His true queen, p.17
His True Queen, p.17Jodi Ellen Malpas
Josh also takes a little peek around the room. “A very rich anonymous person paid an obscene amount of money to privately hire it for a few hours.”
Anonymous. How clever of him. “So we won’t be disturbed?”
“The staff will be curious, of course. But Damon is on watch and the manager knows there’s a healthy bonus in his back pocket if he ensures our privacy.”
“But he doesn’t know who is in his hotel bar?”
Josh shakes his head and drops a light kiss on my cheek, as we continue to slowly sway in each other’s arms, and Fats Waller continues to bless us with his words. “Money is power. Mind you, so is being the Queen.”
I inwardly laugh. “I have no power.” If I did, life would be wonderful. “Thank you for the link you sent me.” Another disapproving look, and Josh once again ignores it.
“Is she?” he asks.
I frown up at him. “Is she what, and who is she?”
“Is the mystery woman in my life jealous of the story those pictures tell?”
On a light laugh, I rest my cheek on his shoulder, and he starts to turn us, so very lazily. Like we have all the time in the world. “We shouldn’t feed their curiosity, Josh. You put on a show. It was very dangerous.”
“Adeline, I don’t put anything on when I am with you. Everything that happens between us is naturally explosive. I can’t help that our chemistry is so obvious.”
“Then you should have kept your distance.”
“That’s about as impossible as asking me to control my desire for you.”
I sigh into him, staring over his shoulder to the sheer drapes hiding us from the outside world. I’m falling into that despondent mood I so hate, when the impossibility of us hits home. “You stole the President’s thunder,” I muse.
“Ed won’t mind. He’s never been a man who thrives on attention.”
“And you are?”
“Only if that attention comes from you.” Constricting his hold on my neck, he pulls me from my cozy resting place. “And since I’ve gone to all this trouble so we can see each other, I want every bit of your attention on me.”
“So demanding,” I quip. “And what would you have me do?”
His gorgeous lips pout in silent contemplation, and he gazes to the ceiling for a few moments. “Let me think about that. First, I should get my queen a drink.” He frees me from his embrace and takes my hand, leading me to the bar and lifting me to a stool.
“But there’s no barman,” I point out as Josh rounds the bar and puts himself behind it. Grabbing a coaster, he places it in front of me. “Welcome to the St. Regis, darlin’. What can I get you?”
I laugh as I get comfortable. “You’re my barman?”
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
Not a secret, my head yells, diverting me off my course of contentment for a split second. I soon pull myself around and scan the drinks menu that Josh hands me. I can’t allow myself to tarnish this time we have. “Let me see.”
“Nothing from the cocktail menu,” he tells me, and I look up. “I haven’t got a fuckin’ clue how to make a cocktail, and I’m not wasting our time together trying to figure it out.”
I can’t argue with him. I don’t want to waste time either. I flip past the cocktails and run my eye down the spirits. Then I snap the book closed. “I think perhaps I’ll stick with champagne.” No cocktail making, no mixing, and no wasting time.
“Very good choice.” Josh goes straight to the champagne, as if he predicted my choice and sought it out in preparation. He’s quick to remove the foil and pop the cork, and then he is on the stool next to me pouring. “So how was your evening?”
Odd question, since I know Josh is aware it was a strain of epic proportions. “Lovely,” I opt for instead. “Although listening to the First Lady tell me that you used to date was rather unpleasant.”
He falters in his pouring, glancing at me. “We dated briefly. It was nothing. She told the Queen about her previous relationships?”
“I was equally surprised,” I admit, avoiding the fact that I encouraged her. “And I think she was serious about you.”
He shrugs. “I’ve never led a woman on, Adeline. Never given false hope.” He hands me my flute. “I’ve never been into a woman. Not before you, anyway.”
My smile can’t be contained. “Into?”
His smirk is devilish. “In love with. Better?”
“Good. Now, how was your flight?”
I frown as I sip, and Josh settles back on his stool, comfortable and waiting for my answer. How was your evening? How was your flight? “Fine. Why are you asking me these questions?”
“I want to know what it would feel like for us to be normal.”
“But we are not.” I indicate around the bar with my glass. “As proven by this hotel bar you have paid to clear so we can see each other.”
His scowl is playful. “Nice tiara.”
Just like that, my senses heighten. “Nice hanky.”
His lips pout as he glances down at the pink material hanging out of his breast pocket. “You know, I planned on wining and dining—”
“I’ve heard those words before.” I laugh lightly, making him smirk devilishly.
He gets up off his stool and removes my drink from my hand before tugging me down. “Dancing,” he goes on, “kissing, and feeling you.” Both his hands move to my backside and squeeze, at the same time pushing my waist into his. He’s rock-hard. Throbbing. Boom. My veins run hot. “I was going to feed you your favorite champagne and dirty cheeseburger.” He circles his groin, his smirk becoming dirtier. “But now—”
“What?” I breathe. What now?
“Now . . .” His lips meet my jawline, and he licks his way up to the hollow below my ear. Holy good God, I’m falling to pieces in his arms. “I only want your beautiful mouth around my dick.” He bites down on my lobe and tugs playfully. The moan that escapes me is feral and rough. I feel feral, too, could happily rip his suit from his body and devour him. “And then I’ll slip inside that sweet, royal pussy of yours”—a jolt of his hips knocks a whimper from me—“work up slowly and carefully”—another jolt, and another cry—“until I’m pounding, and you, Your Majesty, are screaming.”
“Oh God.” I grab his trousers in search of the fly, but I’m quickly and abruptly stopped. Outraged, I look into liquid amber eyes, my jaw ticking. His face is impassive now. Expressionless. But his eyes dance in satisfaction. No one will stop me from having what I want in this moment, not even Josh. I try to tug my hands out of his. And get absolutely nowhere. “Let me go.”
“No.” He pushes my hands away and steps back, out of touching distance. What is he doing? I step forward, and Josh steps back again. He’s making a point. I’m beginning to feel like I need him to breathe, and Josh is proving that. But what about how he feels? Isn’t he as desperate, as hungry and in need? I step forward once again, and once again Josh removes himself from my space, enough to be out of reach. My eyes fall into irritated slits, but Josh’s face doesn’t change at all. Still deadpan. Although his eyes give him away. They tell me he’s struggling. I need to turn this around, and in a moment of impulse, I fall to my knees before him, my gaze heavy and provocative.
“Fuck,” he whispers, his composure slipping, his body shaking with the strength he needs to remain at a distance. But he will. I know my American boy. His mind games, his deep need to prove that I need him as much as I want him, won’t allow him to break. So I find the words I know will shatter his resistance.
“I bow to no one,” I whisper, blinking slowly, feeling intoxicated and dizzy from the sparks colliding between us. “Except you.”
His big chest expands on a deep breath, his hands trembling. And he drops to his knees, too. “Want to get into trouble with me?” he asks quietly. His question catapults me back to the day of my thirtieth birthday and makes me realize how far we have come. And I know that is his intention.
I blink and refocus my attention to right now. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Get here.” Falling to one palm, he leans forward and gives me his other. I take it and walk on my knees to him, and he drops his arse to his heels and sits me to the side on his lap, brushing my masses of waves over one shoulder. I curl in close to his chest and immediately feel the heat of his breath spreading across my scalp. “Not much of a temptress now, huh?” He sighs.
“Sometimes one just needs a cuddle.”
“And sometimes one needs to stop thinking things that distracts one.” He cuddles me harder, a lame kind of punishment. “Especially when one’s boyfriend is about to get his dick sucked.”
I laugh into him, pushing myself out of his chest. “Sorry, darlin’,” I quip, my attempt at a southern American accent downright diabolical. “Bloody hell, that was awful.”
Josh falls apart against me, the sound of his laughter the best kind of medicine. “You’re so fucking cute.”
I nudge him, but immediately follow it up with a wince.
Reaching up to my tiara, I grimace. “I’ve been wearing this thing for hours. My head is about to fall off.” I’m suddenly not on Josh’s lap anymore, but on my back on the floor. My tiara tumbles, he crowds me with his body, cupping my face, and kisses me hard on the lips.
“Not before I fuck your mouth.”
I gasp. Josh gasps.
And then it is all very serious again as we stare at each other, the tension building up, back to where it was before I let the horrible things dampen it. “On your knees.” He moves off me and stands, helping me up until my eyes are level with his groin. Bending, he blindly reaches for my tiara and carefully slips it back on my head, spending a few moments arranging my waves around the precious metal and stones. This time, he starts to unfasten his trousers himself, and my hands twitch by my sides, desperate to help. He reaches into his boxers. He pauses, watching as my tongue sweeps across my lips. And then . . .
I hold my breath as I take in every inch of him, marveling at his taut flesh and thick shaft. My mouth waters. My body rolls in waves with my breathing. I peek up through my lashes and see his head low, his eyes hooded and dark. With one fist wrapped around himself, he takes my nape with his other and pushes me forward until the tip of his cock meets the corner of my mouth. And he glides it from side to side across the seam of my lips. I close my eyes and wrap one hand around his, my tongue darting out and catching him. He hisses. And before he gathers himself, I open my mouth and take him as far as our hands around his base allows. He growls, his fingers digging into my neck. He’s velvet. I am wanton. He jerks and flexes his hand for me to let go, so then I take my hand to his arse, and he holds the sides of my head with both hands. And then it is just my mouth around him. I hum and close my eyes, advancing forward slowly, taking as much as him as I can handle. A lot, but by no means all. Retreating, I graze my teeth lightly to the very tip and quickly sink back down again. He is trembling, every part of his body vibrating around me. Once I’ve teased him enough with my slow, lazy pace, I take up my rhythm and start pumping steadily and meticulously, each drive of my mouth being met with a ragged groan. His hips start to move, his hands holding my head tighter. His veins pulse against my tongue, blood surging. I open my eyes and gaze up, finding his face is pointed toward the ceiling, his throat tight, his jaw ready to snap. Every sign I see and feel tells me he is about to reach his limit. His head drops. He straightens my tiara. I smile around my mouthful of his flesh, and he smiles back.
Then I slowly suck my way to his tip and start kissing my way down his shaft. Mumbled words start to spill from his mouth, none of them coherent.
“Do you want to come, Josh?” I ask as I lick firmly up the length of a ballooned, throbbing vein. His head is heavy and limp, his eyes barely able to remain open. His parted lips allow air to pass in short, fast gasps. He’s sweating. I’ve never seen anything so enthralling.
Without a word, he dips and hauls me to my feet, spinning me and bending me over a stool. I whimper as my palms sink into the gold material. Leaning over and reaching around me, he takes my hands and sets them on the backrest of the stool. “Hold tight, Your Majesty,” he whispers into my hair. His voice is so close to my ear, it sinks in and swirls my thoughts further. He gathers up my masses of hair into a fist and pulls, tugging my head back as he bends to find the hem of my dress. It’s drawn slowly up until my waist is a mass of black satin. My knickers aren’t removed, just pulled aside.
I stare ahead to the doors where Damon is just beyond, as well as the rest of the world. The thought doesn’t panic me. There’s nothing to be considered in this moment except how much pleasure I’m about to experience. As Josh places a fingertip on my shoulder, I close my eyes and breathe through his light touch. The heat is bordering unbearable.
Like his fingertip is charged with electricity, I shake as he drags it down my back. I can see with my eyes closed. Every tiny movement he makes, every touch he gives me, I can see it all so clearly. Like an out-of-body experience, like I could be standing in the shadows watching two people get lost in each other.
He reaches between my thighs and strokes me softly. We inhale at the same time. We jerk in sync. We both release air on moans.
“If I were to ever beg you to do something for me, Adeline, it would be to remember this.” He sinks his finger into me and sweeps far and wide, pushing me onto my tiptoes in my heels. “Whenever you’re feeling uncertain, remember how it feels to be with me.” His finger is gone and a second later, my eyes spring open, and I’m full to the brim with his cock.
“Josh,” I yell, and one of his hands covers my mouth for my trouble.
“Quiet,” he hisses, pounding forward mercilessly. I moan into his palm, clenching my eyes closed and searching for the willpower to sustain this without telling the entire hotel what is happening in the bar. “Here.” Josh dangles his pink hanky in front of me, and my mouth drops open automatically for him to stuff it inside. Once he’s ensured my silence, both hands fall onto my hips. And I breathe in through my nose, filling my lungs with air. Josh lets go, and I am instantly thrust over the edge of all control, my fingers clawing into the material of the stool. Slam after slam, he gives me no space between his brutal drives, his mind lost, his body a slave to pleasure. I can hear the gratification in every one of his grunts. Can feel it every time his groin slaps my arse. Can see his unrestrained desire in my mind’s eye. I can taste it on my tongue, his essence still there. And I can smell it in the potent sex-drenched air. Josh is overloading all my senses, to the point I could collapse from the intensity. The muscles in my arms solidify, bracing me against the stool. My legs lock. My torso hardens. My climax is powering forward, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I spit the hanky out on a muffled cry, my head jerking when Josh yanks on my hair. I feel the very epicenter of me swell with heat and blood, the pinnacle of my pleasure just on the horizon.
“Sweet Jesus,” Josh gasps, his body folding over mine, his last few thrusts a little haphazard and uncontrolled. Stars burst into my hazy vision and my orgasm rips through me ruthlessly, holding me hostage in its clutches. On one last shove, he hits me deep, and I feel his essence pour from his body and fill me as he curses his way through it. Breathless and unable to hold myself up any longer, my torso collapses to the seat of the stool, Josh’s body coming with me. Dazed, I stare across the bar into the dancing flames of the fire and zone out, utterly replete. Josh’s arm curls under my stomach and clings, his face buried in my hair at my nape. I can’t move. I can’t talk. I can’t eve
AFTER A WHILE OF LISTENING to our loud breathing, I finally find some strength to utter a few words. “Are you alive?”
“Yeah,” he replies, turning his face onto my back and kissing me. “That was a pretty fuckin’ awesome nightcap, darlin’.”
“I don’t think I can walk.”
“And my tiara is really hurting now,” I add, wincing as I tilt my head and it digs in behind my ears. I’m going to have a headache for a week.
Josh lifts himself off me, and I grimace when our clothes peel apart, damp with sweat. He snatches a few napkins from the bar and wipes up the inside of my thighs. “Come here.” Helping me to turn, he smiles, rearranging my hair, which I’m certain must look frightful.
“How bad do I look?” I ask as I help him out and refasten his trousers.
“You couldn’t look bad if you tried.” Reaching for my tiara, he removes it, unraveling a few locks of hair that are caught up in the platinum and diamond weaves.
“Oh, that feels so good.” I flex my neck, my relief instant. “I’ve never worn it for so long before.”
Placing it on the seat of the stool, Josh turns me and lays his hands on my shoulders. Oh my, he’s going to rub some life back into me. I relax under his working hands melding into my flesh where my neck meets my shoulders, humming my appreciation.
“Anyone would think you had my dick inside you again.”
I smile into my darkness, rocking on my heels. “I think this is better.” His hands wrap around my neck and lightly squeeze, and I reach up on a laugh to stop him from strangling me. “Rub me,” I plead, needing more of his magic hands.
He goes back to massaging, and I go back to humming. “Was it worth the wait, mystery woman?”
“It was.” Although I know our sex will be as explosive even without the longest times in between. Even when we’re not catching up. It’s just how it is with us. Electric. Consuming. It’s everything. Yet there will always be horrible lengths of time when we’re apart. There will always be more desperation on top of the already unbearable desperation. There will never be a time when I can just jump him and let him take us away, not without planning or meticulous risk management. I hate that there might be more weeks like the one I’ve just had, feeling heartsick over his silence. Or when his life gets crazy and he’s on the other side of the world. Or when he loses hope in us again. Or the lack of a consistent us. I’m not free to see him when I please. I can’t take a day off work when I wish and clear my diary to see him.
His True Queen by Jodi Ellen Malpas / Romance & Love / History & Fiction have rating 4.6 out of 5 / Based on41 votes