Oliver

I was never one to put much stock in fairy tales, instant love, or happy endings. They didn’t seem relevant enough in my life to give a second thought. I was focused on my career, building my empire, and I had no desire to find love. In fact, I rarely even dated. I was no Prince Charming and the idea that I would find a princess was practically ludicrous. Never mind the fact that I grew up in a country still ruled by royalty; I’d left it behind long ago.

Life is full of unexpected twists and turns, but the reality is, our future is of our making, or so I thought. When Preston St. Claire, King of Rêves and my best friend’s older brother, reached out to me, asking me to consider returning to my homeland, I made the decision as a professional. The country was dwindling, and without an infusion of business and tourism, it would soon sink into complete poverty. To my surprise, I realized a part of me had longed to return home.

These events were based on my decisions, my vision for the future. Turns out, that little diaper-wearing, flying bastard Cupid, was determined to prove me wrong. After several work-consumed months, I finally poked my head outside the hole I’d been in and accepted a dinner invitation at the palace. If you’re picturing a gigantic medieval structure complete with turrets and a moat, keep right on imagining it. It’s like something out of a movie, and speaking of movie moments, here is another one for you. I walked into the picturesque, stately home and was literally knocked on my ass by the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Philippa St. Claire came barreling around a corner, and the next thing I knew, we were sprawled on the ground, and I became very aware of the lush curves pressed against my body. The smell of jasmine invaded my senses, sending a tingling straight to my groin. After helping her to her feet, I swept my gaze from top to bottom, and the tingling became a burn. She had a knockout figure with large breasts, a small waist, and flared hips, all encased in a pair of tight jeans, and a black, long-sleeved top that clung to her upper body. She was on the shorter side, maybe five foot four, making her seem even more delicate next to my six foot three frame. And yet, I had a hunch her curvy body would fit perfectly into mine. Her dark, almost black hair hung from a ponytail in ringlets to the center of her back, and her sable eyes sparkled as she smiled at me. I drank in the sight of her honey-colored skin—heart-shaped face, with high cheekbones, and bee-stung lips. She was fucking gorgeous.

I wanted her. And not for a quick fuck or even one night. I wanted to be her forever. She was eighteen—the youngest of twelve sisters, including three sets of twins—so there was an eleven-year age gap between us. I didn’t give a flying fuck about it; Philippa St. Claire belonged to me.

After one evening in her company, I was even more enchanted. Not only was she beautiful on the outside, but her sisters and parents clearly adored her. When she displayed some sass and wit, it only confirmed what I’d felt, and I started to formulate a plan. I made time over the next several months to visit the family often and, in particular, get Pippa and me alone so we could get to know each other. She was earning her degree in English Literature, while attempting to establish herself as an “Indie” author. Whatever that meant. She wanted to travel the world, and I was more than happy to make her dreams come true, if only she would let me.

I was relieved when I didn’t notice a man spending time with her. If they came around, she sent them scurrying away with their head hanging in defeat and disappointment. It made things simpler for me since I didn’t have to pull them aside and threaten them to stay away from my woman.

As time went by, her face began to light up when she first saw me. She smiled incessantly, even when we had a spat. Admittedly, they were usually my fault since I enjoyed getting her riled. She looked so fuckable when she was fired up about something.

To my frustration, however, she avoided talking about us, or relationships in general, other than the occasional smartass remark about being “tied down.” I knew she’d fallen for me the instant we’d met, just as I had for her, but I had thought it best to allow her time for our relationship to build and for her to recognize her feelings on her own. Until it became clear my siren wasn’t going slow at all, she was putting up a fucking roadblock.

I’ve finally run out of patience. I’m in a constant state of arousal every time I’m around Pippa—my cock hard and my body craving her touch. It’s time to claim her. Out of respect, I took her father aside yesterday and told him of my intentions with his daughter, although, his disapproval would not have stopped me. He laughed and shook his head with mock disappointment. “Another one bites the dust.” I gave him a questioning lift of my eyebrow. Instead of an explanation he said, “I wish you luck. If anyone can convince that girl to settle down, I’d put my money on you. But, I’ll enjoy watching her lead you on a merry chase.” He clapped me on the back and strolled from the room, still laughing. I was a little confused but didn’t dwell on it.

I showed up today with flowers and an invitation to dinner. I was rendered speechless, a moment ago, when I was turned down with a bright smile and a polite “No, thank you.”

It is taking me a lot of effort not to let my jaw hang open in surprise.  It seems my little spitfire is misunderstanding what is happening right now. I decide to try a physical explanation before a verbal one. Taking her hand, I tug her into my arms and crash my mouth down onto hers. She freezes, taken by surprise, and a little gasp gives me the opening I need. My tongue sweeps inside, and I angle my head to deepen the kiss. After a moment, she melts into the kiss and begins to respond, albeit hesitantly. A shot of even stronger arousal sparks inside me when it becomes obvious how innocent she is. It makes me want to beat my chest and yell like a caveman at the thought of being the one to teach her about pleasure.

Before I lose my control, I lift my head, smirking when I see the dazed expression on her face, and the blatant arousal in her eyes. There aren’t any signs that she isn’t attracted to me or doesn’t feel the pull between us. If there were, I might have walked away. But, it clearly isn’t the case, and I’m determined to get Pippa to admit to it, eventually. Sooner, rather than later.

I keep ahold of her hand and lead her over to the couch where I sit close beside her. “Pippa, let me be clear. You are mine. You have been since the moment you knocked me on my ass.”

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