“Pompous, huh?” I said slowly, pretending to roll it around in my head. “I suppose pompous might be accurate…but I think there’s other adjectives to better describe me.”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, her quick tongue ready to strike. “Right. Arrogant, cocky and vain,” she supplied, looking at me once more.
I was appalled; I was none of those things. Mostly.
“I was going to go with thoughtful, generous and eager to please.”
Before she could open her mouth, I sat up quickly, placing my shoulder in her stomach, lifting her over my shoulder cave-man style.
“Bastian!” she squeaked. “Put me down!”
I gave her a playful slap on her ass as I walked us to my en suite bathroom.
Most of my apartment consisted of floor to ceiling windows, and when I had my personal quarters renovated, I wanted the bathroom to match the aesthetic.
My apartment was the complete top level of the building and seeing as it was the sixteenth floor, it boasted the best view of the city. But being so high, I was never in danger of peeping toms or anyone else trying to get a glimpse of me.
It was a glass tower of sorts, a sanctuary. Every outer facing wall was windows, and the bathroom was no exception. Everything was glass, including the shower.
So, when I gently placed Alana down on the heated tiled floor, she was speechless.
Leaning over to turn on the shower heads—yes, I had twin shower heads—she modestly covered her center and chest.
“Bastian, this is crazy! Anyone can see us,” she said worriedly.
I chuckled at her modesty. “Nobody can see us, trust me,” I assured her. The steam began to fill the room as I reached for her hand. Stepping into the shower, I leaned her head back and let the water sluice over her.
Every time I thought Alana looked beautiful doing something, whether it was her at work in her element, vulnerable after a trying day, or coming around my cock, something else would trump it.
She stood there, raising her arms to her hair, the water cascading over her curves, kissing her skin as it made its way down her perfect body and finally disappearing in hidden, secret places. Tiny droplets clung to her lashes as she regarded me with hooded eyes, anticipation dancing across her face.
“Now, back to what I was saying earlier about me being eager to please…” I trailed a finger down her collar bone, over her pert nipple before tracing tiny circles around her belly button.
“Oh,” she responded breathily.
“Turn around,” I instructed. She was facing the darkening window, the view unparalleled as the day was in that ambiguous stage between evening and darkness.
Lamps begun to illuminate the streets, adding to the glow already made present by shop and business lights.
Alana braced herself against the reinforced glass as I approached her from behind, my cock heavy and jutting between us. My hands glided over her, slick with water.
I reached between her legs to find her drenched and ready. “Is this what I do to you, love?” kissing her under her ear, causing her to shiver.
“Yes,” she hissed as I pushed a finger inside her. Her head hung between her arms and she automatically pushed her ass into me, feeling my hardness against her backside. “Is this what I do to you, Bastian?” she asked rhetorically, wiggling against me, driving me mad.
“Enough,” I growled, sliding a hand down her back, urging her to bend forward more. I entered her quickly, the two of us inhaling sharply.
With each thrust, she pushed back, the force of our bodies colliding, hard and deep.
The glass did a spectacular job of reflecting our explicit activity; her gorgeous tits bounced, their modest weight jostling them every time I drove into her.
My arms flexed, the muscles bulging as I dug my fingers into her flesh, pulling her to me. The corded muscles of my thighs were strained, burning while I quickened the pace.
Neither of us were going to last long.
“Come with me,” I demanded, feeling her walls begin to squeeze me.
“Then make me,” she challenged.
Her words and adrenaline fueled me, bringing us the release we both so desperately required.
I felt like I had just run a marathon, completely spent, but in the best way imaginable. After pulling out of her, she dropped her hands from the window, leaving behind two perfect prints.
The mark was simple, perhaps unassuming. And I knew I wouldn’t be having that particular window cleaned for some time.
Chapter 10
Alana
To say that I was surprised would be an understatement. On so many levels.
If someone were to tell me two weeks ago that I’d be dating royalty, I’d have laughed and continued on with my day. How would something like that even happen to someone like me? I had never fantasized about a prince rescuing me from a high tower, slaying a dragon and living happily ever after. Well, maybe a little.
But the point was, the stuff of fantasies and fairytales was just that: make believe. It’s not like it was the stuff of reality. No. Reality revolved around immense pressure, stress and proper etiquette. Undoubtedly with that came insolence and a sense of narcissism.
And that is why, as I laid watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Bastian’s bare chest while he slept, I was surprised.
Bastian wasn’t any of those things. He joked, sure, but he wasn’t arrogant or stiff.
Unless he was in the bedroom. That was a whole other scenario. And the other thing that surprised me; I didn’t recognize myself when I was with him.
I was never so bold and forward as I was with him, the things I did and said foreign to me. He made me feel beautiful and wanted, desired and treasured. So, perhaps, he had awoken something in me that I never knew existed until he came along.
Intimacy in the past had always been pleasant and nice. And reflecting on that statement, I realize how bland that sounded.
Shouldn’t it be fun, exciting, thrilling, sexy and dirty all at once? A level of connection that is reached by each participant, where you know the other in that moment better than you know yourself?
I know so. Now anyhow.
Bastian was so different, an element of unforeseen caring and thoughtfulness I hadn’t expected.
After our shower escapades, Bastian proceeded to wash my hair for me, something I had never had done before. The scalp massage about did me in—again—and when we were sufficiently clean, he wrapped me in the fluffiest towel like I was a delicate possession.
Though I prided myself on being independent, Bastian took care of me. He was attentive to things that I would normally dismiss or deem unworthy in lieu of hastiness.
It felt luxurious and decadent to be doted on. I felt special and prized. And I pushed aside the nagging question as to whether or not I deserved this, deserved a man like this.
Instead, I soaked in my surroundings.
The high thread count of the sheets as I laid naked.
The faint sounds of the city below us as it began a lazy start to the morning.
The lingering scent of Bastian’s body wash as he peacefully slept.
I always knew he filled out his suits quite well, but to see and touch what was underneath was magnificent.
His chest was broad and powerful, along with his arms—a great testament to his endurance last night. A light patch of hair sat between his imposing pecs, trailing down to his impossibly taught abs.
A thick vein ran its way down his relaxed bicep before disappearing in the crook of elbow, and I traced it with my fingertip not realizing I had woken him.
His arm snaked around me, bringing me flush to his side, much like we were last night. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.
I smiled. “It might’ve been the best sleep of my adult life,” I admitted. I had been wholly exhausted from him and once we had hit the mattress, it hadn’t taken much for us to fall asleep.
“Good,” he said, a sleepy smile on his face. He shifted me in his arm
s so were facing one another. “What are you doing Friday night?” he asked.
I pursed my lips, thinking. “Nothing I know of. Why? Do you have another FaceTime date planned?” I teased.
Memories flooded him, a faraway look plastered on his face. “As fun as that was, no. I was wondering if you wanted to go to a birthday party with me?”
That gave me pause. “Why do I have a feeling this isn’t your average let’s meet for a pint at the bar, we raise our glasses to you kind of deal?”
He looked sheepish. Like he was keeping something from me. “Remember, now. You’re the smart one in this relationship,” he said, averting his eyes like a guilty child.
“Bastian. Tell me.”
He sighed. “Well, it’s not exactly that casual, you’re right. The party is at the castle, actually.”
Oh.
I waited for him to elaborate.
“And, well, the birthday in question is my mother’s.”
Oh.
I blanched, though I knew I had jumped wholeheartedly into this, reiterating the fact that I could handle the things his world entailed.
“I know it might seem sudden and soon, but I’d be honored to have you as my date, to introduce you officially…and for you to meet my parents.” He sounded so innocent, truly eager to take me home to meet mom and dad.
I mulled it over, nervousness setting in like a brick in my stomach. “I, uh,” I stammered, “I’ve never met royalty before. I wouldn’t know what to do or say…” I finished lamely.
He scoffed. “That’s a lie. You slept with me last night, didn’t you? Several times, if my memory serves me correctly.”
“Stop being so crude, this is serious,” I scolded. “This is much more important; this is the king and queen we’re talking about, and your parents to boot!”
“Nice to know I don’t count,” he said in an attempt to lighten my mood.
“Don’t twist my words, Bastian. This is a big step. Surely you can see that, right?” I hated that I sounded whiny, but this wasn’t just a big step, it was a huge one.
He pulled me tighter and kissed the top of my head. “I get it, but they’re lovely people and they’re going to be as smitten with you as I am.”
I snuggled into him, drawing strength from his encouraging words. “Ok. I’ll go,” I said softly. “If it’ll make you happy, then I can be out of my comfort zone for an evening.”
He leaned in and kissed me soundly. “Thank you,” he said, appreciation in his eyes. “If it makes it easier, I can have a gown brought here so it’s one less thing to worry over.”
Gown?
Oh, this was black tie.
Of course. The annual Queen’s Jubilee was always held the same day each year, the country celebrating it like a national holiday.
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll go shopping and get ready at my place. I’m assuming it’s no trouble for Henri to swing by and get me?”
If I were to do this, it’d be on my terms. I had no doubt that Bastian wouldn’t have the most exquisite gown hand chosen for me, but I wanted—no, needed control—over some things.
And I knew just who to recruit.
I would have to make an appointment to get my hearing checked and confirm I hadn’t lost it in my left ear. After Zara had stopped her raucous squealing, I went hands-free and placed her on speaker.
“Lana!! You’re attending a ball at the castle like Cinder-fucking-ella!”
I’d hand it to her: her excitement was contagious. I had swept all of my nervous energy under the rug, telling myself that this was no big deal. It was just a fancy dinner party. That half-truth got me through the last few days until I had started up this conversation with Zara.
“You know there’s like three hundred people that are in attendance each year, right? Neighboring kingdom’s monarchs, European dignitaries and heads of state, and even though they’re invited every year, Wills and Kate always have prior commitments. Jesus, Lana,” she said finally inhaling a breath, “how nervous are you?”
Well, I’d been fine up until now. Thanks, Zara.
“Never mind that,” I deflected. “I need help shopping, alright? And if you bring up all that nonsense again, I’ll take Bastian up on his offer to have a dress delivered.” The threat of withholding a shopping trip shut her up.
“Sorry. I’m just excited, ok? This like, doesn’t happen.”
“Tell me about it.”
She and I discussed the details of going after work, since we’d be in the city already. There was a block at the east end that was informally dubbed as the ‘fashion district’, and there was no way we wouldn’t be able to find anything there.
She spent the next fifteen minutes discussing—rather one-sidedly—different silhouettes, (A-line and mermaid), and colors, (rich jewel tones), that would be the best for body shape, (hourglass, evidently).
And the next half hour was spent listening to her debate between accessories. “But again, it all depends on the gown you decide on. But I still think diamonds are in order,” she said, brooking no room for argument.
“Well, it sounds like you have plenty to dream about tonight,” I concluded, while I lay awake freaking out, I thought.
We said our goodbyes and I climbed into bed and called Bastian.
Having heard of it and having shopped in the fashion district were two different things. The reason I had only heard of it was because I had most definitely never shopped in the swanky, designer labeled boutiques before.
I knew this would most likely be a friendly battle between Zara and I, but at the end of the day, I trusted her and valued her opinion.
So, when she spotted an emerald green evening dress in one of the store front windows, she yanked me inside and began to peruse the racks. I followed like a dutiful puppy, feeling a little in over my head amongst the high-end garments and their price tags that matched.
A stylist came over and inquired what we were looking for. I opened my mouth to answer, but was relieved when Zara answered for me. I mean, what was I going to say? Yes, I’m looking for something worthy of Cinderella because I’m going to a ball at the castle like she did. Thanks, very much. I didn’t think so.
“My beautiful friend here is attending a black-tie event and needs to be dressed to the nines. She’ll be somewhat the center of attention you see,” she said, saying the last sentence behind her hand, though I could hear every word she has spoken.
Was I to be the center of attention? It was the queen’s birthday after all; surely the guest of honor would hold the spotlight?
“Splendid,” the lithe woman said with a posh accent. “I have a few selections that I think would suit her wonderfully.”
Zara winked at me as we followed the woman, who introduced herself as Angelika.
Not before too long, my dressing room had seven personally selected dresses hanging in it, all waiting to be tried on by yours truly.
There was the emerald one that had caught Zara’s eye, two black options, a burgundy gown, something Angelika called ‘nutmeg’, a flowy metallic number and finally a deep purple dress.
“Is it bad that I feel exhausted just looking at these?” I asked Zara once we were alone in the room. I was going to need help getting in and out of these, and as nice as Angelika seemed, I was more comfortable with Zara while I undressed.
“Just enjoy it; I’ll be doing the grunt work, ya know.”
It took two hours and twenty minutes to try them all on, retry three of them, then narrow down which one was the best choice for me and the ‘event’ as Zara had so dubiously called it.
“You don’t think the slit is too much?” I asked. I was used to my Audrey Hepburn cigarette pants, skirts that hit me beneath the knees and high collars. “I am meeting his parents, remember…” I reminded Zara.
“No. It’s tasteful. It’s not like it goes up to your hipbone like something Gigi Hadid would wear on the red carpet.”
“Gigi Who?”
“Never mind,” she sai
d dismissively. “The point is, this is the dress you’re getting. I’m telling you because the look on your face says you can’t make up your mind at this point, plus, it was the one that made your eyes dilate like mine do when I’ve spotted a pastry while on my period.”
Angelika looked amused, but kept her composure, saving face for the posh brand she represented.
“Ok,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. I was tired and a little sweaty from being a human paper doll while Zara played puppet master.
“Now,” she said, rubbing her hands together like an evil magician, “on to the accessories!” She squealed, not for the first time, and while she and Angelika found suitable pumps, strappy sandals, clutches, bib necklaces, dangly earrings and other things I had never heard of, I reclined on the sofa, my thoughts drifting to Bastian.
Had he told his parents of me? I certainly hoped tomorrow night wouldn’t be the first time they’d heard of me, them being as blindsided as I was sure to be.
Was I expected to mingle amongst the elite guests and pretend I fitted in? I was sure to be judged, the mystery girl on Prince Bastian’s arm.
And a searing thought ran through me, threatening to split me in two. The tabloids.
I knew the royal photographers would be at the castle, the high-priced photos going to Getty Images and the like, but would those men be there?
Bastian and Henri were picking me up tomorrow evening at six, and together we were going. They wouldn’t be able to chase us like they had in the city, and once we were past the secure gates of the castle, anyone there would be present because they were invited.
No, I’d be fine, I told myself. Besides, with Zara doing my hair and makeup (we each took the day off), she’d be able to distract me. Or maybe I’d just vomit every fear I had. The jury was still out.
She and Angelika had returned. Angelika was carrying a stack of shoe boxes while Zara was ladened with jewelry and handbags.
I steeled myself for another two hours of outfit combinations.
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