Royally screwed, p.21
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       Royally Screwed, p.21

         Part #1 of Royally series by Emma Chase

  I take him fully in my mouth--beyond the ability to tease. And he sighs my name as I suckle him, my tongue tracing the silken skin and tight grooves.

  With a gasp, Nicholas lifts me back up. Devouring my lips, he rolls us over, lifts my nightgown and slides inside me. And there's still that stretch...that delicious feeling of being so perfectly full. He stops when he's fully buried--when we're as close and tied as two people could ever be.

  His eyes shine in the darkness, and he strokes my cheek, just gazing down at me.

  And I know I love him. It's right there--on my lips--just waiting for breath to say the words out loud. He kisses me, and I give them over to him, but silently.

  Because it's all already so very complicated. And it feels like, once I say those words I'll cross a threshold I won't ever be able to turn back from. Walk away from.

  Nicholas moves above me, inside me, deep and slow. Wringing out the pleasure from us both. My eyes close and I hold him, my arms around him, feeling the taut muscles in his back tighten with every thrust as my hands clutch his shoulder blades.

  And I'm lost. Gone. Coasting in a stratosphere of searing bliss. It expands inside me, building, soaring...until I come with an opened-mouth cry. Pressing my lips against his neck, tasting him, breathing in the scent of his skin with every writhing gasp.

  His thrusts quicken, becoming rougher as the intensity crests for him too. Until he pushes in deep one last time, and comes on a quiet gasp. I feel him inside me--hot and pulsing. And I clench around him so tight, wanting to keep him inside me forever.

  Later, with my cheek on his warm chest and his strong arms heavy around me, I ask him, "What are we going to do?"

  Nicholas kisses my forehead, holding on tighter.

  "I don't know."

  "PISS OFF, YOU BASTARD! I never liked you!"

  "The best part of you leaked out of your mother to the wet spot on the bed, you tosser."

  "Sir Aloysius's cock was the smartest thing that ever came out of your mouth!"

  Welcome to Parliament. And you thought the Brits got rowdy.

  Although, I admit, it's not usually quite this bad.

  "I'll kill you! I'll kill your family and I'll eat your dog!"

  Okay, then.

  Normally, the Queen attends Parliament only to open and close out the year. But, given the state of Wessco's economy, she called a special session. So both sides of the clearly drawn line could work out their differences.

  It's not going well. Mostly because there's the royal family and the MPs who actually give a damn about the country on one side...and on the other is a great big bag of smelly dicks.

  "Order!" I call out. "Ladies and gentlemen, for God's sake--this is not a football stadium or a backstreet pub. Remember who you are. Where you are."

  In the hallowed hall where one of my ancestors, Crazy King Clifford II, once wore his crown--and nothing else. Because he was hot. We're not supposed to talk about him.

  Finally, the shouting quiets down.

  And I address the head prick. "Sir Aloysius, what is your stance on the current legislation proposed?"

  He sniffs. "My stance remains unchanged, Your Grace. Why should we pass these packages of laws?"

  "Because it's your job. Because the country needs this."

  "Then I suggest Her Majesty agree to our demands," he tells me, sneering.

  And suddenly the dog-eating doesn't seem so harsh.

  I stare him down, my face as cold and hard as my voice.

  "That's not how this works, Sir Aloysius. And you can take your demands and go fuck yourself with them."

  There are a few random shouts of agreement and "here, here."

  Aloysius snaps, "You are not King yet, Prince Nicholas."

  "No, I'm not." And I look him right in his eyes. "But you should enjoy your position while you can. Because when I am, it will be my mission to make sure you lose it."

  His nostrils go wide and he swivels toward the Queen. "Does your grandson speak for the royal house, Your Majesty?"

  There's a light in my grandmother's eyes and a smirk on her face. Though she'd probably prefer it not be over something so serious, she loves this. The struggle, the battle, the confrontation--it's her playground.

  "I would have chosen less incendiary words...but yes, Prince Nicholas expressed our thoughts quite accurately."

  See? She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself too.

  The Queen stands, and all rise with her. "We are done here, for now." She scans the room, her eyes touching the face of each Member of Parliament. "Our country is at a crossroads. Rest assured, if you cannot show that you are capable of choosing the right path, one will be chosen for you."

  Then, together, we turn and walk out the large double doors, side by side.

  In the hall, walking toward the car, she speaks without looking at me. "That was not wise, Nicholas. You made an enemy today."

  "He was our enemy already. Now he just knows that we know it. I had to say something."

  She chuckles. "You're starting to sound like your brother."

  "Maybe he actually has a point."

  Speaking of Henry, he's doing better. It's been a few weeks since the boat incident and he seems...purged. Calmer. He also reached out to the families of the soldiers, like Olivia suggested. Speaking and visiting with them seems to have brought him some measure of peace.

  So, he's coming with Olivia and I to the seaside. For the weekend.

  I don't mind--I mean, I'm driving in an open-topped convertible with a motorcade of security agents driving all around me, so it's not like Olivia was going to suck me off on the way there anyway.

  That being said, it's forty minutes into the five-hour drive...and I'm starting to have second thoughts.

  "Sobriety is tedious," my brother says from the backseat. "I'm soooo booooored."

  Then he pops up, placing his forearms on our headrests and hanging his head between us. "Is this how the whole trip is going to be? You two making goo-goo eyes at each other? Do you see that tree over there, Nicholas? Drive toward it as fast as you can and put me out of my misery."

  We ignore him.

  Olivia takes her phone out and snaps a picture of a cliff that she says looks like Patrick from SpongeBob, intending to text it to her sister. She talks or texts with Ellie and Marty every day--to check in and check up on how things are going in New York without her. Last night Ellie told Olivia their father was "doing better," which eased some of her worries.

  "Oooh, Ellie," my brother coos, looking over Olivia's shoulder. "Let's call her. Find out if she's legal yet."

  "My sister's off-limits to you, buddy." Olivia frowns.

  He flops back onto the seat. "This is so boring."

  It's going to be a long drive.

  But when we get to Anthorp Castle, which sits on a cliff overlooking the ruckus of whitewater waves below, it's anything but boring. Henry doesn't want to swim, but he's interested in cliff diving.

  Thank Christ, I talk him out of it.

  Olivia and I skip skinny-dipping because of security--and her bare bits are for my eyes only. But we do freeze our arses off in the water down on the beach--Olivia in a turquoise string bikini, me in swim shorts both of us splashing and swimming in the rough waves like randy dolphins.

  The good part about cold water is eventually, everything just gets numb.

  And the best part about old stone castles is the giant fireplace in every room. We warm up in front of the one in the great hall, on a rug made of rabbit pelts. Olivia dries her hair by the fire and I watch the flames reflect in her eyes, turning them a deep violet.

  We eat delicious stew and fresh-baked bread for dinner.

  And that night, in the giant antique bed, in view of the stars, Olivia straddles my hips and rides my cock with slow, deliberate strokes. I gaze up at her, like a sinner who's found redemption. The way the moonlight streaming in from the window bathes her skin in an illustrious glow--fuck, she's beautiful. I could almost weep with it.
  But I don't. Because there are other, better, ways to show my adoration.

  I lift up, my hands skimming her spine to cradle her shoulders. I guide her back--at this angle, I'm still buried fully, fantastically, inside her, but the weight of her upper body rests in my hands. Then I bring my lips to her breast--and I make love to those soft globes with my lips and teeth and tongue. Worshipping them like the deities they are.

  She whimpers as I lick her, and her pussy clenches harder around me. It's fucking magnificent.

  Things have changed between us since the day of the polo match. They're deeper, more intense...just more everything. We both feel it, know it, though we haven't spoken about it. Not yet.

  Olivia's hips circle and grind as my balls tighten. I lift her back up, so we're face-to-face. With my hands on her shoulders, I rock up into her while she fucks down on me hard and perfect. And we come together--grasping at one another, moaning and cursing.

  The acoustics of these walls aren't as good as the palace...but they're damn close.

  The next day, on the drive back, we stop at a pub for an early dinner. It's a low-key place, known for its ploughman's sandwich and good whiskey. Since it's an unplanned stop, security goes in before us, does a sweep, and remains nearby while we eat.

  Afterward, as we stand up from the table, Henry squints at a curvy strawberry blond across the room, pressing a finger to his lips, then aiming it in her direction. "I know that girl. How do I know that girl?"

  "Titebottum," I tell him.

  "Yes, she certainly has that. Though I'm surprised you'd mention it in front of Olive."

  Olivia folds her arms, looking for an explanation. And I chuckle at my brother because he's an idiot.

  "That's her name," I tell them both. "She's Lady Von Titebottum's daughter, the younger one...Penelope."

  Henry snaps his fingers. "Yes, that's it. I met her at Baron Fossbender's a few years back when she was still in university."

  Just then, a long-haired brunette with glasses steps up beside Penelope, and I add, "And that's her sister...Sarah, I believe."

  As we head toward the door, Penelope spots my brother, and from the look on her face she doesn't have any trouble recalling who he is. "Henry Pembrook! It's been forever--how the hell are you?"

  "I'm good, Penelope."

  Sarah and Penelope both curtsy, short and quick, then Penelope scowls dramatically at Henry. "Don't tell me you were here visiting and didn't think to look me up! I'll never forgive you."

  Henry grins. "Drive back with us. I'll make it up to you."

  She pouts. "I can't. Mother hates the city--too noisy, too crowded."

  "And we have to bring home dinner. We're picking it up now," Sarah says in a soft, airy voice, clutching a leather-bound book to her chest.

  "What are you reading?" Olivia asks.

  The girl smiles. "Sense and Sensibility."

  "For the thousandth time," Penelope grumbles. "And she won't even read like a normal person--I got her an e-reader for her birthday but she doesn't use it! She carries all those books around in that satchel that's about to fall apart."

  "An e-reader's not the same, Penny," Sarah explains quietly.

  "A book's a book." Henry shrugs. "It's just...words. Isn't it?"

  Sarah blushes deeply--almost purple. But she still shakes her head at my brother--pityingly. She opens the book and holds it up near his face.


  After a moment, Henry leans down and sniffs the pages distrustfully.

  "What do you smell?" Sarah asks.

  Henry gives it another sniff. "It smells...old."

  "Exactly!" She smells the pages herself, deep and long. "Paper and ink--there's nothing like it. The only thing that smells better than a new book is an old one."

  Someone drops a tray of glasses behind the bar, and the shattering crash reverberates throughout the room. And Sarah Von Titebottum goes very still, her eyes blank and her skin whiter than the pages she's holding.

  "Lady Sarah," I ask, "are you all right?"

  She doesn't respond.

  "It's okay," her sister whispers, but she doesn't seem to hear her.

  Henry presses his palm to her arm. "Sarah?"

  She inhales swiftly--gasping--like she hadn't been breathing. Then she blinks and looks around, slightly panicked, before recovering herself.

  "Forgive me. I the crash." She presses her hand to her chest. "I'm going to get some air and wait outside, Pen."

  Just then, a uniformed waiter brings the dinner order they're picking up. Penelope asks the waiter to carry it to the car for them and we say our good-byes.

  On the way out, Penelope reminds Henry, "Ring me! Don't forget."

  "I will." He waves.

  Then he stares after them, watching them walk out the door. "She's an odd little duck, isn't she?"

  "Who?" I ask.

  "Lady Sarah. Pity--she could be pretty, if she didn't dress like a monk in drag."

  Olivia clucks her tongue, like a disapproving, big-sister hen. "She didn't look like a monk, you jerk. Maybe she's busy with--interests, or whatever--and doesn't have time to spend on her appearance. I can understand that." She points up and down her luscious little form. "Believe it or not, I don't look like this in my real life."

  I slip my arm around her waist. "Rubbish--you're beautiful no matter what you have on." Then I whisper in her ear, "Especially when you have on nothing."

  "Still," Henry muses as we head for the door, "I wouldn't mind getting a peek at what's under Miss Sense and Sensibility's long skirt. With a name like Titebottum, it must be good."

  MY MOTHER ONCE TOLD ME that time was like the wind. It rushes over you, passes you--and no matter how hard you try, how much you want to, you can't hold onto it, and you can't ever slow it down.

  Her words echo in my head as I lie awake in my bed, in the gray dawn stillness, while Olivia sleeps soundlessly beside me.

  Four days. That's all we have left. The time has flown by as quickly as turning the pages in a book. They've been glorious days--filled with laughter and kisses, moans and gasps, more pleasure in every way than I ever let myself dream about.

  For the last month, Olivia and I have truly enjoyed our time together. We've gone biking around the city--with security nearby, of course. The people wave and call--not just to me, but to her as well. "A lovely lass," they say. There were picnics near the pond and trips to our other properties, Olivia's sweet voice echoing with joy down the aged halls. I taught her to ride a horse, though she prefers a bike. A few times she's gone clay-pigeon shooting with Henry and I--covering her ears at every pull of the trigger in the adorable way she has of doing things.

  There hasn't been much reason for Olivia and my grandmother to come into contact, but when they have, the Queen has treated her civilly, if not frigidly. But one Sunday for tea, Olivia baked scones. It was the first time she'd baked since leaving New York and she actually enjoyed it. She made her own delicious recipe of almond and cranberry. My grandmother declined to try even one bite.

  And I hated her a little bit then.

  But that one, dark moment is extinguished by a thousand brilliant ones. A thousand perfect memories of our time together.

  And now our time is just about up.

  The seed of an idea has been planted in my mind for a while--months--but I haven't let it sprout. Until now.

  I turn on my side, kissing a path up Olivia's smooth arm to her shoulder, burying my nose in the fragrant crook of her neck. She wakes with a smile in her voice.

  "Good morning."

  My lips drift to her ear. And I give voice to my idea. To my hope.

  "Don't go back to New York. Stay."

  Her reply comes a heartbeat later. In a whisper.

  "For how long?"

  "For always."

  Slowly she turns in my arms, her navy eyes seeking, her lips just starting to smile.

  "Have you talked to your grandmother? Are you...are you not going throu
gh with the announcement?"

  I swallow hard, my throat rough.

  "No. Canceling the announcement isn't possible. But I've been thinking...I could push the wedding off for a year. Maybe two. We would have all that time together."

  She flinches. And her smile falls into oblivion.

  But I push on, trying to make her understand. Make her see.

  "I could have Winston look into the women on the list. Perhaps one of them has what we have. I could...come to an understanding with her. An arrangement."

  "A marriage of convenience," she says in a detached tone.

  "Yes." I cup her cheek, bringing her eyes to mine. "It's been done for centuries--because it works. Or maybe...I could marry Ezzy. It would make things easier for her...and for us."

  Olivia's gaze touches the ceiling and her hand scrapes into her hair, tugging. "Jesus fucking Christ, Nicholas."

  And my voice is raw with desperate emotion. "Just think about it. You're not even considering it."

  "Do you have any idea what you're asking me?"

  Frustration turns my tone cold. "I'm asking you to stay. Here. With me."

  And hers bursts into flames. "Yes, stay and watch you announce to the world that you're marrying someone else! Stay and watch while you go to parties and luncheons and pose for pictures with someone else. Stay and watch you...give her your mother's ring."

  I wince.

  Olivia shoves me, rises, and scrambles off the bed.

  "You are such an asshole!"

  She heads for the bookcase, but I bolt off the bed, chasing her. I wrap an arm around her waist, locking her in place, my chest against her back--my hand in her hair, my scraping voice at her ear.

  "Yes, I'm a fucking arsehole and a bastard, too. But I can't...bear it. The thought of you being an ocean away. The thought of never seeing you, never touching you again."

  I close my eyes and press my forehead against her temple, breathing her in, holding her too tight but too desperate to loosen my grip.

  "I love you, Olivia. I love you. And I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to let you go."

  She shudders in my arms. And then she's sobbing into her hands. Great, heaving, heartbroken bursts that wreck me.

  I should've left her alone. I should've walked away the moment I started to feel...everything. I had no business trying to keep her. It will forever be the cruelest thing I've ever done.

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