned once more before shutting the door behind him, “And, Lydia? Wear a dress.”

  * * *

  At 5:45, I was at my door, ready to go. I wore a printed, capped-sleeved wrap dress with nude heels and my denim jacket. I debated for a moment about the panties. Was I really not going to wear underwear just because Dylan said so? But this crazy desire he had? I had it, too, and the truth was that it was fun letting him push my limits, letting him pry open the door to my naughtier side. Although it was definitely going to take some getting used to, especially when it came to dresses. I threw my hair in a messy ponytail and threw everything I really needed for an overnight into my tote. I wasn’t exactly a high-maintenance girl.

  I was in the car with Lloyd for five minutes, the Jaguar again, when he received a call. All I could here was “Yes, sir” and “Yes, Mr. Hale.” Not a lot required of Lloyd in the talking department, I guess. Then he caught my eye in the rearview mirror, “Miss Bell, Mr. Hale has asked me to have you make a stop before we go to his home.”

  “Ah—” I was about to press him when my phone vibrated with a text. It was from Dylan.

  SATURDAY, 5:56 pm

  Trust me.

  What did he mean? Just then we pulled up in front of a town house with a large glossy blue door and a discreet sign indicating it was a day spa. Oh god. He’d mentioned parting me from my pubic hair, and I had a feeling that’s what this was about. I’d gotten my bikini line waxed before for swimsuit season, but I had a feeling he was thinking of something a little more drastic.

  Out of instinct or some long-held habit of being an agreeable person, I opened the car door and walked the few steps to the spa door. I even opened the door and went inside. I even enjoyed the blast of warm air and the smell of cucumbers and mint. But very quickly, on the heels of taking in the soothing spa music, I had a moment of What the fuck am I doing letting some guy tell me how or when to groom my nether regions?

  He’d asked me to trust him, and every other thing he’d pushed me to do I’d liked. Not just liked, loved. But still, there was the principle of the thing. The more I thought about it, the more I realized Dylan deserved to have his limits pushed too.

  My conflicting mess of thoughts was disrupted by the pleasant woman at the front desk, who smiled and asked, “Miss Bell?” I must have been the only client, because it looked as though they weren’t officially open—the hallways were so dim and abandoned.

  “Yes,” I nodded

  “Right this way,” she said as she stood, ready to guide me somewhere.

  “Excuse me,” I halted her. “Could you remind me what services I’m signed up for?”

  “Of course,” she began, looking down at the paper in front of her. “Our calendar says you’ve requested our full Brazilian bikini wax.”

  That fucker. He’d phoned in his directives, and he wanted me completely bare.

  My well-engrained script for what happens in a salon prompted me to follow this elegant woman down the hall, but most of my brain was still standing slack-jawed back in the reception area, trying to figure out what exactly I was going to do. It’s not that I was opposed to waxing—if I skirted around my outrage for just a minute, I could admit that I was slightly aroused by the idea that Dylan was this focused on my pussy. But there was also the who-the-hell-does-he-think-he-is factor that needed to be considered.

  By the time my brain caught up with my body, I was standing in a warm, dark room with a massage table. It was set up like any other waxing room, only more nicely. “Yvette, your aesthetician, will be right with you. Please undress from the waist down, or um, you can just put on one of these robes, and lay on the table faceup. There is a blanket over here if you’re cold while you wait.”

  I pulled together my resolve and lay on the table. Dylan may have gotten me in the door, but he wasn’t going to dictate the events that unfolded now that I was here. The door opened, and a tiny, fierce-looking woman with a severe ponytail walked in.

  “Yvette?” I asked, before she could even shut the door behind her. She nodded, and we began our negotiations.

  When she was done doing her business—and she was all business—I felt as though I might need physical therapy to recover. I had been forced to arrange myself in ways I’d never been arranged outside the bedroom, or actually even in the bedroom, although I had a feeling that would soon change. Thankfully, Yvette was fast. Before I had time to fully adjust to the pain, she had finished waxing and trimming and was done. Looking down revealed my version of a compromise—the only hair remaining south of my neck was a narrow, inch-long rectangle above my slit.

  When I attempted to pay, I was informed it was all taken care of. What a gentleman, I huffed to myself.

  But the bastard knew what he was doing. Since I wasn’t wearing underwear, and I was wearing a dress, I could feel every breeze, every shift in the air, skate over my bareness. I felt insanely wanton. He knew it would feel good. He knew I’d like it, and there was part of me that hated that he was right. There was also part of me that loved it.

  Chapter 21

  Lloyd drove me around the back of the house—the reminders of our non-public status seemed to be constant—and Dylan was leaning in the open doorway, waiting. He was barefoot, wearing sexy-as-hell jeans and a faded grey t-shirt. I could see the outlines of his muscles beneath the soft, worn-in fabric, and I wanted nothing more than to nuzzle into it.

  “How very tricky of you, having your henchman kidnap me and take me to get denuded,” I said, and smirked at him as I approached.

  “How does it feel?” he asked and pulled me closer. “The flush in
your cheeks is giving you away. You’ve never waxed before?” He ran his fingers up and down my back, and then let his hand rest on my upper ass. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was just double-checking to make sure I wasn’t wearing underwear.

  “I’ve waxed before.”

  He laughed with a raised his eyebrow and then leaned down, bringing our faces within a hair’s distance. “I’m willing to bet you’re wet under that dress, just from having that pretty pussy of yours so exposed.”

  Holy fuck. How did he know that?

  He reached into my dress, placing his whole hand over my sex, and stopped when he ran into the tiny patch of hair. “Lydia?” he looked at me, waiting for me to respond.

  “I heard your offer, and I countered.” I was speaking into this cheek, and I punctuated my words with a kiss.

  “You naughty, naughty girl. Putting me in my place, are you?” His words were barely above a whisper, and he allowed a finger to slide in between the lips and stroke where there’d been hair just twenty minutes prior. I gasped, suddenly desperate for air.

  “It needed to be done,” I replied and began laying kisses down his neck, getting desperate to move this to the bedroom.

  “This is mine, you cheeky girl,” he said, still stroking me. “No one else sees this, understand?” I nodded, feeling the flush rise to my face. “Now, I want to see what you’ve done.”

  He retrieved his hand and grabbed mine, bringing me inside. I followed him upstairs to the sitting room adjoining his bedroom. The room was dark and warmly lit, bookcases filled the walls, and there was a couch and a couple of leather-and-steel urban-design-y looking chairs. It was a neat, tidy masculine room.

  He took my jacket and my bag from my shoulder and deposited them beside the couch. We were standing in the middle of the room, and he reached an arm over his shoulder, dragged the back of his shirt up and over his head, and dropped it on the couch. The back of his hand started at my shoulder and slowly drifted down the side of my body, nudging my breast as it passed and reached the tie on my dress.

  “This dress is perfect.” He pulled, and the front fell open. He pushed it off my arms, leaving me standing in nothing but my bra and heels. I was warm and cold all at once, the reliable goose bumps rising to the surface. His gaze said nothing but hunger and appreciation. He reached behind me and unclasped my bra, letting it pool with my dress at my feet. My nipples were already rock hard, taut and tiny, perched on my breasts.

  He came behind me, and holding my hands, turned me towards a mirror on the wall. He ran his large hands down my sides and rested them on my hips. I’d never looked at myself this way, and I felt so exposed, but also, surprisingly, beautiful. I actually loved the way I looked, wrapped in him. He was making me see my body in a new light. Reaching down in front of me, he gently slid a finger over my bare entrance, and a shiver flew up my spine, making me shift in his arms.

  “Sensitive, isn’t it?” he whispered.

  “Yes. God, your touch is so much, so much more there.”

  “You’re too sensitive for us to fuck.” I spun around to meet his gaze. What?

  “Lydia, you’re not supposed to have sex for at least twelve hours after you’ve been waxed.”

  I pushed him away. “What?” I said harshly. “Wait a minute. A) Why do you know that? That’s just weird. But B) why the fuck did you have me get waxed tonight?” I was outraged! He’d been on my mind all afternoon, he had me horny as hell, and now he was going to deny me?

  “Lydia. I know what I’m doing. I wanted to see this.” He turned me back to face the mirror, pushed my arms aside and gently outlined the tiny patch of hair with his finger and thumbed it, teasing and sending me flying. I loved the look on his face, how turned on he was. I loved his hands on me—I never wanted them off of me again. “And we’ll still play. I promise. I’m just not going to be able to fuck you the way I want to so badly right now.” He frowned. “It’s never been so hard to keep my hands off anyone before.” He said it like he didn’t understand it himself.

  “Don’t,” I said. He looked quizzically at me, and I put my own hand over his, locking it in place over my sex. “Don’t take them off of me again.” I tilted my head back into his shoulder, and his palms moved up to my waist, crossing my belly. I tried to urge his hands back between my legs, but he held firm.

  “Ah ah,” he scolded sweetly. “Patience, baby.” I grumbled, but acquiesced. He rested his chin on my shoulder. “Have you ever been tied up before, Lydia?” His voice was low, but I could hear the excitement. I gulped and shook my head slowly.

  “Are you ok with it?” he asked in a whisper. I gulped and nodded.

  “You’ll have to trust me. And just tell me if you want me to stop.” I nodded in understanding, because I did trust him, instinctively. He grabbed my hand and brought me into the bedroom. “On the bed, hands and knees, and show me that gorgeous ass.” He gestured so that I understood I was to be kneeling parallel to the bottom of his bed. All of a sudden, every cell in my body was on fire. I’d fantasized about being restrained before, but I’d never been sure if it was something I’d actually want in real life. My whole body was screaming at me that it definitely was.

  I positioned myself as requested, and I could feel the dampness spreading between my legs, could feel myself swelling in anticipation. Of course, he’d just said he wouldn’t be fucking me. What the hell did he have in mind?

  “Put your forearms down,” he ordered. He left for a minute, fetching something from the closet. “That’s it.”

  He leaned over me and grabbed my upper arms from behind and dragged them back until they made contact with my knees, effectively spreading my cheeks and perching my butt even higher in the air. I felt so insanely exposed. He dragged a finger through my wet folds, and sighed, “Goddamn, I was a fool to let you get waxed tonight. I so badly want to sink into you.” He stood at my side, and I angled my face so I could see him. He was dangling two pieces of soft thick rope in front of me. “This shouldn’t hurt, but it will be intense.” I nodded. I was practically panting. He proceeded to deftly tie my left knee to my left elbow, checking the knot to be sure it was snug. He repeated the process on the other side. I couldn’t stretch out if I tried. I couldn’t budge an inch.

  “Your ass is so beautiful, Lydia, and I can’t wait to claim it.” I tensed. He was stroking up and down my bottom, grazing over my anal opening, He leaned over and shocked me when he kissed it, sending a shiver up my back. “Shh, baby. Relax. We’re just going to start playing. I won’t fuck you there till you’re ready.” I felt warm liquid being spread between my cheeks. “We have to work up to that. Tonight, I’m going to put this in you.” I felt a cool object being slid over my opening. “You’ll wear this plug, and I’m going to fuck your mouth. And then I’m going to make you come. You’re not going to come until I want you to, understand?” How was he going to stop me? I was so riotously turned on. I was quaking with anticipation, with nerves, with a feeling of holy shit is this really happening?

  I began to feel him gently work my opening with his thumb and then a finger, massaging it and spreading the warm liquid. Then I felt the head of the plug pressing against me. “I need you to relax, baby. I don’t want to hurt you. Breathe and lean into it when you’re ready,” he instructed, his free hand gently resting on my back. I closed my eyes and exhaled, willing myself to relax into the intrusion. I pushed back against it, and he pushed it into me in equal measure, working it deeper. We repeated this move a few more times; each time he worked it farther into me. “That’s right, my sweet girl, take it all.” He stroked my back as he pushed the plug in completely.

  The fullness was overwhelming. It felt so foreign, so wrong, but also shockingly good. All of my instincts said to tense and to push it away, but I settled into it, accepting the intrusion. My heart was racing. He steadied me and smoothed his hand over my ass, caressing my cheeks.

  “Good girl, Lydia. You look so beautiful.”

  He reached around and thumbed
my clit. “See how much you like it already? Can you imagine what it will be like when I can come in your pretty ass?” When he talked dirty I could feel the heat in his words, his near desperation. He slipped his thumb inside me, and I could feel how tight it was, could feel the added pressure. It made every touch feel exponentially more intense. I was so close to coming, and I could feel my body tightening, quickening around his thumb, but he withdrew. “Not yet, baby. This time, I go first.” He came around to where my face was, and held my cheeks in his palms. He kneeled down and kissed me, and looked into my eyes searchingly, making sure I was ok, still with him. My eager smile satisfied him, and he stood. He slid his jeans and briefs down and I was face-to-face with his impossibly perfect cock.

  I tilted my face up and forward, straining for him, but I wouldn’t be able to reach him at this angle. All of a sudden I’d never wanted anything more than to get my lips around him. I wanted to give him the blow job to end all blow jobs. I wanted to rock his fucking world with my mouth. I’d never given head without my hands before, but I was completely game. I licked my lips in anticipation and looked up through my lashes into his eyes.

  He came around and sat on the bed next to me, my head directly over his lap. He gently placed his hand on the back of my head, guiding me, and used the other to brush my lips with the head of his penis. He got no resistance from me. I opened and swallowed him in. His large hand exerted gentle pressure, and he began slowly and gently entering me, tilting into me, finding his rhythm.

  With each entry, I lowered my head farther, took him deeper, guiding him with my tongue to the roof of my mouth, then to the back of my throat. As he exited I flicked my tongue onto his tip and heard him groan in response. I could feel my own body responding, clenching, as I found my own rhythm. I could taste him on my tongue, and I knew he was close. His pace was increasing. He was reaching his fever pitch. As he tried to withdraw on a thrust, I tightened my lips around him and forced him to slow. “Christ, Lydia!” I sank back onto him, and he came fast and hard into my mouth. I swallowed fiercely, desperately trying to keep up as he tilted into me once more. He slowed, and I licked him clean as he withdrew. I knew without a doubt that I had never given a blow job that good before. “And here I was thinking I was the one fucking you,” he said. “You blow my mind.”