Bastian

by Piper Collins

  “I’d fill you up so good that your body would feel a void after we broke apart. You’d take me, as I gave you pleasure, I guarantee you’ve never had.” I had no doubt of that, bearing witness to how skilled he was.

  Bastian paused to loosen his bowtie and undid the first two buttons of his shirt. Sometime during his elicit reciting, he had made his way over to the bed and was now lying against several plush pillows.

  I on the other hand, was still sitting on the sofa, unable to look away as he thoroughly answered my question.

  “Lie back,” he instructed. I did as I was told, the two of us now mirroring each other’s positions.

  “I wish you were here,” I confessed, a hoarse whisper. My body ached for him, could almost feel the searing heat of his lips doing the things he described.

  “It’ll be like I am, just trust me. Now,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, “take your shirt off.”

  There was no thought to protest, no thought to go against what he was demanding. I wanted it, wanted him, wanted all of it.

  Unbuttoning my blouse one-handed took a little longer than I wanted, but the anticipation it created was worth it. Finally, I shucked it off my shoulders, glad of the fact I had worn my lace bra instead of my functional cotton one that had seen better days.

  Bastian was void of his shirt now, his muscles begging to be tasted, explored and lavished. And god, how I wanted to. Would his skin be hot to the touch? Was it as smooth as it looked? Did he taste like the crisp manliness of which he smelled?

  “Jesus, your tits are perfect,” he praised as I lie back once more. He gave me a solid look and asked, “You with me, love?”

  “Oh yes. God, am I ever, Bastian,” I panted.

  “Unhook your bra.”

  Another reason I was glad for today’s bra selection: it had a front clasp. I positioned my phone on the end table, giving him a perfect view. Bringing the two sides of the clasp together, I released it, laying each cup to the side, my chest exposed for Bastian to see.

  My nipples stood erect with the sudden temperature change, taught and rosy. Without hesitation, I cupped myself, the weight palpable. The sensation caused my eyes to flutter close, my head rolling back.

  I heard Bastian unbuckling his belt, the sound of his zipper being undone and a guttural groan. I didn’t have to look at him to know what he had done, but I did.

  And holy shit.

  Bastian had palmed himself, his thick rigid length glistening with the precum that he had liberally spread. “Do you see what you do to me? You make me this hard, Alana. Touch yourself,” he commanded.

  No argument needed.

  Like his words suggested, I shimmied my skirt up to my hips, my hand slipping inside my panties. I was drenched. For him. Because of him.

  “That’s it, love. Let me see you when you fuck yourself.” God, his words alone could make me come.

  I dipped a finger down, spreading myself. “Oh,” I moaned. I circled my clit over and over, and then, while watching Bastian as he stroked himself, I plunged two fingers inside myself.

  My head rolled back once more, as I found my rhythm.

  “Fuck, that’s hot.”

  It was, I thought. Everything we were doing was hot. The fact that we were separated geographically did nothing to quell our desire for one another, resulting in explicit acts, the need to turn one another on equal to that of our need for release.

  And it was close.

  “Bastian,” I whined, not meaning to. “I’m so close.”

  “I want you to come with me,” he demanded, leaving no room to argue.

  And within moments, my orgasm ripped through me, leaving behind stars in its wake. Bastian came seconds later, my name on his lips, while I rode out the last shockwaves.

  We both laid there, catching our breaths, rocked by the intensity of what we just shared.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. Reaching for his discarded shirt, he cleaned himself off, while I did the same. “You’re ruining me, Alana…”

  “How’s that?” I asked, sitting up and fastening my bra.

  Bastian propped himself against the pillows on the headboard, his trousers haphazardly pulled up, but still unzipped. There was a dusting of hair that disappeared inside, and though his breathing was mostly back to normal, his abs were curled and they flexed with each breath.

  “Given how intense that was, you’re likely to kill me when we do it for real.”

  I laughed, but agreed. First off, I had never done anything that remotely open and erotic before. Sure, I’d gotten myself off when the need arose, but phone sex? I guess I could add that to my resume now.

  And secondly, ‘when we do it for real’? I knew sex was the next step for us and our progression in the relationship, but hearing him say it did things to me. It was a guarantee, a promise.

  “I’ll be sure to go easy on you,” I told him. “I wouldn’t dare be responsible for the demise of the kingdom’s heir.”

  Bastian casually placed a hand behind his head and smirked. “I don’t know. Doesn’t sound like a bad way to go, love.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” I accused.

  “I’d bow, but I just got comfortable,” he said, sinking further into the pillows.

  Changing the subject I asked when he’d be home. He had an early afternoon meeting before he’d be on his way back.

  “So early evening,” Bastian confirmed. “Why? Do you need to arrange to have your ‘other suitors’ flee before I arrive?”

  “Of course. Am I that transparent?”

  “Well, yes, but after tonight, I know a different side to you.”

  That made me blush. “Then you can tell me what you learned tomorrow when I see you.”

  “Sounds good, Sugar Tits.”

  Chapter 9

  Bastian

  Greed could be categorized a few different ways. For most, it could be organized in two discernable categories: monetary and materialistic. Some that had one or both inevitably wanted more. It was always more. I was greedy for neither money or things.

  But I had quickly found what I did have an affinity for: Alana. I had planned to have dinner delivered to her, planned on having a pleasant conversation with her throughout and after, but what I hadn’t planned on was stroking myself off while watching her come.

  It was one of the hottest things I’d experienced and witnessed. Of course, my hand was no comparison to what I could only imagine her silken heat would feel like, but the unknown and my own anticipation was enough to make me come in my pants just thinking about it.

  Which wouldn’t do, seeing as I was in the car with Henri. Granted, he’d witnessed a thing or two, but a handsome salary kept him mum on several occasions. But the human factor of having to hide—or worse yet—explain why I was dabbing at my crotch was something I wasn’t interested in.

  So, I focused on the scenery, but with each passing minute, my every thought turned to her. The way her head rolled back when she cupped those full, luscious tits of hers, the small sounds she made as she gave herself pleasure, and the look of pure ecstasy as she came around her fingers.

  Dammit, that was doing nothing to keep my hard-on from making itself known. “What are we, a half hour out, Henri?” I asked, clearing my voice and needing to change the subject and get my mind on mundane things.

  “Thirty-two to your apartment, sir,” he replied.

  I nodded. I glanced at my watch. Alana would be off work soon, so I modified our itinerary.

  “Change of plans,” I told him. “Swing by the Archives so we can collect Alana.”

  “Sir,” he said in acquiescence.

  A half hour later we were back in Slaždin, pulling up to the Archives building. I decided against texting Alana, wanting to surprise her, and confident in the fact her schedule was predictable enough to do so.

  The weather had been an unseasonably warm day, so when I saw Alana exit and head for the bicycle rack on the far side of the building, I knew she had opted for t
hat rather than driving in.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” I told Henri as I left the car.

  Hopping the curb, I buttoned my suit jacket one-handed and made my way towards Alana. A young couple oblivious to everyone but each other walked in front of me, stopping me momentarily.

  When I looked back up, three men had stopped and were talking to Alana. Only their body language suggested they weren’t just talking to her. They were harassing her.

  Photographers.

  I knew first hand Alana was feisty, but the way the men had surrounded her and invaded her space, gave her pause and caused my blood to boil.

  Before I could make it to her, several flashes had gone off at close range, causing her to blink uncontrollably, attempting to regain her sight. She had to hang on to the handlebars to steady herself.

  “How long have you been dating the prince? Have you met the king and queen yet?” one asked, shoving his camera in her face.

  “Are you his mistress?” another asked.

  “What’s it like sleeping with the prince?” the third man crudely inquired.

  Alana instinctively opened her mouth to respond but quickly shut it. If I knew her, she realized she didn’t owe anyone an explanation, least of all those assholes.

  To her credit, she steeled herself, lifted her chin ever so slightly and addressed them. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said firmly, motioning to get past them. God, she dismissed them like a pro, though it was obvious I’d need to intervene: the men had cornered her against the wall and made it so she couldn’t pass with her bicycle.

  “But, the prince!” the second man shouted, twisting his fragmented sentence into a question.

  “And what about the prince?” I asked. The three men quickly turned my direction and began flashing their cameras like they had just done to Alana. Except, I had a little more experience in this area. I anticipated their reaction and averted my eyes.

  The Devmontian pappz and I always had an unspoken agreement: I’d give them what they deemed ‘money shots’ from time to time, and in turn, they’d give me space. It was a part of everyday life whenever I’d be in public, and it was almost an amicable dance we would do.

  But to be honest, these men were not part of the normal pappz that followed me around. They were much more aggressive than the normal guys I saw on a regular basis.

  “Prince Bastian! Are you two dating?”

  “Are you romantically involved?” another asked.

  Wasn’t that just another way of asking if we were dating? Sometimes they weren’t the brightest bulbs, but I’d also gotten pretty good at answering their questions without actually answering them. It was more of game, but this time it felt different. Usually it was a nosy, prying nature to their invasion of privacy, but this time it felt like something more. Vindictive, perhaps or even malicious. And I wasn’t having it.

  “All good questions, boys,” I said, evading an answer. I wasn’t ashamed of what Alana and I had, but what I didn’t want to do was confirm something publicly without speaking with her first about it.

  Alana had begun to push her bike between the men, looking for an exit route and communicating that she would move past them even if it meant running them over.

  I took another step forward, but not one of them moved. They each glanced at each other, an unspoken message passed between them. The biggest of the group shook his head slightly, then said to me, “Uh uh. Not ‘til we get some answers, Your Highness.”

  I laughed. “Addressing me properly while eliciting an empty threat. I expected more from you…” I tsk’d at them, sizing them up. I took a step closer toward Alana and exchanged a look with her. “Perhaps if you had asked nicely,” I said, nodding to Alana while emphasizing the last word.

  In turn, she pushed the man in the middle with the front tire, knocking him off balance and into the second man. The tumble confused the other and I took the opportunity to grab Alana by the hand and we took off, her bicycle left in a heap along with the men.

  “Nice move. You ok?” I asked, scanning the streets, assessing an escape while we ran. Her hand was clammy in mine, but I kept my grip on her, surprised at the way she was keeping pace with me.

  “I think so,” she panted. She glanced over her shoulder and shouted, “They’re right behind us, Bastian!”

  We were approaching an intersection that was close to the coffee shop we now frequented, and I knew there was an ally just up ahead. Looking both ways, we ran into the intersection, narrowly dodging a two-door Peugeot. Tires screeched behind us and I was surprised to see the men had braved the traffic as well. I was sure that would’ve bought us at least a twenty second cushion from them.

  “Up here,” I told Alana as we came up to the alley. She and I continued running and when I saw a mother pushing a pram, I knew we had a good chance of throwing them off. There was an unusual amount of people out, but I supposed I had the nice weather to thank for the crowd, helping to slow them down and hopefully conceal us.

  I dropped her hand; she went right when I went left and the men were momentarily blocked by the woman and other people. I heard them cuss, then the ring leader yelled a command.

  The coffee shop was about ten meters out, and I began to tell Alana the plan I had just come up with. “We’re going to split up, ok? If you go past the building to the bank on the corner, there’s a common alley. I’m going to go this way,” I said motioning to the right which led around the back of the coffee shop, “and I’ll meet you in the middle.”

  I figured it was our best chance of at least throwing them off our scent, and though she looked hesitant, Alana agreed. “Meet in the middle, alright, love?” I hoped my voice was reassuring, as I dropped her hand once more.

  Alana nodded. “Middle. Got it,” she repeated. And she ran.

  I took off at a full sprint, feeling better in a familiar area; as I said before, alleys, back doors, and freight entrances were somewhat of a norm for me, and once Stephan had begun to work at the shop, he showed me the discreet way to enter and exit if needed.

  A confused looking man taking out the rubbish did a double take as I rounded the corner toward our meeting place. True to her word, Alana was running in my direction but looking over her shoulder. The streets behind the shops were mostly original, the stones offering an uneven footing. Throw in an adrenaline-rushed jog and not watching where you were going, and you had the perfect storm for twisting your ankle or tripping.

  And as if it was slow motion, Alana clipped one of the raised stones with her toe and catapulted forward. The motion caused her to look forward right as I closed the gap between us.

  “Eeep!” she squealed, falling into my arms, her chest heaving against mine.

  “I’ve got you,” I said, thankful I caught her. I pulled her back at arm’s length and looked her over. “Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you or anything did they?”

  “No, no, I’m fine. I think.” Being harassed was a tough pill to swallow on a good day, even for seasoned pros like myself. I knew it had shaken her up, and a flash of doubt wiggled its way into the recesses of my thoughts.

  What if this was too much for her? What if she had no desire to be hounded, questioned and followed? It was a hell of a lot to ask someone, but I knew I would do whatever I could to keep her safe and shielded as much as possible.

  Releasing the death grip I had on her, I cupped her face, stroking my thumb across her cheek. “You think? Alana, that was an abnormal situation, and if you were completely fine with it, then I’d be concerned.”

  Shaking her head, she took a deep breath. “I’m fine, Bastian, just a little thrown is all.” She averted her eyes for a moment.

  “Hey,” I said soothingly, my breath coming back to me.

  “They were just so pushy, I guess.” I was happy she didn’t fight me on an explanation. “I could care less about the damn questions,” she explained, “but there was something about them that seemed almost, I don’t know…violent. Did you see the scar running dow
n the face of the guy in charge?”

  I nodded, knowing exactly what she was talking about, and I meant to get to the bottom of it as soon as I could. But right now was not the time. “You know I’d never let anyone hurt you right?” I asked her, my thumb lazing over her impossibly smooth skin.

  She searched my eyes, seeking validation from my statement. How it wasn’t obvious, I’d never know, but I suddenly felt the need to tell her, to convince her.

  “They’re a part of my life, Alana, and I’m used to having them in my face. They’ve been present literally since the day I was born, but that doesn’t mean that you should be used to it. My point is,” I continued, pulling her closer to me at the small of her back, “is that what happened will happen again and again.”

  Alana listened, her face realizing the ultimatum I hadn’t yet voiced.

  “I can protect you when I’m with you, and when I’m gone, I can have a security detail that accompanies you. But, if this is too much for you,” I said, culminating my point, “I’d understand. I’m giving you an out,” I said, my words coming faster, the fear of losing her overwhelming me, “and I’d understand completely if you’d take it. I’d be gutted, but I’d understand.” She was pressed against me, the warmth of her exertion and the softness of her curves serving as a palpable reminder of everything I could lose.

  “Bastian,” she sighed.

  I could already feel the void if she were to leave, my anxiety getting the better of me. “I just want you to know that—” I began.

  “Bastian. Stop. Just stop, ok?” Alana hung her head, seemingly in defeat. I placed a finger under chin and lifted it so we were eye to eye. Honesty, always. My gaze raked over her, searching for any semblance of a clue.

  “Bastian, look” she began, her voice gaining strength, “I’m not fragile. I’m not someone who will wither away when times get tough. I understand what it means to be with you, the things that come along with it—maybe not all of it firsthand yet, but I’m not naïve to the life you lead. I’ll admit that being harassed was a first for me, but it’s not enough to make me crumble.”