Naughty bits aside, we think meeting the fam was a big step for the royal hopeful who lost her parents in a car accident a few years back. A tragic story, sure, but if we’ve learned anything from our friends at the mouse house, it’s that all princesses have to overcome adversity to snag their prince, and we figure MEM’s no exception. The real question is whether this princess-wannabe has the lady balls to grab her HEA with both hands or if she’ll be tossed aside like so many of HRH’s past paramours?
Chapter Fifteen
“Any questions?” Lena asked, unease pricking at the back of her neck. She’d just spent twenty minutes covering the basics of clay and doing a pottery demo, but as she scanned the faces in the studio, she had a sneaking suspicion it had been a wasted effort. The positive press had inspired plenty of new students to sign up for Wheel 101, but she wasn’t convinced they were all here for the right reasons.
Not yet anyway.
It was her job to help them fall in love with the art of throwing pottery, and she hoped tonight’s lesson would be a step in that direction—after all, pottery was the new Pilates—but first she had to get them focused.
A hand shot up in the front row.
“Yes?”
“Does Prince William visit the studio often?” the woman asked, her friends tittering as she fluffed her hair.
Lena pasted a smile on her face. “Once in a while,” she admitted, “but his schedule is busy.”
“Really?” the woman asked skeptically. “Then why are all those paparazzi camping outside? I pass them every day on my way to work.”
A few of the other women nodded in agreement, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes. The paps were vultures. Enough said.
“What’s it like to have all those photographers watching everything you do all day?” another woman asked, hovering precariously on the edge of her stool as she craned her neck to get a glimpse of the paps who were milling around on the sidewalk, looking bored as hell. “It must be so glamorous. Even I felt like a celebrity when I came in. That alone was worth the price of the class!”
Well, then. Did she even need to answer?
“Forget the paps,” an older brunette said, waving off the faux-celebrity. “I didn’t come all the way down here from Long Island to hear about a bunch of gossipmongering stalkerazzi. I want to know what it’s like to go to the bone zone with a prince!”
Oh, the irony.
The rest of the class laughed good-naturedly, and for the first time ever, Lena wished she had a license to serve alcohol. She pinched the bridge of her nose and counted to ten.
“I meant,” Lena said, enunciating each world carefully, “does anyone have any questions about operating the wheel?”
Crickets.
“All right then,” she said, clapping her hands together. She’d get this class back on track one way or another. She had to, otherwise her enrollment would tank again. Fortunately, she’d never had a student who didn’t fall in love with the wheel once they got started. It was therapeutic, the way you could shut out the world and lose yourself in the clay, molding and shaping and creating. And she’d bet her pottery that once she got the women throwing, they’d forget all about Liam and realize she had something better to offer than the sordid details of her sex life. Although, to be fair, she wasn’t sure she’d give up sex with Liam for a turn at the wheel. “Each of you should have a ball of clay at your workstation. I want you to transfer it to the center of the wheel so we can get started on today’s project.”
She took them through the basics one more time, accepting that the class was probably going to run late. Still, it was better than no class, and it wasn’t like she had plans tonight anyway. Liam was busy with meetings, so she was on her own.
Lena stopped at the first wheel to offer guidance to the woman who’d asked about the paparazzi. In a matter of minutes, she’d managed to spin her ball of clay into a lumpy mess that in no way resembled the bowl she’d shown them.
“It’s not working,” the woman said plaintively. “I think I did something wrong.”
“Too much water and not enough pressure,” Lena said. “Remember, you want just enough water to coat your hands. And you want to brace the clay with your hands and stretch it up.” Lena grabbed the misshapen lump. “I’ll get you a new ball of clay and you can try again, okay?”
The woman nodded and Lena made the switch, grabbing a ball of clay from an empty workstation.
She worked her way around the room, giving her students direction and silently giving thanks she had at least a few who seemed to be catching on quickly.
“Now remember,” she called out, projecting her voice across the studio, “once you’ve got your clay stretched up, you want to work the center by using your thumb to open up the top.” She demonstrated the proper technique with her own arms, creating a right angle with her left arm and cupping her right hand over her left. “You want to create a nice ninety degree angle. The pressure should come from the top so you can work the clay down to the wheel slowly.”
The women chirped their assent, and she was pleased to hear renewed enthusiasm in their voices as they chatted among themselves. Lena grinned, feeling a bit smug. They’d forget all about HRH by the end of the night.
When she got to the last workstation, she froze. The girl at the wheel was probably in her early twenties and whatever she was making, it didn’t look like any bowl Lena had ever seen. It did, however, resemble the vibrator hidden in her nightstand.
“You should totally do a class on phallic objects,” the girl said, stroking the bulbous cock on her wheel.
Heat flooded Lena’s cheeks.
“Right?” The girl next to her nodded enthusiastically and took a sip from her water bottle. “It would be so fun for a bachelorette party. Ohmygod. This is the best idea ever.” She turned to Lena. “I’m getting married in the fall and my MOH has been a total slacker. She hasn’t planned anything and I’m starting to freak out. I mean, it’s only the biggest day of my life, right? Granted, I’m not marrying a prince, but he’s a politician, so that’s the next best thing, don’t you think?”
What the fuck was in that bottle? The girl barely paused to breathe.
“So, can we do it?” the bride-to-be asked expectantly. “I don’t care what it costs. My MOH will cover it. It’s the least she can do. Oh, and can we bring wine? I mean, it wouldn’t be a bachelorette party without wine, right?”
“Such a good idea,” the cock-thrower said. “You should totally do it.” She paused, staring intently at her wheel. “Hey, you think it’ll be usable after it’s been fired?”
“Let’s talk after class,” Lena said, pulling a card from the pocket of her apron and thrusting it into the bride-to-be’s hand. It was a shame Nia had class on Tuesday nights, because she was never going to believe this. Not in a million years. “Or you can email me.”
She couldn’t afford to turn away a large booking, even if it meant sucking it up and teaching a bunch of tipsy twenty-somethings how to throw a cock. Who knows…maybe it would be fun.
There was a bright flash outside and the paps moved into action, pushing and shoving and shouting, their voices barely audible through the heavy glass display windows. Then the door opened and Jack, Liam, and Ethan burst through, slamming it behind them and rattling the overhead bell.
Ay bendito.
Lena’s pulse quickened at the sight of Liam, a sexy five o’clock shadow lining his normally smooth jawline. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the overwhelmingly female class, and settled on Lena. He flashed her a devil-may-care grin, and then all hell broke loose.
The chaos outside was nothing compared to the chaos within the studio. Pottery wheels abandoned, the women rushed toward him en masse, their clay bowls—and penis—forgotten as they clamored for his attention.
“Prince William!”
“Oh-em-gee! It’s really him!”
<
br /> “I just knew it! I knew he’d be here tonight!”
“And to think I almost let my husband talk me out of coming.”
So much for New Yorkers playing it cool.
The city had plenty of celebrities and athletes and musicians, but it wasn’t every day a girl got to meet Prince Charming in the flesh.
Lena wiped her hands on her apron. This was Jack and Ethan’s circus now. Let them deal with the royally obsessed stans and their ridiculous questions.
She watched as Jack, Ethan, and Liam attempted to calm the women, who were all shouting questions at them and talking over one another as they angled to get closer to HRH. When it became clear the men were completely and totally overwhelmed, Lena took pity on them. She tucked her fingers between her lips, issuing a shrill whistle that could stop a cab on a dime.
The studio fell silent.
“Ladies, please return to your seats and stop pawing my boyfriend,” she said, affecting a stern tone, although in truth, she wanted nothing more than to laugh. What had Liam been thinking coming here tonight? She’d warned him she had class and that she suspected some of her students were more interested in catching a glimpse of HRH than learning about pottery. Had he wanted to see it for himself?
The women trudged back to their workstations, and Lena had to cover her mouth to mask the grin curving her lips. Jack mouthed thank you and straightened his jacket, clearly unnerved by the onslaught of aggressive women. For his part, Liam seemed unfazed, but she suspected that was just his royal training taking over.
“What a pleasure to have you join us this evening,” Lena said, hastily adding, “Your Royal Highness.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Liam flashed a charming grin at the class. Several of the women blushed and the bride-to-be sighed, as if he were speaking directly to her.
“We weren’t expecting you.” Lena arched a brow. Not that she was complaining. If he was here, it could only mean one thing…orgasms.
“Couldn’t stay away,” he said, affecting a sheepish grin and spreading his hands wide.
Lena stifled a giggle. If he wanted to play Prince Charming, she’d bite.
“Well, ladies, what do you think? Do we have room for one more?”
…
“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Liam said as Elena leaned over and dropped a misshapen ball of clay on his wheel. He’d stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but the fact was, it wasn’t pottery that had brought him halfway across town. No, he’d been fantasizing about Elena spread out on that yellow quilt of hers like a royal feast.
“Keep it in your pants, Your Highness,” she whispered, slipping an apron over his head. “And who knows? If you do well with the lesson, maybe I’ll have an extra-credit assignment for you after class.”
“I’ll have you know I was first in my class at uni,” he said, pinching a bit of clay between his fingers to test the consistency. “Compared to Politics and International Relations, this should be a breeze.”
She laughed and patted his shoulder. “We’ll see.”
Twenty minutes later, as he was staring down an even more misshapen lump of clay, it occurred to him he’d been overconfident in his abilities.
“It’s a good thing you’re such a cutie,” an older woman to his right said, “because you’re shit with your hands.”
So much for that extra-credit assignment.
Liam glanced at the woman’s bowl, which was damn near perfect. The bloody thing looked like it had come off a production line, not a first-timer’s pottery wheel. “I’m open to suggestions,” he grudgingly admitted. No way in hell was he going to admit defeat. It was just clay, for Christ’s sake. Surely he could figure it out.
“You’re trying too hard,” she said, glancing at his slimy, miserable lump. “You can’t force the clay, you have to shape it.”
Wasn’t that what he was doing?
“Don’t listen to her,” the girl on his other side said, batting her eyelashes. “You’re doing a great job.”
“Thanks,” he said, resisting the urge to call her out on her bald-faced lie. “But I think you’ve all got me beat when it comes to bowl making.”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” the girl said, letting her wheel spin to a stop. “Will you be back next week?”
Well, wasn’t that the million dollar question? His time in New York was running out. He knew it. Elena knew it. But they still hadn’t talked about it. What was there to say? Once he closed the trade deal, he would return to Valeria, and her life was here in the city. It wasn’t his style to avoid an issue, but he couldn’t deny that’s what he’d been doing. It was easier to let the world and all its pressures slip away when he was with Elena, to focus on the here and now and forget about tomorrow.
The girl was staring at him expectantly and he realized she was waiting for an answer, so he gave her the most honest one he could think of. “I’m not sure yet.”
Liam kept his head down and worked on his pathetic bowl for the duration of the class, which turned out to be the most bloody frustrating experience of his life. The one time he managed to shape the clay into something resembling a bowl, it crumbled in his hands, spitting clay and water all over his arms.
He bit back a roar of frustration. How could he be so fucking terrible at something that looked so easy?
Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, because the women left him to his pitiable work, calling out their goodbyes and well-wishes when the class wrapped up. They filed out, whispering and giggling as he wrestled with the clay, grim determination preventing him from throwing the whole mess in the bin.
“Looks like you could use a one-on-one lesson,” Elena said, her voice shattering his concentration. He lifted his foot from the pedal, letting the wheel come to a rest. When he looked up, she stood over him, hip cocked, amusement dancing in her dark eyes. Her hair was starting to come undone and her apron was covered in clay splatters, but she was the most beautiful fucking thing he’d seen all day.
“I wasn’t aware you offered private sessions.”
“I don’t normally,” she said, grabbing a stool and dragging it closer, “but for you, I’ll make an exception.”
“Because I’m royalty, or because I give such good orgasms?” he asked, wiggling his brows.
“What do you think?” Elena laughed and gestured for him to scoot his stool back. She slid hers in front, positioning herself so that she was sandwiched between his body and the wheel. Now this was the kind of lesson he could get behind.
Literally.
He watched as she dipped her hands in water and rubbed them over the clay, pressing lightly on the pedal so that the wheel began to pick up speed as she reshaped the clay into a respectable-looking ball.
“Are you ready for this?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder with an encouraging smile.
Not even close. In just a few short weeks she’d turned his life upside down. Made him question everything. Made him want more than he’d ever dared dream. And it scared the hell out of him.
“Liam?”
“Sorry.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “What do I need to do?”
“I want you to wrap your hands around mine until you get a feel for the clay, okay?” She turned and smiled again. “We’ll do it together this time.”
He slipped his arms around her waist and, following her lead, ran his hands over the clay. Elena guided his movements, applying pressure and pushing the clay up, up, up until it looked like a small tower. The clay was soft and slick, whirring through his fingers even as it began to take shape. She guided his thumb to the top of the tower and pressed gently on the center, her own clay-covered fingers sliding over his in quick, sure strokes as they worked the tower back down to the wheel.
It was incredible to watch. It was also sensual as hell.
There had been
nothing remotely erotic about the process when he was flying solo, but with Elena between his thighs, her curves pressed against him as they worked the clay, all he could think about was how it would feel to have his hands on her body, massaging, kneading, and caressing every dip and swell of her honeyed skin.
“Nice and slow,” she said, using his palm to apply pressure to the top of the bowl.
“What if I don’t want to take it slow?” he asked, his voice husky and thick with desire.
“You can’t rush perfection.” She brushed her thumbs across his fingers. The touch was featherlight, but it brought his cock to attention as she leaned back, molding her body to his. “But I promise the payoff will be worth it.”
Damn right. He’d make sure of it.
He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I have no doubt it’ll be worth the wait, but I don’t need perfection. I need you. On your back, screaming my name so goddamn loud the windows rattle.”
Elena shivered, and he could feel the tension coil through her limbs. “Is that so?”
“Always.” He pressed his lips to her neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses across her golden skin. She was burning up. Hot for him. “Don’t worry, love. I’m not going to rush you. I can be patient, but know that when the time comes, I’m going to work your body all night long. And when you think you can’t possibly orgasm again, when you’re sure I’ve wrung every last drop of pleasure from that sweet little pussy, you’ll come again so hard the line between pain and pleasure will be a distant memory.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lena’s legs trembled as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, Liam’s words echoing in her head. He was just steps behind her, prepared to make good on his promise of mind-blowing pleasure, and it was all she could do not to fling herself at him and beg for mercy. Sex with Liam was always amazing—the man was insatiable—and she could feel the dynamic of their relationship shifting again, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on how.
Pulse pounding, she reached for the light as she entered the apartment, but Liam captured her hand, closing his fingers firmly over hers. She turned to face him, the full moon casting a milky glow over the kitchen that made his arctic eyes shine bright.
A Royal Disaster Page 18