Every time I turn around at this damned ball, there’s another eligible bachelorette standing there, looking at me with big does eyes, like she’s just waiting for me to lose my mind and fall in love with her.

They’re not all ugly. They’re not even all bad-looking. Some are pretty hot, exactly the kind of girl I’d have gone after a few weeks ago.

But they’re never the waitress. Not even once.

And it’s a little past ten, meaning no new guests are arriving at this ball.

She’s not here. She’s not coming. This ball has been the talk of the entire kingdom for a week now, so the only way she didn’t come is if she didn’t want to.

But still, I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looked at me, the way her lips moved when she spoke. Her ass under her uniform as she walked away, or even better, when she bent over a table to clear dishes.

I keep dancing with other girls at this ball because I have to, but I’m just thinking about the waitress. Her pretty lips around my cock, the taste of her in my mouth.

All the ways I could take her and make her moan. What I wouldn’t give to feel her tight, hot wetness around my cock while she screamed my name.

I head over to the bar, but it doesn’t help. The second I have a drink in my hand, someone new wants my attention.

“Your Highness,” says a woman’s voice, and I turn.

It’s the Duchess of Montagne, who’s broad, tall, and shall we say a very commanding presence.

“Duchess,” I say, nodding my head slightly as she curtsies.

“Have you had the pleasure of meeting my daughters yet tonight?” she goes on, still imperious-sounding as ever.

“I’ve not,” I say, taking a sip of my scotch. I’m vaguely familiar with her daughters — all six of them — but I’ve never been able to keep them straight or even come anywhere close to remembering their names. It doesn’t help that they all start with R.

“This is Rachelle,” she starts. “Twenty-seven, quite marriageable. She’ll be inheriting most of her father’s fortune and her monthly courses are exceedingly regular, which bodes well for her fecundity—”

Rachelle instantly turns bright red and looks at the floor, not that her mother notices.

“—She’s still a virgin, our family doctor checks her hymen annually—”

Rachelle closes her eyes, and I can’t help but feel completely awful for her, and I’m about to interrupt her mother just to spare the poor girl, when a flash of blue catches my eye, and I stop.

For the first time in over an hour, someone’s entering the ballroom. It’s someone new, someone who’s never been here before, judging by the way she looks around as she opens the huge, heavy door and peeks in.

Right away, the doormen scurry over. One holds the door open, and the other bows to her, taking her hand and welcoming her to the ball.

I can’t see her face, but somehow, I know it’s her. I just do. It’s like she lights up the entire room just by entering it.

The Duchess is still talking, but I have no idea what she’s saying. I walk past her in a trance, handing her my drink, making my way toward the waitress who’s still looking around, half overwhelmed and half bewildered.

Watching her, I can barely breathe. She’s in a shimmering blue dress that shows off every curve of her incredible body flawlessly, from her full, perky breasts, to the notch of her waist to the curve of her ass that’s just made for grabbing.

Already, I want to tear it off of her. I want to pin her against the wall, throw her legs over my shoulders, rip off her panties and taste her right here, right now, and I don’t give a single damn that everyone is watching.

As I move toward her, she catches my eye and stops. Just freezes, right here in the middle of the ball. I can feel all eyes on me, everyone at this thing wondering who the hell this girl that I’m approaching could possibly be, but I don’t care.

The waitress came. I found her again, and there’s absolutely nothing that’s going to stand in the way of me making her mine.

She turns toward me as I approach, and I smile at her, holding out my hand. She swallows, just barely licking her bottom lip as she does, and I swear I go rock-hard in a second.

The waitress puts her hand in mine, still staring at me, wide-eyed. I think she’s holding her breath, until at the very last second, she remembers to curtsy.

I kiss her hand, soft and delicate. Just like her.

“May I have this dance?” I ask.