Royally Screwed

  Olivia lies in the crook of my arm, pretty and perfect, gazing at me as her hand runs down my chest, tracing the tic-tac-toe of my abdomen with her fingertips, then sliding back up to start all over again.

  "You're beautiful when you come." I brush my knuckle against the rosy apple of her smooth cheek. "And after."

  She bats her lashes up at me. "I try."

  As my hand retreats, she catches my wrist, eyeing the bracelets that chronically encircle it. "You wore these the other night, too. Do they have any special meaning?"

  I slip off the teakwood circle and pass it to her for a closer look. Her finger traces the etchings. "This was my father's," I tell her. "He built houses in Africa one summer when he was a teenager. One of the village women gave it to him--a blessing, she called it--for protection. He wore it almost all the time." My throat narrows. "After the funeral, our butler, Fergus, gave it to me. He said he found it on my father's dresser--didn't know why he hadn't taken it with him when they left for New York. I don't wear it because of superstition...I just like having something close to me that was close to him."

  Olivia snuggles tighter against me and slips the bracelet back over my hand.

  "And this one?" She fingers the platinum links circling the same wrist.

  "It's Henry's." An easy smile comes to my lips. "Our mother had it made for him when he was eight and she was sure ID bracelets were coming back into style." I chuckle at the memory and Olivia lets out a small laugh. "He hated it, but he pretended to like it for her sake." And then I'm blinking against the burning in my eyes. "After they were gone, Henry never took it off. He had the links added when he outgrew it. He couldn't bring it with him to training, so he asked me to keep it for him until he came home."

  Olivia presses a comforting kiss to my shoulder, and we lie against each other in relaxed silence for a few minutes.

  But then she rolls over onto her stomach, her long, wavy hair scattering across my torso. "Hey, you know what else I am after I come?"

  "What?"

  "Thirsty."

  I rub my eye and stifle a yawn. "Yes, I could go for a bottle of water too. There's a mini fridge just over there." I point to the far side of the room. "How about you go get us some?"

  She burrows under the covers--her arms and legs wrapping like she's a koala and I'm her tree.

  "But it's so cold. What do you have the temperature set to--arctic?"

  "I like it cold. I tend to run on the hot side." I reach between us, tweaking her peaked, pink nipple. "And there are other benefits."

  "You should go get the water--it's the gentlemanly thing to do."

  I roll on top of her, nudging her legs open with my hips, settling comfortably between them, my cock already starting to harden again. "But there are no gentlemen here." My teeth scrape her lovely neck--gaining a whole new appreciation of vampirism. "And I want to watch you scamper across the floor." I shift my weight and cup one full breast. "See all these gorgeous parts jiggling along the way."

  Olivia scoffs. "Perv."

  She doesn't know the half of it.

  "I have an idea," she suggests. "Let's play a game--a contest. Whoever tells the most embarrassing story gets to stay in the warm bed. Loser has to freeze their 'parts' off and get the water."

  I shake my head. "Oh, sweets, you've just ensured that you're going to lose--no one has more embarrassing stories than I do."

  I let Olivia roll us to the side, pushing me off her. She cocks her arm, resting her head in her hand. "We'll see about that."

  "Ladies first--let's hear it."

  Slight doubt shadows her features. "I hope it doesn't bother you...It has to do with...oral sex."

  "Mmm, one of my favorite topics--tell me more."

  And she's already blushing.

  "All right, so, the first time I ever gave a...blow job...I didn't really know what it was. And since it's called a 'blow' job, I thought you were supposed to--"

  She puffs her cheeks out, like she's trying to blow up an uncooperative balloon.

  I fall back onto the pillow, howling. "Christ, you're lucky you didn't give the poor lad an aneurism!"

  Her cheeks deepen to crimson and she pinches my side as punishment.

  "Your turn."

  I stare at the ceiling, deciding. There are so many stories to choose from.

  "I shit in a bag once."

  A shocked choke of laughter immediately bursts from Olivia's lungs.

  "What?"

  I nod. "I was on the rowing team at boarding school."

  "Of course you were."

  "And, we had a meet at another school, a fair distance away. On the bus back, there was an accident--congestion on the road--and whatever they'd served for lunch was fiercely disagreeing with me. So...it was either my pants or a gym bag. I went with option two."

  She covers her eyes and her mouth, laughing in horror. "Oh my God! That's awful...and yet hilarious."

  I laugh too. "It was. Especially after it hit the papers. Bloody nightmare."

  And suddenly, Olivia's not laughing anymore.

  Not even a little.

  "It was in the newspapers?"

  I shrug. "Sure. The more embarrassing the story, the more the journalists will pay. My classmates were always looking for extra cash."

  "But...but they were your teammates. Your friends."

  I toy with her hair, tugging on a curl and watching it bounce stubbornly back into shape.

  "It's like I told Simon, that first night at your coffee shop: everything's for sale and everyone--everyone--has their price."

  Her eyes search my face, looking so very sad. I don't like it--not a bit.

  I roll over on top of her again, nudging between her legs.

  "Do you feel bad for me?" I ask.

  "Yes."

  "Do you pity me?"

  Her fingers run gently through my hair.

  "I think I do."

  "Good." I smirk. "That means you get the water. And...when you get back...I want to test your blow-job skills. Make sure you've got it right--and if not, I'll happily instruct you."

  That does the trick. Her mouth pinches to hide her smile and her eyes flash.

  "So fucking bossy." She shakes her head.

  But then she gets up to get the water--and I enjoy every second.

  And when she crawls back into bed, Olivia gets right to work on that blow job.

  And I enjoy that even more.

  Eventually, hunger forces us out of bed. Olivia slips into one of my gray hoodies, which covers her to mid-thigh. I try out the "walking around the apartment naked" thing Olivia mentioned. This may be the only shot I have.

  And she's right--it's rather fantastic. Freeing, everything just out and swinging. Natural--like Adam, if the Garden of Eden were a penthouse suite.

  The hot, lusty look Olivia throws me makes it even better.

  In the kitchen, neither of us is in the mood for sushi, so we scavenge for something else.

  "You have Cinnamon Toast Crunch!" Olivia says, her voice excited but muted from inside the cabinet. She comes out smiling, holding the box like a found buried treasure.

  I set two bowls on the table. "We have something similar in Wessco called Snicker-Squares. It's my favorite."

  "Me too!" Then her blues eyes go light and soft as she sighs. "Just when I think you can't get any more perfect."

  After a few minutes of sitting at the table, munching on cinnamon, sugar and squares that pretend to be whole wheat, words tumble out of my mouth without a second thought.

  "This is fun."

  Olivia grins at me over her bowl. "You sound surprised. Don't you usually have fun?"

  "I do. But this is...more fun." I shake my head. "I can't really explain it, it just feels...good."

  "Yeah, it does."

  And then I gaze at her--that cute way she chews, the swipe of her tongue over the lower lip I can't wait to nibble on again.

  She runs her hand over her forehead self-consciously. "Do I have something on my
face?"

  "No...I'm just wondering," I tell her quietly.

  "Wondering what?"

  I reach out my hand, tracing the slope of her cheek. "What in the world am I going to do with you?"

  Our eyes hold for a few moments, and a spark of mischief lights in Olivia's. She takes my hand and kisses my palm lightly. Then she stands up, moves closer and sinks down on my lap--straddling me--her forearms on my shoulders, the slick heat of her pussy against my thickening cock.

  "Do with me or do to me?" she teases.

  "Either. Both."

  Olivia runs her tongue along my top lip, sucking gently.

  "How about you take me back to bed and we'll figure it out there."

  My hands cradle her hips, holding her tight against me as I stand.

  "Brilliant idea."

  In the bedroom, I lay her back on the bed and lie down on top of her.

  "Stay," I say between kisses. "Stay here with me."

  "For how long?"

  "For as long as you can."

  Her hands slide up and down my spine. "I have to start things at the coffee shop at four."

  I kiss her hard. "Then I'll drive you home at half past three. Yeah?"

  She smiles. "Yeah."

  UP UNTIL THIS POINT in my life, I would have described sex as...nice. My experiences with Jack were first-love sweet--in that hormone-driven, quick-and-over-just-when-it-starts-to-get-good kind of way that a seventeen-year-old girl thinks is romantic, because she doesn't know any better. She doesn't know there's more.

  Sex with Nicholas is more-more.

  It's fun. Like, John Mayer, "Your Body Is a Wonderland" music video kind of teasing and touching, rolling-around-the-sheets-and-laughing-in-bed kind of fun. We kiss and caress--not only as a warm-up to fucking, but because it feels good.

  Sex with Nicholas is thrilling. Exciting in a heart-exploding kind of way. I didn't know having my wrists held down above my head could feel so amazing--not until he did it. I didn't know the slide of sweaty skin, drenched from hours of exertion, could be so erotic. I didn't know certain muscles could even be sore--or that everything still feels awesome when they are.

  I didn't know I was capable of multiple orgasms--but glory be to God, I am.

  I'm not uptight--or a prude. I know how to get myself off--a little rub and grind after a stressful day is the best and quickest way to fall asleep. But, after the grand finale, I've never tried going back for an encore.

  Nicholas tries--and even better, he succeeds.

  In the days that follow our first night together, we fall into an unspoken routine. I spend the day at the coffee shop and the night at his hotel suite. Sometimes he comes to pick me up, sometimes he just sends the car--trying to keep his frequent visits to Amelia's hidden from the public for as long as possible.

  When I arrive, he sends the security guys out of the suite--going as far as to get them their own room one floor down. Logan grumbled the loudest, but went along with it.

  The customer is always right, and apparently so is the royal.

  We haven't gone out to dinner again--we order in or make something easy, like sandwiches or pasta. It's all surprisingly...normal. Some nights, we watch TV--try to binge on American Horror Story, season two, but we haven't made it past the second episode.

  Because...sex.

  Amazing, mind-blowing, I've-literally-had-to-change-my-panties-at-work-reminiscing-about-it sex. Marty noticed and was jealous. Then he teased me about it.

  In bed, after the sex, we talk a lot--Nicholas tells me stories about his grandmother and his brother and Simon. And though I feel an intense growing tenderness for him that could quickly turn into something deeper, I make sure to keep it all casual and light. Un-clingy.

  Nicholas already gets a whole lot of clingy from his day job.

  The closest we've come to having "the talk"--the "Are we exclusive, where is this going?" talk--is when a story about him and a gorgeous blond he'd been photographed with in Wessco flashed across the television. "Wedding Watch," they called it.

  Nicholas told me she was an old friend from school--just a friend--and that I should never believe anything any journalist said or wrote about him.

  I mean, hey--they couldn't even get the underwear thing right. They obviously know dick.

  Two weeks after that first crazy night, my growing tenderness toward Nicholas makes me do something I haven't done in years: take a Saturday off from the coffee shop.

  Marty and Ellie cover for me.

  And I do it because I want to do something nice for Nicholas. Not just to pay him back for all the fabulous orgasms--but just because.

  What do you give a prince? A man with a country at his feet and the world at his fingertips?

  Something only a New York girl can.

  "I have a plan."

  We're in the library of the suite. Nicholas is behind the desk, his hair falling still damp over his forehead from a recent shower, while James and Tommy stand near the windows.

  "Take off your clothes," I say, dropping a stuffed backpack at my feet.

  He stands, giving me a curious, dimple-flashing smile that makes my stomach tingle.

  "I like this plan."

  He pulls his shirt over his head--and at the sight of that gorgeous chest and ripped abs, I have to close my mouth to stop the flow of drool.

  "Should I send the lads to their room?" he asks.

  I toss him a Beastie Boys T-shirt and ripped jeans from the backpack. "They can stay--I'll get to them in a second."

  Nicholas puts on the outfit, his disguise for the day. I hold up a thick gold chain with a dangling cross, and he dips his head so I can loop it over his neck. Then I squirt gel into my hand and reach up on tiptoes to rub it through his hair--mussing it at the top and slicking the sides.

  Perfect.

  "How do you feel about piercing your ear?" I ask, teasing.

  He whispers, "Needles terrify me." Then he winks.

  Nicholas's eyes are already sparkling with excitement--this next part is going to blow his mind. "Do you know how to drive a motorcycle?"

  He mentioned the other night that he was a pilot during his stint in the military, so I made an educated guess.

  "Sure."

  "Perfect." I pull a helmet with a full, tinted face shield out of the backpack and hold it up. "Marty's bike is downstairs. He said to tell you: break it, you bought...a Ducati."

  Logan steps into the room from where he was stationed just outside the door, lifting his hand, like a traffic cop. "Hold on, now--"

  Nicholas takes the helmet. "It'll be fine, Logan."

  "And..." I say cautiously, turning to the three big, strong, probably-have-a-license-to-kill boys. "I want Nicholas and me to go on this outing alone. You guys stay here."

  Tommy says, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

  James crosses himself.

  Logan takes another route. "No fuckin' way. Not possible."

  But the look on Nicholas's face says it really fucking is.

  "No," Logan insists again, his voice straining with a faint hint of desperation.

  "Henry used to slip his security detail all the time," Nicholas offers.

  "You're not Prince Henry," Logan counters.

  "I have an itinerary!" I jump up and down from excitement--like Bosco when he has to pee. "I wrote everything down for you, just in case--exactly where we'll be, every minute."

  I take the sealed envelope out of the backpack and hand it to Logan. But when he starts to tear it open I put my hand on his. "You can't open it until after we're gone--it'll ruin the surprise. But I promise it will be all right. I swear on my life."

  My eyes drift from Logan to Nicholas. "Trust me."

  And I want him to--so much. I want to do this for him, give him something he hasn't had. Something he'll remember always: freedom.

  Nicholas looks at the helmet, then at Logan. "What's the worst that could happen?"

  "Ah...you could get assassinated and the three of us will hang for tr
eason."

  "Don't be silly," Nicholas scoffs. "We haven't hung anyone in years." He smacks Logan's back. "It'd be the firing squad."

  Tommy laughs.

  Logan doesn't.

  James is Switzerland.

  "Sir, please--if you'd just listen--"

  Nicholas uses what I've come to think of as "the voice."

  "I'm not a child, Logan. I'm capable of surviving one afternoon without you. The three of you stay here, and that's an order. If I catch a glimpse of you or find out you followed us--and I will find out--I'll ship you home to guard the fucking hounds. Do I make myself clear?"

  The guys nod, unhappily.

  And just a few minutes later, he slips the helmet over his head so no one will recognize him while we walk through the lobby to the hotel's exit.

  "Welcome to Coney Island!" I fling my arms out wide as Nicholas locks up the motorcycle. "Known for its epic roller coaster, just-clean-enough beaches, and hot dogs that might give you a spontaneous heart attack but taste good enough to risk it."

  He chuckles. And holds my hand while we walk toward The Cyclone. No one gives us a second glance, but Nicholas keeps his eyes down or on me, just the same.

  "So...how does it feel to be out...without them?"

  He squints against the sun. "Strange. Like I've forgotten something. Like that dream when you show up to class without your trousers. But it's...exhilarating, too."

  He kisses the back of my hand, the way he did that first morning--and it tingles all over again. After riding the roller coaster and eating hot dogs, we walk back to the bike to get the blanket I stowed there, and head toward the amphitheater.

  "Kodaline is playing," I tell him. Nicholas has a bunch of their songs on his phone's playlist.

  He stops walking and his face goes almost blank, but his eyes are the brightest green. Then in one move, he pulls me up against him and kisses me breathless.

  He presses his forehead against mine. "This is absolutely the best thing anyone's ever done for me. Thank you, Olivia."

  I smile--and I know it's radiant. Because that's how I feel. Right now--in his arms. Lit from the inside, like a luminous shooting star that won't ever dim.

  Inside, as we stand on line for drinks, "Everything I Do" by Bryan Adams pours from the speakers. "I love this song," I tell him. "It was my prom song--but I didn't get to go."

  "Why not?" he asks.

  I shrug. "I didn't have time or a dress."

  "Didn't your boyfriend...Jack...want to show you off?"

  "He wasn't that into dances."