The Controversial Princess, Page 20

  “Adeline.” He gives me beseeching eyes. “I just—”

  “No, Eddie.” I hold up my hand. “This conversation is not going to happen so don’t waste your breath.” Hurrying to my bathroom, I lock the door behind me to ensure he can’t storm in. Then I start getting myself ready for my evening with Josh. My stomach twists and turns, a mixture of nerves and excitement. And just like that, my reality is forgotten as Josh reclaims his place at the forefront of my mind.

  I DON’T KNOW IF DAMON purposely took notice of my request for low-key because I requested it, or because it’s safer, but we travel in a two-car convoy as opposed to the usual three. I don’t ask. Besides, my stomach is swirling with more nerves now, less excitement, and it’s becoming increasingly tricky to focus on anything but the night ahead.

  When Damon pulls up at the rear of the hotel and cuts the engine, he signals for his man to go and do whatever he has to do before Damon allows me out of the car. They communicate via their earpieces, talking, confirming, debating, though the one end of the conversation I can hear from Damon really isn’t sinking in. I’m too busy being nervous and giving myself a mental pep talk.

  “Ready?” he asks, letting himself out before I have the chance to answer. It’s a very good question, though I’m aware I’ve taken Damon’s enquiry out of context. My body is ready, oh so very ready, but my heart is not so sure. The door is opened and I get out as Damon continually scopes the area with watchful eyes. I slip my shades on, despite the sun having left the sky some time ago, and flip the hood of my long silk mac over my head. I don’t move before Damon collects me by placing his palm in its customary place in the small of my back. I have never considered before now how such a light touch can feel so utterly safe. He walks me through the corridors in the bowels of the hotel, one man up front checking the way, two men behind following on. We reach a service elevator and find two suited men, as stern as they are large. Josh’s security.

  One steps forward, presenting his hand to Damon. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he says on a smile. “Damon, my man. Good to see you.”

  “Bates,” Damon greets, showing a rare smile when he is on the job.

  “You know each other?” I question, glancing between the two men.

  “Bates and I served in MI6 together,” Damon says. “It must have been, what—”

  “Fifteen years,” Bates clarifies. “Fifteen long-arse years.” He smacks the call button on the service elevator. “Going up, ma’am?” he asks with a cheeky twinkle in his eye.

  For the life of me, I don’t know why, but I blush. “Yes, please.”

  “Your chariot awaits.” He motions into the lift and Damon laughs softly, prompting a chuckle from me. We hustle into the giant elevator, though it doesn’t feel so big with these six meaty men filling it. I’m flanked at every angle, totally concealed in the middle. The ride to the top is rickety and long, giving me more time to get myself worked up. I try to breathe some calm into my lungs, try to steady my sprinting heartbeat. It’s no use. I have never been so nervous before. I’m not silly enough to ask myself why I am a wreck. I’ve already figured out that much.

  For the first time in my life, I really, really like a man. And therefore, I’m anxious.

  The doors open and Josh’s men lead the way, Damon by my side, and the rest of my close security a few steps behind. A door opens, and I instinctively lower my head when someone exits a room. Damon moves in closer to me, Josh’s men slow, and the men behind speed up, all of them closing me in, making it as difficult as possible for the bystander to see me. They disperse a little when we’re out of the danger zone, and we come to a stop at a door. A card is inserted into the reader, the door is opened, and I am ushered inside. Quickly removing my coat and glasses, I pat down my loose hair and turn to a nearby mirror, checking I look presentable and not crumpled. The Herve Leger off-the-shoulder gold bandage dress couldn’t possibly crease during the car ride here; there’s no spare or loose material to crease. My dark hair is fanning my bare shoulders, and my lips are nude. I feel lovely, and I chose this dress thinking Josh would very much approve, yet now, strangely, I’m doubting my choice. Nerves. It’s the nerves.

  A cough has me startling and pivoting quickly, making my hair whip my face before coming to settle over one shoulder. “Holy fuckin’ shit.” Josh makes no bones about his pleasure, standing beyond all the men who accompanied me up here. His gaze takes its greedy time lazily dragging down my frame, before wandering back up, eventually arriving at my face. I’m relieved that he made as much effort as I did, with his well-worked physique dressed splendidly in a Wentworth-grey three-piece suit. I smile when I see his pink hanky stuffed in the breast pocket. His hair doesn’t look like it’s fully dried from his shower, and he hasn’t shaved. Oh, gosh, he looks unimaginably gorgeous, and tonight it is all for me.

  “Thanks, guys,” Josh says, nodding to his men and shaking Damon’s hand. “I’ve got it from here.”

  Damon casts a look over to me—a wary look. I don’t know what to say. Damon won’t go far, and I can’t expect him to stand in the corridor all evening, though I know he would without question.

  Josh must see my conflict, as well as Damon’s uncertainty, because he is quick to reassure us. “There’s a room through there.” He motions to a door. “Play cards, chill out.”

  I give Damon a thumbs up, happy he has somewhere comfortable to wait for me. “I will be fine.”

  “I’ll look after her,” Josh slips in.

  Damon laughs abruptly, holding his hands up as he backs away. “Too much information, my friend.”

  And there go my cheeks again, bursting into flames. I can’t look at any of the men as they shift into the other room, Damon’s old friend from MI6 throwing his arm around Damon’s shoulders as they go, insisting on hearing everything that’s happened in his life since they last saw each other. Fifteen years’ worth? That could take a while.

  “Let me,” Josh says, taking my coat from my hands. Then he stares at me, looking so content with what is before him. I can’t deny that I’m happy by the notion. No man has looked at me like this before, completely and unapologetically admiring me. Admiring me for being me. Not Princess Adeline. Just me.

  He’s still admiring me a few seconds later, and I start to fidget. “What?” I ask, snapping him out of his reverie.

  His gaze meets mine. “You look stunning. Fuckin’ beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I say quietly.

  “I had planned on wooing you over dinner, but now . . .” He shakes his head to himself.

  “Now what?”

  “Well, now you’re standing here with that fuckin’ dress defining every curve I love, and I’m suddenly not too keen on the idea of dining you.” He tosses my coat on a nearby chair. “Come here.”

  I step forward, and he seizes me with one easy arm curled around my back. Landing me with a hard, chaste kiss, he lifts me from my feet and carries me through the suite. “So we’re not eating?” I ask, smiling like a crazy woman against his lips.

  “Oh, I’m eating, for sure.” He bites at my neck, and I squeal through a laugh, feeling my tight dress ride up my thighs. When we get into the lavish bedroom, Josh stops and looks up at me. My laughter fades as I stare into his serious eyes. “I’m fuckin’ starving,” he says quietly. “Starving for you, Adeline.” I smile a small smile, nodding a tiny bit, knowing he understands I feel the same about him. “And I’m worried,” he goes on, kissing my lips gently. “Because no matter how much I gorge on you, I don’t think the hunger will ever be curbed.”

  I swallow, flicking my eyes briefly past him. “There will be no need for curbing if this fling gets out.”

  “Fling?” Josh asks, tugging my face back to his. “Is that what this is?”

  “It’s all it can be, right?” Finishing a statement with a question is never wise. It shows your uncertainty, your need for confirmation, your need to stop doubting what you think you know.

  “Right,” Josh breathes, s
earching my eyes. The pain that cuts through my chest is unfamiliar. And I positively hate it.

  “So let’s play.” I force the words out and fist his damp hair in my hands. “Sir.”

  His growl is possessive. His expression hard. I’m dropped to my feet and the zip of my dress found with ease. Although he doesn’t yank it down like I expect. He inches it open slowly, breathing in my ear as he does. The side of my face nestles into him, electricity bolting through every nerve. Closing my eyes, I raise my hands and place them on his shoulders, my senses heightened by the sound of his light breath in my ear. His lips meet the hollow beneath my lobe, and he kisses his way down my neck, my head dropping back to give him full access to the column of my throat. I space out, lost, my body alive and hypersensitive.

  “Josh,” I whisper, gliding my hands down the sleeves of his suit jacket.

  “I’m here,” is all he says, finding my lips and kissing me deeply, but only very briefly. My dress hits the floor, and he steps back, visibly struggling to move away. His breathing is rapid, his body rippling, his eyes heavy. Passion and sex personified is before me, ready to take me into the clouds where I’m light and carefree. I step out of my dress and kick off my shoes, bringing my eyes level with his Adam’s apple, which is rolling under his stubble from constant swallows. His gaze drinks in my lacy underwear as he strips his body of his clothes, my impatience growing with every inch of his skin revealed. His clothes drop to the floor one by one. I lick my lips, mentally roaming his flesh with my tongue. Every single inch of him. His body—his hard, beautiful, perfect body, is enough to reduce me to tears. I wait for my instructions, my impatience growing, the magnetism of his presence tempting me to claim him.

  And when his eyes meet mine, I lose the will to maintain the space between our bodies, and shoot forward, throwing myself into his arms. Our bodies crash together, as well as our lips, and the passion flares. I’m hauled closer to him, my legs curling around his waist, my hold of him solid as our tongues dance, swirl, and plunge over and over. He tastes divine, feels divine.

  He is my heaven.

  Our desperation is making our union crazed and chaotic. “Fuckin’ hell, Adeline,” he mumbles between tangled tongues. “Fuckin’, fuckin’ hell.” We fall to the bed and roll until I’m pinned beneath him. He growls, frustrated, as he yanks his mouth from mine and thrusts my arms up over my head. My chest pulses, my gasps for breath loud. “Where are your manners, Your Highness?” he pants as he straddles my waist, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You need to ask nicely if you want something.”

  “Please,” I gasp, unabashed. There is nothing I wouldn’t do. Beg or steal, I would do it for him. “Take me to the clouds.”

  His discreet smile fades as he stares down at me, his mind seeming to whirl at those words. “The clouds,” Josh murmurs, flexing his hold of my wrists. “Like heaven.”

  “Better,” I confirm, lifting my head to capture his lips. He doesn’t deny my demand for his mouth, falling straight into my kiss on a moan, releasing my wrists to allow me to hold him.

  “I’m dripping,” he tells me, rubbing his groin into my thigh. “Aching.” He pulls me up from the bed and carries me across the room with urgency, lowering me to a nearby dresser. With one swift yank, my knickers are ripped from my body and tossed aside, and the cups of my bra tugged down, my boobs spilling out. His mouth is on my chest a second later, his fingers slipping between my lips to test my readiness. “I’m not the only one.”

  He’s not. Goodness, I am completely drenched and pulsing. “Fuck me,” I demand. “Hard. Like you own me.” Words are coming without thought, need hijacking me. “Do it, Josh.” My legs snake around his hips and tense, tugging him closer.

  “Like I own you?” he questions, pushing his fingers deep on a brutal drive. I cry out, my head falling back. “I owned you the second you dropped to your knees for me, Your Highness.” His fingers pull free, and he levels himself up, pounding forward on a roar. The penetration robs my lungs of air, my mind spacing out.

  “Josh!” I yell, grappling at his damp back to find my grip, my face falling into his neck.

  “Not hard enough?” he questions, withdrawing and slamming forward again. “Not feeling owned yet?”

  My teeth sink into his shoulder, my body at his mercy. The brutal bite doesn’t faze him, but his fingers dig deeper into my backside, propelling me back and forth onto his cock. His thrusts are unforgiving, the loud smashing of our sweaty bodies filling the room. I force my head up and recline until my back meets the wall, my fingers interlaced at his nape, my arms straight. His face. It’s tight, harsh, and dripping wet, his hair a fucked-up mess. The veins in his neck are ballooning, his tight jaw set to crack. His chest rolling, his biceps swelling. It is the most beautiful, erotic vision I’ve ever seen.

  With every smash into me, I cry out. With every roll of his hips, I moan. My heart is pounding. My skin buzzing. My whole being vibrating. It’s sensory overload, the sounds, the feeling, the sight. I’m dancing on the edge of explosion, fighting back the climax simply to extend this moment.

  “You’re going to come with me,” he grunts, never losing his rhythm, not even for a second. My laced fingers slip, forcing my hands to the surface of the dresser to keep me upright.

  “Jesus, Josh.” I’m losing it.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  My confirmation has his pace increasing further, the shouts louder, the pleasure unimaginable. I hold my breath, my eyes locked on Josh as he watches me reach the pinnacle of pleasure. I can’t hold back any longer. I throw my head back and release my breath, screaming to the ceiling as my orgasm rips through me mercilessly. I’m tackled from every angle by the intensity of it, my body shattering. I hear Josh’s yell through the ringing in my ears, his fingers clawing brutally into my arse as he rocks his hips, spilling everything he has into me.

  “Oh my God,” I pant to the ceiling, as Josh’s face falls forward, meeting my shoulder. I peel my palms off the wood of the dresser and settle them on his back, heaving like I’ve sprinted a marathon. Josh’s weight resting on me holds me pinned to the wall, my head resting back. I’m exhausted.

  “Owned,” he heaves, turning his mouth into my neck and biting lightly.

  I smile, smoothing my hand into his hair and combing through the wet strands. “Fine by me,” I reply quietly, letting my heavy lids fall closed. I wouldn’t mind if we remained exactly here for the rest of the night, connected so intimately. Josh has other ideas though, and pulls away, his softening cock slipping out on a wince from both of us. He glances down at his groin, as do I. “That’s bareback done, I guess.”

  I laugh, unable to feel remorseful for our lack of protection. Our craving for each other got in the way.

  Josh chuckles with me and helps me down from the dresser, grabbing a tissue from the nearby box and cleaning me. “Would you think less of me if I told you I feel no remorse?” He takes my cheeks in his palms and holds my face, looking deeply into my eyes.

  “I don’t feel remorseful, either.” I shrug. God, if he never wears protection again, that’s fine by me. That was . . . unreal. “I take the contraceptive pill.”

  He smiles and presses his lips to mine. “I got all dressed up for you.”

  I inwardly swoon but outwardly grin. “I prefer you without clothes.”

  “What a coincidence. I feel the same about you.” He moves back and has a little inspection, smiling at the cups of my bra still pulled down. I roll my eyes and reach to sort them out, but my hands are seized. “Just take it off.”

  “What about wooing me over dinner?”

  “I don’t think there’s any need for wooing now, do you?” He points to the dresser on a hitched brow, and I grin like a loon.

  “Suppose not.” I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor.

  Josh matches my grin and slips his arms around my shoulders, pulling me in and walking me to the bathroom. “I’d offer you a shower, but I’m quite
liking the smell of me all over you.” He takes a white fluffy robe from a hook and holds it open for me. I catch sight of myself in the mirror as I turn to feed my arms through the sleeves.

  “Gosh, I look—”

  “Deliciously fucked,” he finishes for me, reaching around my front and securing the tie. “Let’s keep you that way.” A light kiss is placed on my cheek. “It suits you.” I don’t know about that. All my makeup has been rubbed away, and my hair is a frightful mess. Taking a robe for himself, he puts it on and I pout at the lost vision of his nakedness. “Come.” My hand is seized in his, and I’m led through to the main suite.

  We pass a beautifully laid table for two. “That was a waste,” I say as Josh pushes me onto one of the couches.

  “Not half as wasteful as passing up the opportunity to fuck you.” He falls to the couch at the other end and picks up the phone on the side table. “Yeah, hi. Guest Services, please. Yeah, sure.” He looks at me. “They’re transferring me.”

  I laugh. Crazy American Boy. “I need the bathroom,” I tell him, getting up and hurrying back through the bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I use the toilet, but no sooner have I released the muscles of my bladder, Josh walks right on in, with no knock or call of warning. “Josh,” I yell, unable to stop the flow, leaving me no choice but to remain where I am—sitting on the bloody toilet having a pee in front of Josh Jameson. I close my eyes, like if I can’t see him, then he can’t see me.

  He starts laughing, and I open one eye, so mortified, though Josh clearly is quite unperturbed. “You look cute sitting on the toilet.” He rests his back against the doorframe and gets comfortable.

  “Some privacy, please?” I ask, my bladder now empty.

  “What’s the big deal?” He nods at the toilet roll. “We’ve skipped through first, second, and third base, and I nearly hit a home run the very first time we met. I think this is the next natural progression, don’t you?”