by Alice Gaines
“My turn,” she said as she undid the knot. “I’ve always enjoyed doing this.”
“I’m afraid I’m not the treasure you are,” he said.
“Don’t be so sure about that.” When she had the thing undone, she tossed it in the general direction of his jacket. “Men claim to hate ties, but they wear them, anyway.”
“Habit.”
“Let’s create some new habits.” Taking his hand again, she led him to the bed. The time had come to put aside her last fear and take the plunge. Time to make herself completely naked. She wouldn’t hide in the dark or skulk under the covers. She was going to accept—no, love—him no matter the signs of age on his body. He’d have to do the same for her.
She bent and pushed off her nylons and panties together, stepped out of them, and kicked them aside. Now he’d see every inch of her.
He stood for a heartbeat, simply staring her. His dark gaze softened, turning a deep brown. Then, he sighed. “What an ass I was to take so long when this was waiting for me.”
Of all the things he could have said, he’d selected the most perfect. She laughed as relief washed through her. He hadn’t flinched and then tried to cover it with a smile. He hadn’t said something flowery she’d know he didn’t mean. He’d only spoken the truth.
She held out her arms to him. “Come here, you darling ass.”
He did, of course, and in a second, they were kissing again. This time, her breasts pressed against the starched fabric of his shirt and her pelvis the wool of his pants. Unless she was very much mistaken—and it had been a long time—the outline of an erect male member pushed against her belly. Another fear evaporated. This afternoon could very well fulfill all the dreams she’d had over the years about making this man her lover.
They kissed for a long moment, his hands roaming over her naked back. After a bit, he released her mouth and, holding her face between his palms, pressed his lips to her forehead, then to each eyelid, and finally the tip of her nose.
They’d waited long enough, and though she could spend the rest of the day and into the night, touching him, looking at him, tasting him, he did have other duties. And eventually, her staff would return. So, she eased herself out of his arms and lay on the bed, her arms and heart open to him.
He smiled again as he unbuttoned his shirt, removed it, and placed it over his jacket on the chair. He wore nothing beneath it, and she got her first view of his naked chest. He was remarkably firm, his dark skin glowing. When he sat to remove his shoes and socks, she ran the tips of her fingers down the furrow at the center of his back. He briefly caught one hand and kissed the palm before rising to unbuckle his belt and pull down the zipper of his pants. His boxers clearly showed the evidence of his arousal. Her sex responded to the sight and the knowledge that he’d soon use that hardness to give her the sort of pleasure she’d ached for all these years. She grew moist between her legs, something she hadn’t experienced for so long.
She watched him fold his pants and lay them over the chair before he finally removed his boxers and stood by the side of the bed as naked as she was.
She could hardly have imagined him to be more beautiful. He stood so tall and straight. As handsome as his sons, but wiser and with the fullness of love that comes from a long and happy life. And what a marvelous erection—long and thick. The perfect tool to make her shatter.
He was grinning now, showing the young man still inside.
“You look very proud of yourself,” she said.
“You should be proud.” He gripped his sex by the base. “This is your doing.”
“Then bring it here.”
He joined her on the bed. Before he could distract her, she reached to the drawer in the bedside table and removed a small tube. After squeezing some lubricant onto one hand, she warmed it between her palms.
One of his silver eyebrows went up in question.
“Just to make sure this all goes well,” she said. “You are very large.”
He laughed. “Now you’re flattering me.”
He could feel flattered all he wanted. This afternoon would be perfect, no matter what she had to do to make it so. They would not stop in the heat of things to fumble for a tube. She spread the lubricant on his shaft, and felt his responding tremor in her bones. His eyes closed, and he let out a moan. So delicious. She teased him some more, spreading the lubricant on his shaft and over the head.
“Stop.” His hand covered hers. “I won’t last if you do that.”
“I’ll play with you another time.”
“I’ll hold you to that promise,” he said.
Which meant there would be other times. Not that she’d doubted it, but hearing it confirmed by his words and the sweet look of sexual excitement on his face warmed her heart. And to be perfectly honest, other parts as well. She might not have needed the lubricant, but better be safe than clumsy at an important moment.
So she lay back and waited for what he’d do next. Before she could count to two, he’d raised himself over her to kiss her again. This time, the caress meant much more than the others they’d shared. Flesh to flesh with no boundaries and no reason to deny each other anything, she could release her last inhibition and simply enjoy him. He gave her much to enjoy—the heat of his body, the friction of his flesh against hers, the scent of his shaving soap. She kissed him back with her whole heart, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Soon, the space surrounding them filled with the sounds of ragged breathing as their excitement built. Passion as beautiful as any she’d ever experienced, and this was only the beginning.
As he moved lower, he laid a path of kisses along the length of her neck, each a tender pinprick of joy. He caressed her breasts again, clearly loving them. While he took one nipple into his mouth, he teased the other with the pad of his thumb. Her eyes crossed with pleasure and then closed so she could concentrate on the sensations he created everywhere he touched her, whether with hands or his mouth. Both were so very, very clever.
When he released her breasts, his palms travelled down her sides as his lips followed a direct path to her naval. After a kiss there, he eased himself between her legs and moved lower.
For a moment, she froze as his destination became clear. Alexander had done that, of course, but it was so intimate. So much to ask of him at their first encounter.
He had to have sensed her tension because he rose on his elbows to study her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you…really want to…”
“More than anything,” he said. “May I?”
The uncertainty in his voice melted any reservation. Melted her heart, actually, although that had probably happened when he’d shown up in her sitting room with a hat pulled down over his ears. She touched the side of his face. “Please.”
She relaxed her legs and allowed him to press his face to her sex. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he parted her folds created an entirely different type of tension, and she grew moister. Waiting, waiting. When his tongue brushed against her most sensitive organ, she cried out.
“Marta?” he said.
“Don’t stop…please.”
“That’s my girl.” He resumed giving her the most intense pleasure a man could bestow on a woman. Only a man who loved the act could do it well, and Friedrich clearly did. He teased her bud with just the right pressure to make her crave the ultimate release but also to want to hold it off. Her eyes already shut, she drifted off into a world where only the two of them and the mattress beneath her existed. Blood rushed in her ears, and her skin heated everywhere. Her bones turned to putty, and she could only lie there and trust him to push her to the ultimate and make the climax truly beautiful.
With consummate skill, he played her sex like a finely tuned instrument designed for her pleasure. He teased and stroked while the tension coiled deep inside her. It would break free and overwhelm her in a moment, and though she could have this heaven from him again, how much sweeter to stretch the climb out. The higher she went, the greater
the final explosion and the sweeter the fall back to earth.
She fought the inevitable, but her mind couldn’t stray from what he was doing to her and how he’d feel once he’d entered her. The combination proved too much to resist, so when her arousal coiled in on itself, she surrendered. It grew and grew until it filled her and then burst free. For a long moment, she soared with it, her voice crying out, and then the spasms started. Strong and rhythmic. Powerful.
He stayed with her until the orgasm ended and then scooted upward and took her into his arms. Her face rested against his chest, and she placed her lips against the space over his heart. She couldn’t possibly have moved to kiss him anywhere else.
“Oh my,” she whispered when the power of speech returned. “Oh my, oh my.”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “It seems I haven’t lost my touch.”
“If you were any better you might have killed me.”
“We can’t have that.”
She pulled her head back and glanced at his face. “Whatever shall I do to pay you back?”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
They didn’t rush, though. One of the great things about maturity—not needing to have everything right this minute. Instead, they could lie together for a few minutes so she could enjoy the glow, even though his erection pressed against her belly—the evidence that he wanted her.
Smiling at him, she shifted to allow space for her hand between their bodies. Grasping his hardness, she ran her thumb over the tip, and watched his face for his reaction. His eyes squeezed shut in a half-grimace of pleasure, and his hand went to her mound. He parted the lips and slid a finger into her. Immediately, her muscles closed around it, craving the penetration of his instrument.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“Bless you.” Raising himself on his elbows, he took his place between her legs, the tip of his erection poised between the lips of her sex. He eased into her slowly, no doubt in an effort to be gentle with her. In reality, the move allowed her to register every inch as he claimed her.
When he’d embedded himself in her fully, they paused, staring into each other’s faces. The world shifted to accept their new reality as lovers. Not friends, not even dear friends. This one movement redefined their lives, and they took a moment to record the importance of the moment.
Then he moved, and all logic fled in the face of rising passion. For a second, he seemed as if he’d pull completely out, but then he surged back in. Wrapping her legs around him, she urged him deeper.
They moved slowly at first, savoring every stroke of his hardness against her inner muscles. For these wondrous moments, she ceased to exist as a separate person. Rather, she became part of a greater whole—he/she, you/I. One being created for the purest expression of humanity. Her heart swelled with the knowledge that her pleasure guaranteed his and that, when they reached the ultimate moment, he’d be with her, around her, in her.
Soon, he picked up the pace, breathing hard from the exertion and his rising excitement. The dearest creature in the world—a man lost in the act of taking and giving equally. Clinging to his shoulders, she raised her hips to meet each thrust. Each movement pushed her closer to orgasm, and she reached for it, now desperate for the release it offered.
His passion seemed to equal hers, as he pushed harder and moved faster. “Yes. Oh God…can’t last…”
“Now.” She managed that one syllable before the climax stole her reason. Her body tensed again and then burst into explosions, each one grasping at his hardness. With a shout, he stiffened and plunged into her a few more times. She held him as he came, her muscles still fluttering around him. The perfect moment, and one they’d created together.
When he rolled onto his side, gathering her against him much as he had a few minutes before, her eyes did moisten, and she left the tears where they were. She wasn’t bawling, and he’d never notice. A gift like the one he’d just given her didn’t go unnoticed or uncelebrated. She’d happily cry like this again. And again, and again.
“You did climax a second time,” he said after a bit. “I didn’t imagine it.”
“I did.”
“Magnificent woman.”
“Perhaps you’re an excellent lover,” she said.
“And now you flatter me again.”
“Not at all.” For a few seconds, she couldn’t help but regret that their relationship was an afterthought compared to his marriage. If Cecile hadn’t died, he’d be with her in the palace now. He would never have needed another woman and would never have looked in Marta’s direction. Still, why ruin such a moment with regrets? She had him now, and that was all that mattered.
Sighing, he rolled onto his back, cushioning her head on his shoulder. “I should return to the palace.”
“I should get dressed and ready myself for my staff to return,” she said.
“Why do I feel no sense of urgency?”
She put an arm around him and hugged his ribs. “If you’re like me, you haven’t the strength.”
“I’d better find some.” He kissed the top of her head. “I hate to leave you so quickly.”
“I understand.”
“When will I see you again?”
“Is ‘seeing’ what we’ll call this now?” she asked.
He harrumphed, the blessedly fake way he did with his sons—the people he loved. “I do enjoy your company for other things, you know.”
“Like visiting your monks and sampling their brandy,” she said.
“I don’t recall you complaining about that.”
She squeezed him. “I loved it.”
“Next time at the palace, I think,” he said. “It wouldn’t do for the people to find their Prince Royal creeping around the city as if he had something to hide.”
“It wouldn’t.” Which brought up the question of what they could let people know and what they’d need to keep secret. Everything for now. In the future? Tell his sons and their wives they were having an affair? What should the public find out?
She squeezed him again. She could have squeezed herself. She was having an affair. Her first true love affair with the sexiest, most desirable man alive.
“I’ll think of an occasion for a formal family dinner and send you an invitation,” he said. “We’ve done that often enough.”
“Don’t make me wait long.” After what they’d shared this afternoon, only a cruel man would deprive his lover of more.
“Impatient thing.” He gave her one of his radiant smiles. “No more so than I.”
Chapter Three
It was early for brandy, but after the events of the afternoon, Friedrich needed to sort out his thoughts. Taking a relatively unused corridor of the palace, he made his way to the small sitting room that had served as his grandfather’s study. In a quiet corner overlooking the kitchen garden, the space offered privacy, and so he’d had his favorite portrait of Cecile hung here so he could visit it without intrusion, even from his sons. Today, he closed the door behind him and avoided looking at his late wife’s image until he’d poured himself some liquor from the decanter on the sideboard. Then, drink in hand, he turned and gazed up at her.
The artist had painted her shortly after she’d conceived Dev, and she’d had to interrupt the sessions occasionally for morning sickness. And yet, you’d never know from her serene expression that anything in her life marred her perfect existence. The quintessential princess. If only she’d lived with him into old age the way they’d planned.
I did it, Cecile. I’ve formed a bond with another woman. I’ve made love to her. When his wife had known she was dying, she’d made him promise to fall in love again. Love was too precious to let it wither from disuse, she’d said.
She’ll never replace you. That went without saying, and Marta would never expect more. But he hurt when the image of his wife’s face faded and he had to look at pictures to remember the details. Would he lose her completely now?
No. He couldn’t bear that. He
went to an armchair and sat, sipping his brandy, savoring the complexity of flavors. His body was saying wonderful things to him. And yes, he had to allow himself a bit of male pride. He’d performed, and rather well based on the noises she’d made and the orgasms. Two of them, each one so precious. He’d been randy enough that, at a younger age, he might have finished before the fun really started. But he’d lasted long enough to satisfy her.
He could be with her again as soon as he created an excuse to invite her to the palace. Maybe he wouldn’t even wait until his rather unpleasant houseguests—Dixie’s family, the Beaumonts—left. The thought warmed him as much as the brandy did. He could stay the night in her bedroom, sleep in heat of her body, find her face on the pillow next to his when he awoke. He could be in love again.
Twice in his life, he’d fallen completely and utterly in love. Most people counted themselves blessed if they’d loved once. Now his heart told him the Almighty had given him that gift for a third time. Each time had been different, each suited to his role in the world—the young lover, the husband and father, and now a man free to make his own choices.
As he drank more brandy and let the finish fill his mouth, his thoughts went back to Pamela. Her image only existed in faded photographs he’d taken so long ago. He didn’t even know what she looked like now or if she was happy or even alive. Because she’d been a commoner and his marriage had already been arranged, he’d had to put his love of her behind him at the death of his parents when he’d assumed the throne. Now he couldn’t even talk to her the way he did to Cecile. She was utterly and truly gone, and that loss continued to the present day. Perhaps somewhere in an alternate universe their counterparts had found a way to stay together. Perhaps they had grandchildren.